Cook me a Thunderbolt

From The Windjammer in the Forest

Water the moon for me.
Brush the teeth of my ladders for me.
Carry me in your flesh valise onto my bone roof.
Cook me a thunderbolt.
Clap the earthquakes into a cage for me
and pick me a bouquet of lightning.
Cut yourself in two and eat one of the halves.
Ejaculate yourself into the air haughtier than the fountains of
   Versailles.
Burn yourself roll yourself into a ball.
Be a ball with archaic laughter
rolling around a pill.
Stick out all your tongues at roses.
Give your tongues to the gentle rhinoce-roses.
Go stew yourself into a stew.
Toady yourself into a toad.
Append yourself as a signature under my letter.

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