Rings of painted impact

dwarf the halo

quiet roads and their ways

always disrupted dawns

hills of lunacy's arrival

where hairless caterpillars glow

and stoic anvils hold

the corners of styrofoam pyramids

down to the poor clay

of civilized earth

ripples leave the sky in tatters

from the thought that popped

its gray conception

riverbeds strewn with

armies of forgotten clothes

the folds of a carnivorous rose.

A veil of ash

a path of coins

holy is the stained earth

and all the flowing streams thereof

the weight of many apples

on a hill of bone and branches

zones of pink neon blankness

between pools and lawns

I am a pinball laughing in spirit

watching the luck of others

move me around

sleeping in the sound of pouring gravel

born on a porno wave

of glossy inhabitants

over the hotel rooms in fury

angels estranged in flight

naked days of the inverted slave.

I once was a human spirit,

I camped alone on many plateaus.

The contemplative nimbus

grew many tendrils.

I rode one up into a golden sky.

I mutated in a cloud, something

deeper than my cells

hammered its way out.

I flew home without a doubt,

my flesh in tow.  I strut

these alien sidewalks

looking for a strange job.

Swamps are blooming

purple flowers for my demon seed.

The round hills seethe with desire

and topple old financial structures.

The social system is

winding its weird way down

as I sharpen my illicit crown.

A monument of bones

becomes a bird home

these roads are ribbons

floating under geodesic domes

the symmetry of souls

reflects on water

split orbs rotate

in transparent walls

the trains of earth

are leaving through a cloth sky

pulling all the fabric from the maze

canals of milk and cubbyhole homes

a draped ecstatic tongue

muffled in the twin zone

void's keeper on the run

death's angel in a crystal cone.

THE FUTURE GLAZE

The empire is still filled with cruelty,

but its embers have cooled.

Chrome surfaces have taken over,

cyclical announcements insinuate

vague danger, but specific threats

have all but vanished.  Voices vacuumed

no longer plague us.  Now the quiet

carries the blade.  Latex kisses

smear the cold away

and replace it with a numb ache.

The cup was passed so gently

by a goddess who had quelled the storm.

We worshipped all her fingers in our brains.

Already our language had fallen.

She showed us a deeper technique.

People were swarming each other,

they needed to be separated.

Replicas confuse the interactions

and can play even better with genes.

We had seethed our way to scything

now the seeing eye can edit dreams.

These words cannot grab what I breathe.

All the cream of elimination

cannot gather steam.

The mist of electronic bugs

has entered the cauterized seam.

Resistance is too painful to conceive.

Symbols of death splattered with color

doors of wheat and mud

that won't come off

ladders climbing over wretches

with their taken legs

ripples razor erasing names

pits paved with cooling metal

hills crowned with agitated light

graves laughing

in their symmetry of fearless sleep

tongues frozen by the echo of the deep.

Electric gnats are smitten

by a fecal wind

bridges groan between

self devouring kingdoms

the spines of spray painted palaces

are brittle mud wasp nests

plastic twine grows

from a croaking data center

enveloping the fields

of piss wet tents.