Emerging as a popped bubble

with limbs of putty running

to be molded on these bloody rods

dirty train cars and their trails of dust

drum skin walls and desks of anti-gravity

silk blades and velvet chain transparent chairs

the fine hairs of a last uncharted pasture

lost between the lenses that have probed

eclipsing bolted doors

with waves of mirror cream

these starry nights are catalogued in crayon

and the tongues of stacked cloth

my bewildered eyes on lobster stalks.

The lisp of sunset

on a tipping plane

iced remembrance of

snaking kisses that dove through wrecks

and found their telepathic targets

costumes falling down the river's bank

into consuming water

five seconds from collapse

in a tin white painted tent

deep sleep on pillows of fire

drinking the cave water

painting walls of uneven rock

with hands of clay

fronds of neon nurtured by the mushroom

bridges soaring in their long and tender arcs

world that's gotten into my consciousness

fresh blooded buses of light

raging gently past the diner

octagons of water angels

floating over the hidden graveyards

plastic rams of mercy

stunning plush half hidden mouths

on the rims of a hidden south.

USAI

I will drown you in your own scum.

Christ the enslaver can get fucked.

Your money is brainwash,

your gardens are artificial.

Your country is a prison

for cattle willing to be led.

There are worse demons elsewhere,

it's true: nowhere for you to run to.

I'm talking to a part of my own soul.

In your bus stations I build

cathedrals of burning rubber.

I don't rip your saints from the walls:

I let their barren faces stand

as a testimony of your nullity.

Your spiritual death continues

in every avenue.

You have overflown yourself:

your ugly sprawl has ripped you apart.

I will stab the remnants with hate,

and that hate will become joy.

Your sacred scriptures are reels

of rotten monotony.

You speak with a liar's tongue.

I rip it out with a reverberant pen.

I stake you to the territory

that you have named, and I shit on you.

Picking up the feathers and their eyes

from the floor of a sentient dungeon

I'm a heap of broken plates and tubes

a door that will not open in a murky sea

lips opening inside a sail of leaves

shelves of pleasure stacked on burning cells

tarantella of fragmented selves.

Quiet beds of fish eggs

in stasis beneath shining plastic

bathed in beams of light

a machine's walled monolithic night.

Tongues that swim in vats of paint

a rack for absent brushes

whole solar systems raided

for a peasant's ragged overhang

the corpse's late returning brain.

I read of tribes that are gone

and live in their fragments

I sing the songs of the dead

invisible in the kingdom

of my birth that has defeated me

the pools of souls are empty

bodies are running ragged

on hot lit streets

eyes and teeth of glass

in the puppetry of plastic faces

bumper cars on huge conveyor belts

bronze teeth on a chain

that hangs from a mind that is crying

light's tools are darkened by necessity

painted by the sod that's flung

from torn creation

and the cold transparent wheel

I am among them with my scissors

my cut flowers and my unheard catcalls

ricocheting in the belly of the void

a styrofoam seed in a chute of steel

a wisp of cloud licking

at the temple ceiling

a pack of elaborate cards

left scattered in the cage below.

INVERTED CATHEDRAL

It won't fit in a snowglobe

floors go flowing to pupils of lava

points descending to the core of earth

in ornate catacombs

carnal art in its descriptive spirals

winding rivers of mortar and stone

linking masks along red lit corridors

stairs of reconfigured bone

doors with doors and latches with latches

rind of echoes that deepen

and sharpen against uncaught time

blind mouths singing from a lake of lime

root shaped tunnels with windows that look

into the soul of the dirt

peeled saints on a bed of cinders

torn skirts of the blueprint that hurt.

In the silicon womb

reaching fingers with their bones of light

keep a ticking clock on ice

to circulate the sacred particles slow

bands of solar systems row by row.

Ribbons pouring from the idol's mouth,

tendrils licking at a path of sugar.

Crucified ants making little noise.

Suds rising from a tank of fish

that look like swimming bullets

with faint transparent fins.

Secret ribs of the earth

their caves of ethereal honey.

Cubes of stunned airless space

holding blank hot consciousness.

Smoking closets of divine debris

half shut against a hellish sun

closing liquid eyelids.