spiders walk on sad days in varied color
with competing poisons, landscape shelled and grey
to construct a railway over the soul
with no voice announcing, with no more music
twining the girders together

each storied cubbyhole blasting rouge light,
socket pried of viewer sapiens
dragging the body of a long mantis
folding the jagged skinny limbs
to construct a double, with no voice
finding a circuit,

to play on the force-field of the inner being
like a water-bug paws on the white light
of artificial water, cleaning the cobwebbed drawers
over and over in a dorm stack or a roman castle,
the tuned breath of religion, deck chairs set out
on the nature of a sun becalmed

You walk through vast airless markets
for a shabby cigarette,
you enter into vague caverns of your soul,
looking for a fruit salad @ $2.99.

You enter a restaurant, like a stranger.
Figs and olives are open in the bouqueted air
mirror bathrooms are flashing
sex on gentle leashes, long pipes lit
in the belly of an incomplete expansion,

reach to me through the microchip
in my shoeheel, oh equatorial pull,
run me over with mercury, abandon my body
in a hail of shattered smoke,
make me part of the unknown world,

bright mica glasses
eyeing up from the belly
of a river carving through

AUTO-LIFE

I am a criminal with no intent, hearing the grimmest
reaper say: you'll never find a better deal than this, son,
now wave goodbye to it
and so in the pillowed room of my life

I wait like a criminal, with a torrid future
already in the works
paint the bottoms of my lungs raw
and hear the sound of a waterfall landing on all the trees,

steaming and waiting, plastic chaired
the front of a laundromat, staring into the unsettled territories
the nourished mirage and the birds many
kissing small each others on that flicker plane

where old women find a bench each next to themselves,
smoking, the low limbs of young trees overreaching
without sense, filtering the collision of skin with so many suns,
the weather of everydays piled on her shoulders she multiplies

I wait like a criminal for my mother carrying a huge purse,
I wait for one of her sisters to geyser out of the iceberg,
I wait for a trickle from the glacier that unleashes lipstick,
the life inside the life waiting

BAR FLUNG

silk dumb in nightclub armor
she tries to spread the body of our touch
past tampon machines, deep hair black
trimmed sharp on all sides, sweat tables
of a tiny beyond, keyboards beaten
by concrete lips, voices tuned
to the rhythm of a smoke-lit picnic
platform exploding, kerchiefs spun
round broken intermittent heads,
palm trees in the wrong place
dishes of soil steaming
the petri of new lives
a mouth unrhyming all known circuits

baby's breath
how strange to find they have a dark heart
tiny as an ant's head

bouquet hand waving
high above the shrunken treeline,
picnic couples robotically remove
white grapes sweet from bitter stems

each tastebud dying the death of a moon
beneath the powerlines leading
stark highways through the air,
who'll hold the hand in handlessness
so tiny within the one cell

I come to get you in a reigning helicopter of flesh,
ducking under the bone blades whirling
you accept me onto your platform,

let the tides know how far we are travelling
towards the depth where things without eyes
learn to blink, where butchered membranes
assemble themselves in microcosmic invincibility,

where the two shells of one vast clam
grow a tongue heart to worship
quietly all flicker walls
of the same bloodied water.

give me a drink that stings the gut,
let me fly into the walls.
there will be no next hour.
in the abyss will reside a something-for-everyone.

tabs of white light in reptilian pupil
to the place where free will is murder
to sidewalks where nobody thinks of dragons anymore--

no loss--body curving off
across a weakening horizon
how airplanes hover
a shell of armor around one ecstatic passenger,
to open love to a woman kind
then hide in gutters strewn
with the low lights of discarded things

on orange sherbet wingspans
we'll finally paint to the last day,
the time-fracture we'd been waiting for
in a flock of mobile homes
holding hands that brandish cattail
in the symbol of our fledgling god

man went down to the sea
a vast, velvety filter
in which the lower bones were long
and parallel wings, the unexpected parts
predators cannot easily see the case
of the bright double star

let the rings wrap around your head
planetary regrets, fortresses all
torn open to the red light,
tomorrow you'll have to sweat it out
in the chambers of death, it'll be
easier than this, hammered moment
kissers forgetting how to kiss
greyed eyes just coins in a pond,
losing the dance, forgetting how
to move across a room, nettles on
bare arms broadcasting a wound
to the whole small world

SUPEREGG ATLANTIS THE TEAM OF BONE THE END OF THE DIAL

uranium was crown of the ocean floor
butterflies produced a rain of blood
as from his seed form garden by new birds
in the cat's brain, hundreds of young stars
of cluster a mouth
and dozens of suction-cup
the dusty pillars
600 miles over the sea

around the tentacles are primitive eyes
a tick-tock in the living
of the cylinder, old stars that have a bony ring
mirror-image antiparticles
the seeds for galaxies
the jaw-crusher

UP TO HEAVEN TO MAKE WAR

he slammed the door of a hotel
where I'd lived, without dying
he died, now I live with the dying
daily I smash a flower freeze-dried
to his terrible memory, to swim in his grief
to remember when he slouched in my bedroom
I took the desk chair, let him sleep
he took the cherry of death, I waited
in the lobby expanding while he swallowed
dreamless bullets where dark nimbus weighed
down around his head, please dream,
dream after dreaming hope is over
dream harder dream in sync that he is alive

I am a friend to the dead and do them no good
dreaming, I am a wreck of dreams
painting he joined my father
in the studio of death sculpting
the clay of death to give this material
sad brain I'll be old in your tracks
the mathematics of self-deceased become
the language of the living,
tongues in the footprints of, who can enjoy a pizza,
who has wrapped up the waters in a melancholy,
who has gathered up a corpse wrapped in fun
who has gone up to heaven to make war on a neighbor

if I could regenerate a corpse with my mouth,
to suck at the belly of a dead one
with living fangs thriving, to slam
with every direction into the walls
of mortal things and crash dazzled
into the sky holds no escape, he slouched
on my dirt pink vaseline bed stunned
with canadian whiskey, I dreamed faltering
his live cock into my mouth, a small soothing thickened
to the heat of music pushing silver eyes
through all bodies of the shrinking survived,

I miss notes played in life's hilarity,
in my engine gleaming to no longer move
he has buried his wrench, he is a fragile nerve
mechanic of all death his mouth is pursed on a spine
of the grey moth, in his coffin
rectum is a butterfly, eyes are pods
to birth a fresh sight of extinction
we kill the ground under our feet to move
toward him, dreaming life
skims the water wall of unnumbered,
the living take the dead into their minds
to make the ground come alive

my grave in the tunnel of a dying sun
set fine in a spectrum of lights
bathes in white salt raining
ditch-born, in a bankruptcy between distances

malfunctions among the stars
watch the sand's veil together linked
eyes pursuing venom lights over
horizon's mantlepiece of scattered incense
hot lights and lips and barn lofts
drunk and dreamless sleeping while the wires think

chirp with currents of the dead
all preyed down to traffic daylight,
stunned by excavated love
in refrigerated outdoors

wings of darkened presence, I think
of my father beating himself with a chain
on the highway of death, an abandoned car.
The streetlamps melt against
an unyielding sky, and all is flowering,
all is justice and grandeur, rats climb
the veil of law no more, all is shrunk
low to the face of the earth
the skeleton lights of gone ferns
flinching against the light
and the laughter,

the black wings of a darkened portrait
fly the idiot homeless
to a cave flashlit by pained eyes,

wings of darkened perfection,
he broke a portrait,
in time, you will become a gaunt robot,
the inspiration ringing in your ears

in a tin box at the edge of swamps shivering lies
a baby bird, the discovery of ultraviolet,
a tiny telescope, the foil wings
the small molten heart, a world reborn in triangles

liquid ship taking off into radio,
cancers of the sun picnic
bench unsteady, three mammals kissing
onward moss ground, warped gravity

twig dousing secret water
from the mouth of a guitar, magnet hearts
springing auto gears over monkey bars and mounds of green
to the sunrise rust of long abandoned swingset,
moments scarred where moons pick off their planets,

in a tin box at the edge we are shivering
in a particle cluster
of many shattered cores, shrunk galactic
reassembled, waterfalls unwounded on many blades,
the hidden joints of fresh made babies

big white bird on lapping water
grey-winged in mussed labyrinth
cattails, bent reeds battered
by the claws and wounded flight
of seagull speckled
or drunk fisherman
through the shore's failing net
of stunned vegetation, long boots
rubber in the living world

birdcalls interpenetrate across
force-field of hospital windows
the memory-lost in meek robes
staring out at their spirits
robbed and shrunk in the lightweight
breastplates, carriers of the old
blood world into the new blood new,
networks failing, sinews snap
out past the lawn legs too slow
to drown emperor head,

underarms of the wings thinking
forks of branch moaning bodies
believe they carry the core;
hydraulics remove the center upwards,
bright world outside pill-stained
window goes on without a brain, memory