Two little puff pieces of cloud

suspended

in the going of their holinesss

over ragged and light smeared hills

a track of salty tears

on stripped white pine.

Wherever they go in time's terror

the sunset horizon

pursues their robes of smoke

two unknown signs

flashing in tandem.

Nuggets of purple gold

on the cemetery's face

long sidewalks to nowhere

on the rough silk of curving Earth

breathing on hills

and slim low hanging clouds

the strangeness of some river

polluted by ink grey time

a mask sinking

in the sand bed

love roving over hours

where the light pools

like untouched money

and the water cools

the sill of the sky.

Our love will be torn

from the theaters

and placed on corners

of vine-crawled streets

by a rotating wind.

Belts of tape wheels

agitating in the sun

through the roof of a glass factory

where we walk barren aisles

with the kisses in mind

that have not died there.

Circuits of steam

that ride back alley fire escapes

your dress of flowers hanging on a line

my kidnapped eyes.

Make more emptiness in me.

Let me forget the flowers.

Under bridges I will smoke

and read the leaves

that are left.

Many will be altered as they pass

from raw sunbeam to sunbeam

line to painted line

minds roving high

above bodies.

I will keep the shade

and reserve these glinting shapes

tapping the vein of living ground

that knows an end.

Tankards of blood from my eyes

emptied through

the fallen lattice of ribcage.

Scopes left by falling stars

tunneling through space

glittering with scars

from the hot passage.

Saints of silence and dead time

perched on their radiant porches

ready to fall in the sabotaged atom.

Love recycled by fire

to return in rumors of steam

a force field of vibrating arrows

caught up in senseless water

and a godlike sneeze.

These burns will itch and fade --

that fly will die.

Planets teeming with beauty

will be seduced by the dark electron.

Blades turn in the arabesque

of hidden thieves

taking light

from the currency of fire.

The curb swoons by mirage

to join with liquid space.

A cigarette goes out

in the heart of an abandoned temple.

The hawk escaped from gravity

dives and dives.

You prayed to your gods

but they did not come.

Excepting every totem that

landed like a bullet

deep in flesh to be recovered.

Slabs of overpainted shoreline

on a fluctuating screen

my life lying next to yours

in the glow from a televised phonebooth

gone far down the channel

of these blinking years

in color to be commanded

from the stem where we fade out

far from our source.

At the cusp of the last waterfall

I hold a decorated rock

lettered with doctored moss

by a western knife

for your oriental pause

and your braids of light.

The waves lap the sun

at the height of an empty hour

green frames rise from ocean floors

a platform cups her feet

the vines that snake

across the walls of towers

lift her light up to the veiled sky.

Pedals of a drum that beats at dusk

the strings of a furtive arm

her unharmed way

first tick of a hand chiseled clock

on a garden wall.

Let the dry light run

to its pockets of water.

And the wigs on long sticks

be ruffled by a careless wind.

All eyes will be split

by a separating cloud.

Every grain in its hollow abundance

washed out to the ocean's bottom.

My umbrella of bones

its rag circle of shade

in a rift will remain

I tap dance

to the smashed candelabra.

FROZEN ON THE WOMB WALL

Cruel goddess, rule my life

with your whips of mercy.

Pour out the covenant of oil

upon my willing shades

and the terror of the dusk brighten.

Pull down the smoky pillows from the windows

let the cuts of light reign

and the bones of an ancient love

find flesh to walk again.

For hologram line boxed clouds

the crooks of a miraculous highway

long ruts with rank prodigious flowers

the cracks of a settled sun.

The wings of living things

point to you with the immovable humilty

of cut stone.

Trees bow down like reeds

without sackcloth and ashes.

The rubber yield of maple lines

peppers my aching veins

while you light up the bent depths

and stun the periphery.

The lost sun raging

and a milk drowned moon

your scent for my throat to drink.

Frozen suns

in the magnetic distance

calling to the oiled wheels

that roll my catapault home.

Split hairs

of the middle distance

breaking atoms of hot sand

the glass of the outer wastelands.

Needles in the flesh

that bloom with tired alphabets

vein's ruby electric charge.

The ocean's prismatic suds

washing a long knife.

Faces from the depths

of pressure conjured

fading in mid air

before they pop

the sky.

Evaporated mouths

that fly to darkest space

their invisible teeth.

Shells of the dancer's curves

standing crookedly on sand.

Walls morphing to a fortress

from an inner maze

cacophony of bone chains

the thread of a salt eaten blade.

Sheer cut sheen

on the wall with a thousand eyes

that I am vaulting over

bends with its sweet mirage

around my twin shoulders

afloat with a chain

of jagged glass.

Eyes bugged and yellow lit

with the fever of a cracked love,

torch of molten leather elbows

scanning the parking garage.

Four eyes on a glass plate

planet scattered in a comma of flour.

PURPLE QUEEN FROM TENNESSEE

I only smoke Purple Queen from Tennessee

stare through trees to the grime

of diamond chiseled trailers

made vivid by the passing sun

she says she wants to be

picked up and cracked like a whip

she came out of the thicket

of electrical antennas

to shed thick layers of death

and fight brightly with gravity

I remove her shoes with my mouth

while she sits on a milk crate

and the crest of the moon

hovers like a penetrated ring

exhale hot rays of mapped air

while she braids and unbraids her hair

and I worship the dirt of her birth

to disappear in chrome and high rises

or manifest in the old hill guarded

valley and eat my arms.

Lips eroded

from the kingdom walls

find the crumbled heart

of forms in broken symmetry

where the dance of stone

kisses back at fire.

Rims of a shining world

its statuesque corners.

My lasso for your tender waist

drifting into a canyon.

The tin and sand air

rushing through our dance of plaster

a delighted sneeze.