Wednesday, May 26, 2010

NO LONELINESS

there is a ledge where you
continuously flow over

even when you are pinched
in a silver mask

even when you hold your bag of guts
with stoicism, reptilian poise

you are continuously flowing over
the edge of this frozen verge
of nothingness feeding on a flock of chickens
feeding on a field of corn
aisles painted white with shit
there is a shovel you hold

when you want to kiss a religious woman
on the softest part of her mouth
the hardest edge of her
continuously overflowing
a multitude of dainty hands
(the wide white air at all backs)
on bloody balconies over and over
SAD ECSTATIC COMPANIONS

for Greg

1

If we see the star tonight
we'll know it's a planet

fire from our mouths will almost
consume it. Our own planet,
our own star, will remain

as we stand within their magnetism,
patting each others spine-tops,
swilling each others pine-flavored
liquors. Vein-mouths open,

bloodshot slots of eye, a hurt flicker.
Even if we can no longer look at each other,
we can at least look
at the same things
at the same time.

2

All our late nights & early mornings
lumped together, two drunks gang-fucking
the dawn in multiple forms,
springing from corrupted wreaths,
our rustic crowns. Speed limits
kept far outdoors, unable to touch
our louder & louder lives.

Crack the one window wider,
caterpillar & moth crowd in
around several bulbs, first
sun-rays conduct
half eaten shadows of leaf,
orchestral twitching plays the grime
out of the old floorboards, our friendship.

Friday, May 21, 2010

LOVE POEM #9

Space so vast on all sides only opens up
when your girl's arms are linked around me,
let me be void of hurt,
the vented undersides of our love-
making clean as a throng of vented mushroom,
dark fissures breathing desperate
to make rings & wreaths of mica & moss,

aisles birch marchers toward ash calendar,
shallow roots in face of soil, leaf-terrain
pock-marked by naked heels, fern realms askew
of propane tanks quickly rusting, sandstone almost
thoroughly crumbled, fireplaces on cliff's edge
where you dropped a spotted bikini, allowed swivel
to take hold of shy belly, among newts & slugs
on inner curve of lichened fallen barks,
oaks repressed letting fall their cloak
of half-starved creatures,

to be salved of all sting, aisles
of breezy light rushing over white-haired
raspberries, gold-backed beetles all to land
against your bottom lip, ladyslippers
quaking in nubile emergence
of their fresh century,

Let bulbs break leaning upwards from
our proud foreheads, let a train of beds
left behind burn in the heat of computer
letters, then lilacs grown on rubbing alcohol
spill our glimpses on a grass that scrapes
our chests free of all afternoon cemetery
moon-rash.

Thursday, May 20, 2010

LOVE POEM #8

we were air
brushed out
of the picture's color-grip,
the canvas put us together at the ribs,
hinges wrapped around the others
weakest elasticpoint.

Dragonfly corpses falling down the edge
of every painting's frame,
where we are active
in lapping half-silence,
the oiled shell of a canoe.

Zeros float through the air
smiting monies to nonexistence
from the screen high on all sides
waterfalling the place into
two, that hold
the ballroom's tiles down one step at a time.

High in legal wisps, where laughter breaks,
then breaks again, we are won from sad islands
always by the same oilbrushed boat: a streak
of light fresh blazed across our wrists
two knots of bleeding silk
lashed together by dissolved space.
LOVE POEM #7

the tyrant of love
hammered our ghost pain
wings,

while the music went blank
all over the room. Caligulas in lipstick
marched through the fireplace,
singing mattress in half
with radioactive feet on their way to
the platform, we kiss,
we're off the room, we're immaculate
beaks
up in the ceiling corners,
tongue sparks
flick from mouth to mouth

we were hammered by charging
breastplates of gold,

soldiers let loose before our veined heavens
went mad with humble energy.

The tyrant of love
went back on his heels like a stained
mechanic, satisfied with this
final
engine.
LOVE POEM # 6

there is surgery in lilac bushes

slab of granite turning to mush pile

dwarves with blood light faces,
electronic eyes
dancing in a gazebo of interacting flames
trickle of sperm & viscera
ascending a church tower
to slow the hands of a clock
there is nothing left to do
but to be together.

here's a tree-crotch pouring from its deeps
the lives of wasp babies

a torn white dress begging
for the ravage of all color

a woodland wedding where only ghost squirrels
the necks of best friends

attend to the duties of a ringbearer, light hung
from strands of bark peeling
the emptiness within images there is only
a space left in which to be together.
LOVE POEM # 5

As if life has been a city
me at many attic-peaks
screaming
when a bomb goes off in depths
elsewhere

granite floors filled with my voice
recommend that all the most
intent listeners be evacuated.

As if life has been lived
only in one city, reaching in an arc
against the sky's curve
to life in another--sad macaroni
metropolis, all broken limbs
turning to unconnected elbow--

that she has saved me,
that I've saved part
of all, what I've wrecked;
our two cities join. There is much
merriment among those concerned
who will never understand, and
like a lilypad above mud, her dress.

Sunday, May 16, 2010

LOVE POEM #4

they each, anchored in the steadfast death of organism,
in the grey stretch at the edge
of multicolored space. Our Milky Way
just a slight dash of motion
figure-skating in the reflection of your tear ducts,

plunge of lily-pad throat-stems
through the sky-floor of perfect pond

her lips on a huge screen above the swamps
emerge casting off cumulus
emerge with a tiny nape of neck
in their shrugging
in their plucking
strings beyond strings
lips all gravity-vast

eyes touched truly
with the salivary gaze of a misguided
saint, now
carved in hers to a prettier
guiding, the knifetongue

moving and never seen
seen and never moving
silken backs, the ears of sheep
leaves sliding under
our same hands,
by fanned bays disturbed

breeze under bridges
spraypainted
into stone by dying headlights
vast this canyon's
merging
LOVE POEM #3

they, anchored together.
the light, chrome hard hot
through antique brown leaves.
and all kitten gestures absorbed
in mittens of a bear
tree-trunks of the youngest sap

going numb & wide
all around. & I there
heel-deep in the bright

flicking ash of our gone houses
from your eyelashes,
every burnt couch flooded
with images of a veiled room
writhing.

And I will follow your breakfast mouth
like a streak of
like an appearance of
like a vein of
like a string detuned

melting fractures into jewelry.
LOVE POEM #2

lines of force
where there are no currents,
from imaginary acting

single magnetic that
of a long magnet, so long
at the magnetic everywhere

under these conditions
repulsion at any unit pole
of the same kind

having a greater oxygen,
salts of iron, our theory, ought
to be in air media water,

melted
in air
of two according to
great precision, limited range

in the fluid known to us,
takes the case of electric current
infinite as
the field of force

Let the axis be that
within the conductor
per unit of area
LOVE POEM #1


electric currents
theory of mole

lied to magnetic phenom

so that within
in the space round it,
is the distance unit

tending to move the conductor in the
hands of a watch, if the observer
of the current.
Let us now consider an axis

in the place
and the length of the part
be its strength
in equations

of black-pink volume;
and multiplying it
so that the attraction between
will be greater than oxygen
and greater in electric currents
and greater

Sunday, May 09, 2010

MAGNETS ON A LIGHT CAUGHT HARD

Sadness of magnetism on polarized light,
I have been ruthlessly investigated
by everyone at the peak of this soft
blow-job town, Italian sandwich

dripping dressing down the cast
of my ribs. The devastated parks
made public by raging fire. Every mammal

in the drowned room
standing wobbled
marble feet in hot reef.
All eyes reptilian shut
against parking lot
dark. We saw a cloud expand
we shared an asshole.

At the drooping center of vagina
choking heart meat, rubbing off for steady
fluorescent hours, hair
of an artichoke. As the slowest point

of magnetism dissolves, we discover
the most terrible center
of intimate mystery is through

our only buttocks, in the direction
of the awful whole, particles
within the space, we shall have.
Sadness

has been emerging
of the deep blow-job time
in a dumb basement heart
of neglectful library,

half panther oil, dark
as lamp-shade, underside deadened
one gravity's center-center
of dying armchair,

Saturday, May 08, 2010

A SHORT DRIVE OVER AND OVER

foam horses cover the stone hills
in eternal front yards

eyes widen in sidecar mirrors
white paint lines whipping past rubber
eyeliner

we are floating an ashtray between us
on a tarnished front seat
bloodied with broken crow wings
horn honking all day

making tunnels of blue tar sound
over the puddled parking lots
with a rain of delicately dropped lipsticks

we are floating an ashtray between us
full of kangaroo heart
building infant with closed soft eyes
with a bit of inner-blooming blood
in a dry fur pouch

beaches scorched to glass like tortured water
flanks touched by slow loving acid of low surf
two snouts touching in the cough
of fragile new motors

Monday, May 03, 2010

1. WEDNESDAY'S THURSDAY MORNING


make the blocks of sound
heavier, until they plow
all these creatures into the soil.
Make their day a yellow blur
painted by digital
ghosts on the huge shell
that surrounds their actual fucking lives.

push harder through soil
things that kill mankind
with their equipment;
grab their boats and fling
them off like leaves,

from a rhododendron bush
left untended by awful giants
with mail slot eyes.



2. MONDAY'S TUESDAY NIGHT


school of fish
came frantic through
television,

tiny dots took over
huge spaces left
by retired stars.

we'd barely leaped
over the wall of nakedness,

freckled with nowhere,
bound by the slime
on pond floor
while the pinecones
whirl in the air

and the machines all gape.

Sunday, May 02, 2010

COMMON DININGS

white marble dishes hover
halfway between greasy cafeteria tables
and immaculate ceiling

fans blow columns of active air
down to meet tabletops exactly
in the center white marble
dishes widen the disturbance
of silence in the center
of artificial breezes

pestles grind immaterial
spices from ancient tomb-time
herbs from elsewhere
midway to the dead heaven
above the heads--hair flattened
by dense conditioned air--of
the students of oblivion

left without flowers to guard
the applerot soft
temples above ears
nudged by ten thousand hums

until the magnolia trees fall
through two-story tall
windows and spill
their blossom fragrance
on the altars of young mouths, sex hysteria
chewing pond-meat
of unidentified amphibeans

the tadpole textures
tongue-drunk as arms are slashed
by falling panes as tall as houses, heavens

kept unsensed in electric
bathrooms third floor ephemeral
attics spraying hog sides with sawdust guns
palm-lines alive with sperm-trickle
slapping mirrors to revive
the yawn and a garden snake
navigating pebble roofs
of interdimension.