Saturday, April 29, 2017

Rational farming and its circular shape and taillights of flowing traffic
waiting for the right moment to fire the artificial feeling in silver and enamel
this buffoon and babbler with wheels, gears, weights, and warm water to collect
a robot camera, a food factory and manipulator arm,
its pale gold, cream and ivory petals blending to a glorious strobe in hedge roses
highland with ample room in which to build not one but two domes
to the city's future prototype history like a great fried cotton egg
with an eye to house the temple of the cruel sensual gods
and the invisible mountain.

Wednesday, April 26, 2017

Shrubs on melted quartz
faces pinched in squares
singing brain death
with lemon drips
long wood polished toward the sun
smashes gases breaking highways overhead
a rain of gravel in the lovemaking room
moving glass that reflects a planet's death
time plastic bagged and fish-eaten
balconies of tainted bone
draped in burning fur

Sunday, April 23, 2017

The construction stained a grain of salt
with the peeling and coring of windfalls
detailed three-dimensional colleagues
revealing every bump and individual nerve burrow
a radio slab, the back of my head resting in an open plastic box
the new rose was set free in conference
two white doves were declared bright and clear
as the name jabs its forked lance in the stratosphere
a scientist-photographer formed within the bolt
cameras extended a strong ass between two burdens
the vestibule of space
and he saw that rest was good

Thursday, April 20, 2017

I dream of your star power,
your ready teeth,
how you could dissect them all
and reassemble them,
how you could touch the lamps
while whispering madness,
turning the sucking lights
towards your own face,
gloating in the momentary,
not knowing the abyss,
yet somehow still above it,
flaunting a pterodactyl flower
toward the unwanted
in order to be allowed to eat.
Recounting his tooth-scrubbed days,
leaves in their embers,
boxes of glass that have eyes,
tendons unbroken by moonlight,
sills turned out to the bright rain,
carpets and cases that speak cotton,
his hand is an echo of timelessness,
limbs drunk with the mystery of tar,
defacing his own statue.
Plastic venom eyes,
lemon-colored tongue,
alarmingly cut leather,
limbs fused to a white wall,
body tucked behind Saturn's belt,
terror plowed into a corner,
the lipstick victor, signing her apple,
dowsing her suspects in candy,
batting with one false leg
to strike the other,
ripping the tent's roof
with a vertical shriek,
dashing down infinite aisles
without a cart or a praying pet,
smacking long-handled
silver pans together
with a leer and
without a murmur.

Monday, April 17, 2017

Marketer of all the worlds,
expert tap-tapping on backs,
I melt my reflections,
paste wet ash to the canyon's throat,
mingle with pepper and raspberries,
drowning my passenger side soprano
in a velvet monotone,
planting ball bearings in the wounded earth,
mopping the corridors of power
with unexpected grace,
standing at the continental bridge smoking,
with a feelings of power in my loins,
my wallet and my chicken bucket,
swearing myself to the high moon,
dangling plastic abysses
from my favorite necklace of wheat chaff,
enumerating on olives of sleek many
in different kinds, smacking oil between
lips and fingertips like an enraged panda
shocking the pink and brown planets firmly awake,
puffing herb on a footrest, a moss descent,
a skullshaped rock or a frozen playpen
tear ducts pasted to some woman's footsteps
drowned hunter of mussels
crawling thatches to the rigged stash
of a tail-smacked hut.

Wednesday, April 12, 2017

Hammering the fecund world
of grey skies grey trees
letting it bleed its fragments to me
cracked firmament retracting hail
torn daylight pursuing its dawn fracture
days in the rain spent world
watching reptilian fungus
on storm wrecked trunks
wafting rotted woodpeckers
long blueberry ditches dark
plank slapped paths led
to a pool of unformed silver,
stunned sentient gold.

Tuesday, April 11, 2017

Bridges twine over roads
immense height rises up
only so far in the evening
but man's voice travels by satellite through space
composing and howling
compacting and hacking the data
frenzied tearing his poetry apart
then lip-bitten and putting it back together again
at the iceberg's tip of a desk
plucking and fretting
enunciating into the void
a long time before contact
Broiled quail, candied yams and colored paper
the windrows of fortune, performing his gobble-gobble litany
with dry mount mounting half a dozen red bone, blue tick, or black-and-tan
a good many bones cornets of silver and hounds out for an evening
a little brown jug with rubber cement papers and photographs
the girl and her furry hat with fill-in flash apertures in context
critics tend to divide the rugged face and beard