Large refrigerators to straddle the midpoint over which force is exerted
and that will precipitate heavy metals from tap water with convex underparts
marching through many bodies to the endlessness of time with eyes clenched
softening the prism atmospheres triangular on earth
round with thinking, and raking yards in silent dreams
making love to mimes on schedule in the regimented rain.

The flaming house surrounds me
ten thousand daggers for ten thousand men
and I am crouching I am the lamp
naked cowboy cruising in a bathrobe
running broken-toed through stilted linoleum
vampire propeller of lost days, with a haircut
emptiness of washed-out background calling
floating in mid-air with eyes, with not quite right shoes

all forests are outside calling
together in triangle trenches from the outer
world carved inward by departed woods
shoveled dawn and shoveled shade in long piles
shrubs and their berrylike motions
tastes and their fragrance of falling
beams a tangle of flotsam flying
dead set pentagrams in a gruel's barn of mouth

rhododendron and blaze of gerbil
paths descending from sewage in the wet hill
long ditches of walkers with suspended tongues
buckets of tin in a stone unwashed floor
corroded walks of antique draped in ornament walkers
blazes framed in arctic sun trail
form relinquishing the keys of death
the flaming house comes to life in light of many flaming houses

neighborhoods dark with scorn decorate the hillscape
showing light the broken rock fences going out of style
long branches are hands in flight from gods
who never cursed the soil
nursed to life by torn tits and sheen of green earth
hanging limb in the middle of my life that never caught fire
that stays with me and pursues me til I raise it like a fist
conglomoration of shelled beings weeping in orgasm

THE NOMADS GAVE ATLANTIC SHEEP STATION

She combed the wild berries from her fingers
father slumping, buckling, or arching as the plates of the earth grind she
cut 36 squares from a sheet where the water is shallow
the people of the world beasts herders and hunters
nomads shipping meat and other products
pools left by the rain for the good harvest
prayers and songs done, they feasted, danced, no domestic animals
they gave today hand shears
I grind my gears in the belly of the sun
to make it run harder

Not only the miracle of waking,
the disturbed miracle of being awake
and the provided miracle of not waking,
but also the mother-fuckers who flower constantly
and won't watch the world change like an emotional glacier
the station of nature's no love
 eclipsed in a leaf-side
undervein splashing with honey of twilight
vermilion moon

Not only the miracle of sleeping, but also
the miracle of those who cannot close their eyes.

I am a child of the smashed earth.
Taught to love it with blindness, sight blazing,
I am the child with no identity but death, living.
Through the suffering and warriorhood of my whole existence
flanks are paler than the case of the paint can opener
anchored to the bottom with golden-red light
a zone of shrubs and dwarf trees and broad-leaved water
power-driven machines smelted in the ashes
two pieces of stone men struck together
in a little pile of dry grass to the darkness
of our planet home solar system

If I drive the wall into the furnace, does the furnace heal?
Will the roving mobs kneel at my capture?
Is the architecture fidgety, is remorse useful?
How many bodies has this consciousness used up?
The torches waver on the waves.
The night is remorseful, it does not ask permission.
The wallpaper caves and gives onto the eaves,
the calm of a horror window.

Leapers often crash and burn because the cemetery
life creates is too much for them: another always
appears, eating up the miles of stone, sluggard
with tiger face found lightning legs
leaped out of his own picture

Everlaughing at the end of fangs things brighten
and sag relax in place like empires sliding overboard
the continent's sky mirror the corrected acceleration of human dignity
the revolt of the whole howling animal kingdom from shag to shining shag
wrung higher than philosophy by the butt image, shining reality of ass,
which I light with the cargo of error which is mine
and through the emptiness of orgasm perfect sleep
everlaughing the bride of fangs which fangs brighten,
queen of tits whose caption headlines the morning sun.

Eyebeam at the earth-support post-paranoid museum
in the tape he appears to be walking under the infancy of video surveillance
beneath the hard wing covers no healer, merely a wicked troll the throat to tickle
from the trunks of a huge summer, male plant reproductive to water and itch
in the early spring, releasing millions of maple and oak trees and a delicate floral cake

We shall bring more life into life
with seepage and strength trained by killing
with knives and bonnets and bouquets more
with fucking gladly in the dwellings of the cursed where we live
with internal gods and external goddesses gladly
takeovers of the meek will reek of the same memory
but the blade whistle as if a sail turn
murderer to maker, taker of life to minister of pregnancy
parthenogenesis in the warm dot on the invisible forehead,
sharing cereal with endlessness of tabled people.

Cars and computers roll up like a pinwheel on the flesh side of each sardine
her gentleness in the world is water like magic from the wilderness
the town gates in paper-thin sheets are made with the same technique
as the laser beam reads the bar code and the banks are closed this golden band is
translucent if you know the mass of an object by wearing a backpack windmill

ENDLESS REVOLT

Drooling minerals.
The cold is beautiful snow,
the slow death preferable.
Bunnies leave their entrails
at the foot-posts of our world.
Born to be endless American,
devour apologetically.
A socket expanded to just take it all in
the face or in the distance.
Smitten by the possibilities
of rage turning on rage.
Canny foxes limber out
and catch intestines in their mouths.
Our death is universal: we will make sure
that everything alive goes down with us.
But as in a train backward--
when the moving pieces slide
glances switch to catch unwary
eyes and unresearched connection
is made, pink numerals leaping
mouth to mouth, fire's health to fire's helper.
The heat is beautiful light, our end will shine
on another world, drooling tearguards
that father suffering on what feels far.

A cry of rage with the whitest head pecked at the troll's ass
simmering under his steps like the death cry of Egypt
kissing bugs remove the innards and discard
the backbone, wash the insides and pat dry with paper
the auditorium of died kisses and cheekbone
a powerful animal turns dry grass, leaves, and wood
into mineral ash, water vapor, and termites
the eater of the heart bows to its manifest
a moist fecal ball, the breed honey by the bird's
tongue, the dung of herbivores eaten by this town

Knife is a machine that makes you figure 8
a machine increase both force and distance with a crash
multiplying distance the ramp doubles you
the other end of the stick lift the piano
the ramp, the distance over which you greater
push the piano
chop, chop, chop

he heard stamping hooves
she listened    thrashing

Clouds, dust, water, excreting a crystalline moisture from the night air
females behind blood-red or strawberry dark marking