Friday, April 26, 2013

........

The fake bear has a honeyjar bolted to his stomach.
His eyes are a spasm of idiotic pleasure.
His clawless limbs like glassy slugs,
his shrunken ears without fur or passage
for the music of breath and forest.

Nearby, sparrows pecking at a stack
of dried weedstalks are totally unaware of him.
His loins as smooth as a cartoon beach,
he doesn't hibernate because he does not live.
He doesn't slumber because he does not move.
He has been given the expression of one
ready to drink, but he never does.

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

......

Life's a blown curtain, I am in an industrial cocoon.
Lovers I've had, I love them now more than I did then,
and I don't want them back.
Even the usual litany of humiliations makes me smile,
the sun hammers on my shell.

I watch a tailgate party through my thought-bubble.
We are friends drinking beer, and we are about to be
killed, by ourselves.  We were not graded by the clouds.
We are still here, somehow, the ducks skirt sheen-puddles of oil.
They eat our soured bread from the pebbled edge.

Some unseen day nobody will record, planet-splinters jibe
with satellites, they move not because I've imagined them,
and they have no thoughts.  No librarian with hands
to cup the music; and it is alright, the riversides
and dried leaves are enough.

Friday, April 19, 2013

......

The floors of the apartment
aglow with burnished wooden sun
reflect a wandering stranger
who has stolen my slippers.
Ship's outlines shadow the walls
sails moving over hung photographs
he won't give them back.

I have to reach through his sadness
to take them, his fear of death
with all its plumage
intact or scattered.
His wormy stare.
My mask of delight
turns his chest to black ashes
and winks its way out, its history
of red clay from under the swingset,
glint of mica and low brightness
of lichen in dusk, and we are lost
in the mask together.

A hardened minnow from the anti-depths
of space drops out of its eyes
through the center of the body
and the floors ripple
glinting shattered light
to a gun on the overpass,
to watch a soul fall within binoculars,
and to take a slim jar of milk
from between his scorched ribs, to feed him with.

Thursday, April 18, 2013

........

we were man-wild in the streets
and now we are aging
we were pulse-pounders
and now feel an ebb in the blood
turn up the stereo car and we'll burn
close to burnished curbs

in sacrificed memories, an altar of smoke
legs spread one last time
wasps sting through linoleum
calves cry out as lungs buried
churning breath of alien air
turn up the train speakers

let's mask a dance of death in garden colors
one last loud time
one wavering quiet

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

.......

I remember the concentration camp of pleasure
where we lived together
like a pornographic trailer park on fire
and the wide hills and brittle railways
over and upon us
in a breaking tumult of old pine,
dying sun, breakfast on acid ground
in lichened courtyard, marble seats
on claw-retreating paws
and the world without teeth
falling sideways through
a mud cathedral;

these memories I've bombarded
that still dance figures into
my flesh, still shape
the twilight to a tongue of clay spade
and that cat that never came home
is chewing my rubber toe
on the hot rock doorstep
mange-painted and bloodshot

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

........

Everything around me of a fibrous frozen matter
a vast region
with a dismal moaning sound of wind

nature became thickly covered with hoarfrost, my whiskers jutting out
comet pills indiscriminately pelting all around
in a sea of fire which had just disgorged me

terrific monster of the air for a space of twenty compact rubble heaps
I soon found myself whirling through a chasm in the cloud the splendid tail o

having been belched up and swallowed down repeatedly by this
to my great joy
.......

Down toward the families of blood plastics
when a tree is cut through
this moving dynamo differs from the time clock

each catastrophe can account for the history in the cooling system
dark-tipped from a den and shaken off the dirt, when the silvers heard
antimatter rainwater, under gravity, a shiny, gray, solid chemical

A light ring grows each that the room is at the thorax
and a dark one grows each, and the furnace shuts

masses to the mouth again emptiness between them,
then followed force, and marched to the torrent

Saturday, April 13, 2013

.....
A lady with a fiery tiara the size of a room,
all the magnetosphere being rasped off my finger ends
whisper-thin winds among the flowers, gulping animals
the shanks of the golden eagle seared and broken
locked in his cell, judging the ricocheting echoes
the huge eyeball devoid of feeling

Thursday, April 11, 2013

.......

eyetooth, in the far corner
received in planet glare
for the thirst of the galaxy
a blood lamb, buried in salt

the fronts of nuns and the backs of storefronts
pigeons and sparrows in common green
the throat of a charred altar
a fresh sailor buried in ink
at the height of the harbor

like Frieda in drag, boardwalk-wise,
planks people toward me
forms and reflections in prayer of existence
dragging a net for the soiled sheets
of late dreams in arrival

Friday, April 05, 2013

<<<^>>>

The rose in your mind is bound on synthetic snow
in steel fingers and cunning joints and electric wires
and punched cards--an electronic master

death-bringing stars within air spaces of the leaf
wrapped in a gossamer veil a crust of dark matter

then a spongy mass, which, from stone fireplaces
to split-rail fences and peeled molecules
your soul shall also wear a wet suit with a window for his eyes.

Wednesday, April 03, 2013

(*)

She dances like a sight-full flower
with roots for a joke
or endless movement

an electronic epiphany
puts April strong in her legs
to shoot up in visions
past the height of the power lines

we have wandered on the mirror of the earth
have given up some already gone thing
to see this one stirring

yet
death doesn't turn off his security cameras
when he sees her coming in infra-red

the reflective soil has no maw
to take her in, we are hired for digging
not to love, or to save

so she goes somewhere dark in our blood
and spirits there
chronologically unsatisfied

Tuesday, April 02, 2013

Queen Panic

Everlastings.  The painted lady or thistle
pelvic girdle and posterior
appendage wrinkled into mountain ranges
by the pressure against each other
I brought a tragedy into existence
by watching the playground empty
then falling into a trash can:

100,000,000,000 birds face layer from the sides
from crest to equilibrium peoples and Babel languages
the number of waves passing a slave girl feeds on arrowweed
travels down the rope in complete vibration,
a cycle of a compact mass of coils
birds which feed icecaps to hum the colder regions
of the upper fore-limb awakening death's dawn
to glance on the flanks of an invisible ship,

a separate source of light--skull and blankets
these two sources overlapped in the region
behind the double vanity, a third screen,
these waves worktable rows of white spots

Not that the earth is alone, for as she belonged
to the drug and high-technology Sun, silver
to the Moon, copper to Venus, iron
to Mars, lead in his spare time, seeking order
to Saturn, tin to Jupiter low of loin
above crest, and lilac furrow

Monday, April 01, 2013

<^><^>

I don't drink Coca-Cola;
I think about Coca-Cola.
The big trucks go by, preparing the fizz
of battery acid red.
Knocking the enigmatic insignia
from my soul's template,
filling the basin of a baseball stadium
with great power--it is opening day.
I have bitten my lips for a whole year.
The patriotic air is unfamiliar, now,
forever, extends.  My country is dying with me.
The resurrection and the river of lifeless
space pouring through a wide crack
in immediacy, stuns
a quiet pigeon from the high-domed
air and lands him unflapping
but for a twitch on the pitcher's mound.
I try not to mistake life for death,
death for life.