The Polity of Picasso

Severed to my bits in clay bungalow,
  
square foot gullet impressed by gemstones areolas  
spun to a knocker.  
Welcome.
Bolus sputtered up through the bricks of water snake engravings of the colon.      
   
In redeem of welfare expense...        
       
My mouth puckered on the inside stretcher of the cinder heap of ears and feet jerked by nerve to a keystone.        
The pelvic crest saw entrants through,        
streaming shaved tangles of hair through the coccyx for the wind's whistling chimes.        
       
Though a few digit tips impaled from the floorboard on the drifter's corns,
an elbow mimed drape rod        
as
one bicep, curled by the myson pivot of mortar crease,
bulged into the spinal links of the creaking door.

Our barons come.

At the heat of mold aged beading
from the drunk ceiling tit of one pec plaster,
mice scratched through the paper canvas and hooked my tongue by an overbite,
flailing in the mucous adhesive cement and slab,
whose uvula breathed into a blowfish lung in the aqua tank royal hall
to emit the gas of utterance
while the eye saw from the china set

the bony man with his teeth prodded in a globe of the unassumed realm
and coffee leaves of simmered sweat,
patted not from down his neck dry as Saint Augustine's relic shrine,

as to essay by the disembodied creeping mouth, across the coackroaches' summer rut,
stung by a grapevine of the omnipresent poor,
the oral tradition of ears on a wall.