The walls are rising higher than the night.

I cast my serpent hand into enfolding space

the line of lagging voices flagged and snapped

is in my shattered blood

the work of shrines requires endless offerings

doors are painted with a seer's eye

each fisted hand is a cabin of hearts

where the fires of love emit a pleasing stench

to be reported across glass bridges

I'm searching for the cinematic piston

that oils the feline spine

a spoon to fill with the light of wheat

dawn's painfully clear tables

to be lavished with the nightmares of the soul

caught fresh from the alchemist's pool

where fire licks fire

A fragment, falling.

Once I thought

I'd lift the world.

The bottom is beautiful.

The forms of life become

insular and decorate the deep

with their elaborate adaptations.

There is life down here, of a kind.

Glowing with occult blood,

sewn up in seamless lips.

Lava cooled like the blackest honey.

Am I glad to have fallen?

I have fallen.  The gravity

is good for building.

The bough up there in sun

where I hung is gone.

The surface is earlier.

Shells are flower petals

and the pressure is a permanent mistress.

I undress in fermented coils.

Cracking cells instruct me in architecture.

The mud is smoothed by weight.

I turn the hundred prepared pages.

A bubble is the dream of a brick.

A remnant is a cooling wish.

The sea has treasures it can't hide.

I ramble for a burger.

Walking to the empty station

just to wait in the stillness there.

Drinking from the icicles

that have a sour taste.

It seems the heavy engines

have moved away.

The scurrying of squirrels

in dry timber.

Curled leaves cracking

with their every step.

Ghost of my responses,

sit with me here awhile.

Let us stop preparing

and take the breathless ease

of lit horizons through

space or cells, in separate

dwelling bells.

Born brother

to the wind that doesn't know your name,

riding serpentine sidewalks

smelling all the urine of the gods,

the shade of a shouted prayer,

taking the dust mask

through a labyrinth of sacred stone,

born brother

to the flicker of a long and curving pathway,

whipping around the planetoid brain

that is a restless hive

each rafter with its row of nests

the barn where I lurked to thaw

become eternal.

A solitary wheel of ghosts

rolling over clay horizons

carrying tobacco stains

and old notebooks

stalled beside a fallen feather headdress

crunching over animated bones.

The smoke rings around dazzled eyes

architecture of cold mercy

I slump against a cemetery tree

cognisant of the sex of wolves

that roam between sensuous birches

factories gone silent in the background

one cool blinking light of zero

in the nebula heart

watching to be sprung from emptiness

the bulkhead of mysterious form

Piles of smashed diamonds

glittering like frozen rain

zones of poets enchained

in golden vines

grasping at their cloaks

of sensual doom

I passed the embankments

of buried coin and unsealed bottles

dribbling the blood of weary times

through a transparent earth

the lanes of constructed light

scrubbing lines from all my flesh

as I faded into plastic labyrinths

shores of glue drenched denim flowers

sails rippling with cloudy skulls

the frills of an electric blade

the way a watched electron raves

Bolts in the neck of an angel

propped up by violet light

mouth pouring mixed cement

eyes glowing with formaldehyde

ladders of wet activated rubber

leading to a frozen cloud

where liquid canines walk

on a singing platform

jets of fuming water

carrying microbes

of such frenzied joy

the locks are popped by a crafty wind

the sanctum of a certain

world devouring mammal

seeded with sneering tongues.