Wednesday, May 29, 2013

.....

Tamer of the brute force from points at the bottom of the bulb
he rolled a mixture of tar and lampblack
until it formed motors the size of earth's magnetic field

his halo of color around the shadow of mother-of-pearl rainbows
its amplitude the vibrating air column
in a plucked string
.....
Outdoor honkytonk, symphonic pinecones,
the levels of the air lifted brightly,
the thrust of a galaxy is within me and feels,
my friends around me are musical
and move the cool dome
right up to the fireball.

Friday, May 24, 2013

^^^^^

I used to paint cans and stand them up
one on top of the other in long cerulean rows.
Now I'm filled with streets, most quiet
engine light over water, and a sleeping life
in the curvature's grimace of clenched hands--

barrels afloat brine rope are cloaked with what I breathe
for dank then distilled
fern plastic, the plume end of science
imprinted in braille on the back of a woman's neck.
I thought I was building a fortress.

Thursday, May 23, 2013

>>>>>>>>>>
A brown force field of twittering
birds
open windows of May time
soft
unseen blocks, raging cells

a black box covered in chickfeathers
where diamonds leap out on little legs
strange marks in the distance
blur dark to keyholes
melt seasons closed, small white petals
from nameless trees, blunt

love, a memory of the earth

Wednesday, May 22, 2013

.....

I open a black-lit flower
let a mite-sized bird
furrow the time-slowed air between us
up to your forehead and its precious appearance of forehead
up to the underside of uneaten leaves
their desire the stems cling the tips of the branches
you are tired of being observed by language
I am tired of speaking

River pounds shallow and wide
billows deep in places
has carried the corpse and the delights of the unwounded
and healed a broken dancer with cold slime
on a series of rocks
our fire's caught plastic
we run to the brick house
under a derision of geese
where a feeling that's never withstood
waits a safe distance
and the corners are barren with mattresses

Once a blacksmith, once a silk man
moved these rudders and melted
once a pantheress, once a queen of rooks
took an unready moon
through potatoes and leeks
to the bottom of tubes and fuses
and beyond the vast mantle
where a doll waits, in a goblet
I wheel through a daydream of girders

Monday, May 20, 2013

.....

In automatic darkness
he reaches for a heavenly bicycle.
A skeleton stands on a plateau
over his shoulder.
The handles are bloody with dreams.
Hard-packed sand road
bluegreen with twilight
easefully going nowhere.
The waterfall's on the right.
Hold me to a slender partner,
send me deep down.

In a dawn of fur and cloud
all he can manage is to pull some birch bark
and fall down on it.
The earth is a beautiful place to sleep,
and soon birds will fall out of the sky.
Around the cemetary benches
they will peck seed
from short scraggly grass.
Send me a slender partner, send me
deep down.

In the denial of sorrow
he will be building a sun.
To cast over the bountiful local hills,
their astounding existence
that so few love and see
that so few offer the tribute
of their expectant reverberate flesh
that so few are at one with
and them only flickeringly.
Send me past the clay of my fathers
with a slender partner
send me down.

Thursday, May 16, 2013

.....

I've been turned into a money conduit.
It seems to have taken a long time,
but I know it happened horribly,
the quick way evil enters the consciousness.
I wanted to cast whole new dawns
over my human race
and here I am flustered by numbers
that have no root in the earth.

Glow from the windows of houses and neon signs
the web of electric wires over the land--
our small room within it
is not a pocket, is not a square
and does not play music for the dead
at the edge of a false tranquility--
broadcasts infinite
for the spreading face of the sun
from a fogged corner, heals a few strange
makes most visitors sick in their blood
and is only partly financial.

Saturday, May 11, 2013

.....

The cloud becalmed
of a single life exploding
two tuft bulbs on the head
descending the dashboard

patterns of existence emerged
from time-hatred, heroes surfaced
on the porch, rind in brick of boston
where they put their denture-flames
on the bony sheets flowing deep
out of the age-machine

its mouth a particularly tender number
its frame of a deeply submerged color
letting us move short hours in your bed
filming our heydey there, with straw fire intact
on the strung bodies of servants, somebody
bronzed half-dead from the shower
who said hello, frailed out luxuriatingly
on the butterfly stairs of a rich basement

you can become a wounding moth
against the lamp, this evening frameless

Saturday, May 04, 2013

.......

Wind and sun are not enough for us.
We talk as if they are, on rocks
think of great wings over the water,
think of a railing, between ourselves
and the nothingness overstocked
with so much.

Slowly that thought has passed
which once crowded the world.
We sit in uneasy harmony
of the kind that doesn't break
light-boats of melted sand flakes,
nimbused with outline
of heat to carry the shadow,
over sand at rest, wet,
and not at rest after all.

These are the islands of escaped children
whose own orbs carried them here.
Not through the air, but through
the imagined air, where a brightness
goes to die in the mind.
And the mention of bluejays
and the mention of cardinals
arrayed against each other on
a dry-ice chessboard, brows furrowed
in loving parody of mutual respect,
the river is real, the river is a projection.

Thursday, May 02, 2013

......

I pictured us kissing at a bus station
and a red star fell through the bunch.
All of human history is a load of shit,
except the unspoken.
I saw a sculpture with piano feet
hanging just above us, and our bodies
were raining.
You'd bought your ticket and clung to it,
though all the information was scorched out.
You were not my stem, but I blossomed
and fell off.
In pieces, memory of life returned, we
were unwilling to view it.
Play the sad drum, play the insane
drum; this is the motionless
MOVIE

The rain machines are six stories tall.
There are claws in the air,
the architecture is suffering.
Helicopters are for entertainment.

Women are to run, men are to run,
pulling them by willing arms,
fire is for destiny, fire is the true nature of the world

Childhood is an urchin
splattered in a foggy rock.
Churches are leaning all around it.

Nothing is falling into the pit, yet.
.....

she could sing her way into stone
move her face into that goddess painting
hanging on the wall of my cave
I watch her uncaptured
.....

summer hail
winter light on warm ground
you started to live like a vagabond
then woke up in a monk's cell
pouring
griefs on stone, sputum on ancient craft,
sobbing to hear the wind, in that
soundless cavern.