Disguised in my mouth as a swampland.. #Poetry

Disguised in my mouth as a swampland

nailed to my teeth like a rising sun

you come out in the middle of fish-scales

you bleed into gourds wrapped with red ants

you syncopate the air with lungs like screams from yazoo

like X-rated tongues

and nickel-plated fingers of a raw ghost man

and somewhere stripped like a whirlwind

stripped for the shrine room

you sing to me through the side face of a black rooster

In the morning  in the morning  in the morning

all over my door like a rooster

in the morning  in the morning  in the morning

And studded in my kidneys like perforated hiccups

inflamed in my ribs like three hoops of thunder through a screw

a star-bent-bolt of quivering colons

you breathe into veiled rays and scented ice holes

you fire the space like a flare of embalmed pigeons

and palpitate with the worms and venom and wailing flanks

and somewhere inside this fever

inside this patinaed pubic and camouflaged slit

stooped forward on fangs

in rear of your face

you shake to me in the full crown of a black rooster

In the morning  in the morning  in the morning

Masquerading in my horn like a river

eclipsed to infantries of dentures  of diving spears

you enter broken mirrors through fragmented pipe spit

you pull into a shadow ring of magic jelly

you wear the sacrificial blood of nightfall

you lift the ceiling with my tropical slush dance

you slide and tremble with the reputation of an earthquake

and when i kick through walls

to shine like silver

when i shine like brass through crust in a compound

when i shine  shine  shine

you wail to me in the drum call of a black rooster

In the morning  in the morning  in the morning

gonna kill me a rooster

in the morning

early in the morning

way down in the morning

before the sun passes by

in the morning  in the morning  in the morning

In the morning

when the deep sea goes through a dog’s bite

and you spit on the tip of your long knife

In the morning in the morning

when peroxide falls on a bed of broken glass

and the sun rises like a polyester ball of menses

in the morning

gonna firedance in the petro

in the morning

turn loose the blues in the funky jungle

in the morning

I said when you see the morning coming like

a two-headed twister

let it blow  let it blow

in the morning  in the morning

all swollen up like an ocean in the morning

early in the morning

before the cream dries in the bushes

in the morning

when you hear the rooster cry

cry rooster cry

in the morning  in the morning

I said

disguised in my mouth like a swampland

nailed to my teeth like a rising sun

you come out in the middle of fish-scales

you bleed into gourds wrapped with red ants

you syncopate the air with lungs like screams from yazoo

like X-rated tongues

and nickel-plated fingers of a raw ghost man

and somewhere stripped like a whirlwind

stripped for the shrine room

you sing to me through the side face of a black rooster

In the morning  in the morning  in the morning

© VishalDutia