There are mutated frogs
singing normally in the river
there are wine red stains on my rug
and the parking lots glisten with smashed glass.

The homeless shelter where I used to stay
is right next to my house
and if I fall out of my house I'll fall back into it.
But that doesn't matter to me now.
What I want is a lot of money to kill the evil people with,
to bless my friends, and to buy musical equipment
that will make all radio stations explode.

I want to tear the satellites out of the sky
and monitor the behavior of the dead.

2 boys waterfall

between 2 waterfalls
2 boys lurch up wet out of wetness
and see a blackness moss mouth
opening under the running water.

between 2 waterfalls 2 boys say
in the dark--under the ripples--
show each other a finger inches
above the brown moss squatting
--the blackmoss mouth talks--
the wet teeth break open--the world
flowing out of the soaked chalk cavity

2 boys rowing the world
in a wrath immediately
behind them--in the green moss
the first orgasm of 17 years.

sing for those in bodies who are trapped alone
telephone heads
alwaysringing
surrounded
by those who can't seem to see
your reptilian tongues of beauty
snickering quietly as you strut
across linoleum oceans
awaiting a kitchen counter on the other side
where someone with pie ejaculates kisses
so calm

telephone trunks in the deepest
pines pinning sky to a cloud
our backs can't see while we stare
through slug trails of mucus
on freshly fallen green leaves
at another half-transparent earth
through this earth through this earth
the bending ecstasy of roads
the dirt derailed there
under the tunnels and paths

sing in a body for those who are alone
trapped hard between bodies who can't hear a music
in their smashed branches
laying upwards and awake
in a whirlwind of hot summer snow

and in the sigh is a ship
descending oceans
through bodies of birds
filled with sunlight

and in the bird-filled bodies of sunlight
flesh is the only rapturous

layers of sand pushed apart liplike
by a transformation
in the dry places
in the longing water
in the clay under the swingset
looking up a churchskirt
the sigh is a ship
moving backyard into the ferns

Her every footstep rattles beetles on thin trunks
She's on the floor of the world
the knobs in her joints
like chickenmeat being broken
each fingerlong step illuminates a tarred kitten
every baby in a bush is sprouting from a dirt future

but a bananaskin hand comes out of the tender muck
for her footcuts to heal on in a limping moment
and an egg like a rock could roll in her cup
for breakfast in a forest, former driveway
while the rain rolls in on lizard feet from a closing sky
and a vague form with enormous breasts
comes out of the laundromat on rollerclouds
and she runs into her like her mirror's breaking
------------------in front of her-------------------

her presence is a small knife in a milkshake
her promise is twelve sparrows in a dying bush
her hands are clean
and blood runs through them like a silk

green world

oh the pill--oh the whiteness in the throat--
of the ferns lewdly green wiggling,
insane backyards & soft ribby hinges
in guts that stayed fleshy still
all through the war in a huckster's wail
bottom of the night
feet reading brail
on a moving wheel

tossed throatwar back & forth
between 2 moons
in a swingsetted backyard

oh rain pebble
oh them same rock apartments
falling through
the newsprint air
in the labial merging
in the hurting flag
athletes fuck
themselves on TV
& hack the finest fibers from the mean

In the next startling chapter, ladylike,
you lower your original body onto me
while helicopters whirr
wonderfully overhead

now that this has started many other things must end
wonderful things that have been happening must stop
many horrible things that have no significance must also cease

(before such dramatic lovemaking starts inside)
helicopters plunge into the tall grasses, breaking

everyone sleepily running
for the life of a horrible baby
suckled like a root in the air

children on the shingles
grab their garbage bags
and hop
into some garbage air

it's a seething ride down

with pebbles already
imprinted on the palms of their hands