Tuesday, February 18, 2025

The star within the star
pours its red milk of fire.
Shores recede from bathers
who are making love, their light
enters the water.
I see a whole ancient temple
at the bottom of my coffee cup.
It is not yet in ruins,
cornices shine like daggers,
altars in front of circular thrones
conjure faint electricity,
a blue fog wraps around
my crown of paper reborn as metal.

Soil is sweetened with feverish seed,
dripping from a dark valentine
skin jeweled by honeysuckle
and bronzed by a lunar beam.
The trees blown back rattle
like tinfoil and ripple like cream.

The map of happenings
is silent and distilled
inactive as an unobserved electron
all the roots in one fallen petal.

Sunday, February 16, 2025

I walk back and forth
in a house of ice
trembling at the blades
of electrode rays
that come through the floorboards
casting all my dreams
upon the wall
taking me to ships
that cross the caverns of the earth

the soul speaks in old books
lost in the rhythm
of a classic record
all the tombs are turned inside out
a voice flies up like a flag
above the colored waves of sand
above the sheets of metallic paint

the ghost of my bones is in
these harvested hills
nestled in their question mark green
around their wearying waters
what flourish do we bring
to the dance floor of all erased rails
black lights on a blood blue door.

Saturday, February 15, 2025

Curves of light breaking
on my body,
lifting me into the realm
of the remembered dead.

A sidewalk paved straight
through a celestial sky,
birds of sound without bodies
scattered from the throat of God.

To where the blade is speech,
and me in acid rain
the lonely remainder, bereft
of all companions in the glow
that our kind make of night.

Thursday, February 13, 2025

What happened to my grace, my
sweetness, my love of people?
They were lost to a field of bones.
Lost to the glint of pearls before swine,
to a hot burglar within my blood,
to aisles laden with mirage
the shine of disinfected substance.
Drifting in mercury letters,
cursed by black sand
on the back of a battered dove.

Beads of worn ivory teeth
trickling over sheet mail gloves
and the milking of barren guts.
Glaze of daylight like a fist
above the green waters.
Vinyl moon above a cliff curve
all the fire this tongue deserves
poured down through nets
of hot galactic nerve
through piercing seeds and eggs of rain
veins dancing with a chill
sublime monstrosity
decked out in prophylactic frills.

Wednesday, February 12, 2025

I am always drawn into darkness
always with the diseased and dying
in their decay,
staggered by foggy lights from beyond
our far-off outskirts.

All agonized things with claws,
all feathered blades that turn,
long neon hallways
where an unfamiliar muse
goes looking backward,
docks of dashed boats and jagged
tongues of broken pottery
reels of time lashed
to a revolving door,
cracked souls that sing to the ceiling
of their common tomb.

Tuesday, February 11, 2025

What was I chasing through kingdoms of spirals
shimmering walls of glass that sing
lip-struck edges of stacked pages
canyons of metallic string in coiled rows
kisses that cracked paint
the flicker of electric eels
ticking from the buckets of the damned
and the rags that refine a highway
all resolved into a lucid shell.

Sunday, February 09, 2025

Black soda in a fractured room
day dim through painted windows
I see the sea-scraped bubbles of light
that are aloft in evidence
I sweep myself away
with a redheaded eye
when all the deaths have not killed me
I will not be able to find
the chamber of solitude
having vomited my reptilian mask
on the silk-screened mountains
out of control through solar shafts
that bisect a circular door
and eject a worm god
allegiance to the ember
of a winning fraud
and a blade of restoring mercy
cuboid temples
to the dancing days of an electrode
frocked by a praying mantis strobe
the glory of souls that sail alone
hot playlist in a flying car
the grid's pulsating neon
void of sound
for a hot tub moment
marooned against these
puritan millennia, this sweetly waning
mirror of days.