I hypnotized the dream doll it came yesterday
The soft pickle hands, the big eyes
I could touch its dreaming
Its hands gnarled
In a vacant hothouse strewn with metal orchids.
It came with a dream catheter miles long, uncouth
It was there I began to worship I could hear it breathe
I came to be the templar
A vanguard for hollowness
It was a matter of looking after—
I was there the night the eyes opened
glowing as a marquee rotten with light
The pink lids grew swollen
I felt the vegetable heads bloom.
Such are the processes
With the poetic peony of birth
Where a star sits fed by fruit flies
Where its dream unfolds as a membrane
to feel the point the shade has
its horrible center In our embrace
in the full hothouse growth of my vegetable head