sibyl above bed-head

He, She or It (using without being trimmed by these distinctions)
stepped off from the sacred saddle in a throng of flashbulb
gowning lights. The pink additives with their calculated flutter namelessness.
Ascending or Descending (using without being trimmed by these distinctions)
from the saddle to the throne. In his rinky-dink pajamas, Eric
flutters for dear life, like a banner captured by a lawless wind.
The lime additives surround the empty head of ornament flashbulb.
The deaf additives rip time like a vortex burping holes in time.
Eric tries to burp down Kotex moments of a simpleton Kodak.
Eric tries to believe burped holes as throng adjectives de-load.
As throng adjectives de-load and re-load in a Kotex throng heart burp.
There is a genre of poetry about “spots of time.” My illusions
will never surrender. I can remember things that never even
happened, with my mental powers, from the saddle gowned-up song.