Long planets warm in the hive
trembling on lassos that
turn in what is nation/world
stuff from a crib of silence
stars banking on
what brown life has been revealed
thousands of imperfect lives brewing
regrets on blossoms and regrets
thousand lips
hip beaches turned upside down to the sun
fern vacuums spewing and spewing
time in an obelisk headlock.

Threads of blood stretch and twang like rubber
between me and a woman,
many women can pick them up and pull,
I find strength in flight
when their slingshots my nerves have snapped,
I find bridges in the air
where they have cast me,
and climb to my old habitat
where I go to bed with suicide
and try to come up alive.

Thorn stripes jettison bodies
banana hands grip weight of galaxies
torn men fall on planets of stone
grates leak old water to basement creatures
specks of sand in the eye of the mute
wan waiting terrorized babies
flexed beams enter a crater dome
flying skies scoop them out
rubble faces moving up
from a calloused earth.

Footprints on the backs of long arms,
linoleum breastplates, shining violet
gingerly replacing the sun,
tree lids anointed by dust,
heated hallways smitten with gas,
a zebra curled up in the palm
of a vibrating hand,
the smile of liquid things
in the hammock of a downward arc,
four streets converging into a melted star,
a fold of soft concrete,
before the muffled languages tap
their earthquake heart,
dancing on the damages of chrome
through the fumes of a setting world.

Soft footed on a broken bridge
toothbrush pocket and a long walk
to the diamond-cracking factory
brother sister nemesis births
loves parched and separated beyond what speaks
doses ripped from fresh suited armor face
frame heard frame ribs frame flesh
in an aching comma
and he follows a rain cloud
to the vast pan of the sea
wearing my clothes and sizzling
there.

In the dawn burn
I saw the earth open a new heart
the crushers on the horizon taking a lunch break
pistons streaked with zinc and the blood of the caves
graphite lungs on the water-wet rock walls
shimmering twilight stored in a fissure of the time stream
in the hidden ground of a thousand year march
to the crag peak land's impossible empire
gushing and walking planetary years
to spill on the belly and bed down
with no calendar drone's bones
as green takes the shutters' transparency.

Boom boom sticky rip
flipped magnets racing lips down
corridor of mercy that melts
the edges of many battles
tool shop of silent ears and rabbit shadows
burning hyacinth thrown against a rippling wall
blade's flight ended in a stump of ages
burned hall's coal mirror of reshaped souls
plucking with finger thumbs
long sounds over the arc of rug fur
ropes around the belly of a drum
signing palm print letters on wood
sending flocks to their unfulfilled longing
whipped with the flick of a list
names assigned like uncooked rice.

Doom of life always present within me
calling bridge to bridge
watching the monkeys on the highway
watching the violence eat shapes and space

cauldron of error which persecutes violence
clogging the blood system of root, error
of oblivion, error
and of wakefulness questioned by constant clamor
near dark and asking light

what palpable being takes air
and recycles its colors, eating
and remembers its wearing cycles, eating
and remembers
its fading nature like a tooth
in the everlasting fabric of resistance.

Fugitive everywhere I go,
few dawn voices,
mostly sliding suns,
pines lapping the ticket of fire,

fugitive everywhere I go,
shrugged off by transport,
severed by extending universe,
newly ported,
ducking through meals,
split by a lunar gash,
knuckled under by tar like fleas, like lice
diminishing in spite of crude multitude,
sagging from angelic haste
and leaving it behind for the maggot's carcass,

fugitive everywhere I go,
I lunch with gigglers to attempt,
I leave with many shadows to burn in,
I stock the haunted cafeteria,
I print the waffles and the stacks of books,
flung to the skim milk,
charged with keeping the temperature gauge lively,
slept on by the slept on,
unsheeted with the sheeted,

fugitive everywhere I go,
I stun the cooler, I slither
onto metal bars,
I crawl through acid pools
on a grown-over and pock marked playground.

Spatially distorted eyes,
wax wings, claw feet on quartz
piling intestines, crossed heart
a walking fog
a tenement bridge in moss
tenor draining wounds
into a high sack
big lit laboratory crashing
the spark from the blade of a plow
drowned into season.

Hey flowerettes, flung down
on hallowed concrete,
do you scream to the belly of my only womb,
do you desecrate, do you break,
is there a speaking in you that decorates
the wet lakeside rocks,
does the park infiltrate
its own service with lapped-up drones,
is we cloaked in a great conspiracy,
pounded and spread
beyond the nature of moss and fog
with a beaming greased nose
reflecting time's hate, time's
moods and time's tug of wounds
convinced by fullness thereof ?

In my animal body
I climb conversations numbingly,
hovering to stare at the blades of a vast fan
above all their heads, painting the air
with a drum, with an echo's heart,
an ass dog, fluted by the twanging calves,
hired by the flame's movement
to see beneath matter
and time.

Shrimp borders shift sodium continents
there are many missing things
and the fluffed horizon
aches like a man taking bread
but the sky woman accomplishes him
and the sinking ice cream parlor accommodates him
and the falling volcano loves his beard and his sneer
and the fucked earth convulses back
with a creaming vengeance
as he cries into the stem of a glass bird
how he needs someone to help him waste his days away
in the longing mountain.

Abysmal boy with beautiful lanterns
eyes promised to nowhere that have mapped the highlands
the syrup of lasses unconquered
glass diners breaking open into lit streets
with only the flow intact
butterfly hands that have found their longing
swooping phones on the head from a sky wire
tears that have turned to copper coins
mirrors that clamor for their footprint slash
he shines the windows between seasons
that have warped each other's borders into ramps.

The clear path painted with blood,
twilight hardening air,
bridges swinging from quick clouds
a torn world in the evening.

Glass shields irritant menus
where sheaths flower
against a wound.
Parks and bars thud
with radiant, smeared voices.
Dusk on salted figures
shot out the streetlights.

Oily hands move over the horizon
and stir the broken glass
with cut skin.  Bankrupt cities
coupled with smokescreen time.