Glanded Ouroboros is a Fibrillating Hophead

The drive of my scalp is a brassy cage-governed scythe
wheeling bone screws into glanded flint corpse bridal oil
ashen marrow from a jointed stake, now a shapeless zenith
but with milling flames foaming a voice dug of fire

Onstage, it's all lava and mechanical flowers
stoning the wet night cans with thumping dung and flinging gravel tongue
cloud tunics move venus-wise in ornamental destruction,
like a clock inside a void with coasts of pelts erecting,
stroked dry as lovers

Turrets of ghosts carry the folly of flesh,
sucked towers grieving over a cure
hollow growth in the disappointment on the dog's plate,
the downward jive of a bionic dog fighting vagueness

Found brains taste of acrid soldiers
stained sinews on their crumb women
stalking birds with bloody beaks
while blooming in Vice, a county of guns

Ox minerals blind the scales of this enemy,
dead by the armor snails in a world of petals,
insects splitting a wooden eye laying bloody in the ether
our mortal quarrel is the natural harbor of death

Corkscrew nuisance fathoms the crowing of forged coral
as the skull disk hatches some sea babble
orbiting the hophead's Neptune
seawhirls ringing out the dead drowning in ointments

Images as instruments out of the flaxen fire
apparel of shame floating in conjured winds
below, thimbled eels, green and damp, boiling for miles in wept water
snapping sap from desolate veins created by sulphuric apples

Watched by the warden in an ouroboros eclipse
the symbols of madmen divided into air-drawn curtain of trust
similar to the blood-red legends of sweethearts in space

Allegory nudges the tall
tales and fibrillations of heart bones
grappling a town manna at zero tower
man waged strongholds under a sand-bagged hero
cannon hemisphere pierces star-flanked seaports