Her harps on the wind

fill the half bashed ears

of one destined to be the bad guy,

to paint the wet horizon regardless

to inner eye's perfection,

while she laughs

from her whole balcony

and the strings resound.

To label crates

with minutely manufactured

wheels of sound

in an invincible attic tower

my childhood's head in blankets

is a flash lit wound

and mirror begging back the twilight

where bones lean and I lie down.

Shields of bird flock

surround me as I dance

on the jagged rock ridge

the guards of time

have been fed their morsels

and now in broken light

I can kiss the Earth

run the rims of pools with me

cast the petals down

to dogwater and fallen ruin

to be resurrected again

harm's daughter

with the veins of future vacancies

a rushing hallway

of many pearl apertures

corners licked by lunar dust that sears

the packed and chattering boxes.

You hover in a space

where shade is bright.

Where cuts in heaving land

pour forth

their worm-spun miracles

and water unencumbered

spells your name.

A path flung to the sky

like a rope on fire.

Two forms in a bag

two solemn magnets

teething.  Lips aglow

with paintings of nobody's frame.

Torsos in a glass

whose fragrant ways

ascend to laughter

loins on fire in heaven

with nobody's name.

Lucid hammers drag me home

bright particle man

walks into a milkshake

armrests beaded stacks of gem

graphs cut into the face of ages.

Quartz hands for antique glass

lime buckets of dimly dreamed gin

a straw chair that was toppled over

ceilings mapped by a calendar blazing

with colored numbers

and shells of high sexed eyes.

Left at that mountain stone bench

a crushed can, one deft

and wiggling serpent

cash counters with leaf clenched stems

this field of thorns that flow

that snipped my ticket's

nub.

The stage cracked like an ice kiss

a goddess of ink black eggs

slithering amps and microphone cords

to the lambent ceiling

trashed by a radiant octopus

from the smashed clock's

last calling.

What hooks should I invite

from the fog?

Whose liquid spirit

to clog my rapt incisors?

Let them all bleed out

to the edges of the Earth's

brainpan, and curdle there

like a scimitar worm

to cut the sun from the sun

the totem pole spine

broken in its ornate chains

shackled to its inner light and gone.

I wait for her wings

in stasis,

wait for the killing tree

that grows me out.

Lines of reflected light

and captured lava

frame the empty lots

and erase the sky.

Her untapped heat

and restless departure,

my seat in the deep corner

of a dark shaft,

merely aligned in dreams

these pale arrangements

breathe.

Parenthesis of night

clasped around a swollen mountain

rocks bright with agitated heat

the paint of molten voices.

To share this legendary smoke

at the edge of a sheer ledge

cost lenses of ten thousand days,

the blood-shaken stories of stairs

extending beyond the one body,

the one wet talking tongue,

a white hot light

once more removed from grey

a heaving heap of gold scarred letters

a looming leap in shade

the street's a sheet

flapping.

Your nimbus dances

and contains my dancing soul

even when you're motionless

like an abandoned shrine

I watch from the stems

that grow toward you

I watch from the vines

that write your name

your angles are priceless

I paint reflections of the blade

your strut gives off

the little birds

with flashing beaks

that follow your fragrant circuit

twine around my steps in shadow

and pierce my thread.

When you burn the air

you burn the air

when the seagulls depart

in a wave

they depart in a wave

when your feet hit the shore

the sand cracks in gladness

when you put your straps on

buds move and flowers reek and scream

to be rooted

when you move your glass

or your sandal

or your finely combed teeth

of a deep and beautiful wound

my knees caress the shore

my elbows face and hands

I worship your diminutive

woman's navel

and let the trees bend

in my bent direction

while you try

all the fibers and smile.

The blinking bodies

of incarnate thought

their pretty shells of armor

casting light like coal.

Loves remembered in solitude

like a polished knife

the webs of many hearts

in automated struggle.

Two set apart

in a volcanic rift,

brought so close

by clashing earth

they meld into

a blindness of each other.

And the mortal branch

and the mortal sight returned

going somewhere deeper than space

and sharper than time

with a delicious

crack.

A pink leak

in the sorrow

of my dark blue cave

a damp charcoal mermaid

the ripples of my tidal floor

antennas in rank and file

all flexing brain stem and golden claw

drum beats of a bone song

silk teardrops on the snake and cross

and their union

my kite to the forbidden

heights and depths

a knife on the grid line

a rip tide soul.

Let the sun burn me

let the sands toss me

let the women taunt me

let the winds blast me

I'm a tattered remnant

I'm a finely carved dagger

master of cute molecules

in technicolor hot from my blood

you can lash my bones to the ship

I will listen to the sirens

hand me the whip to be remade

and I hand back

a planetoid of vines and vipers

intertwined in flowers

stamped with an evaporating kiss

Let the moon cross me

let the rivers eat me

let the sail scissored

by the sword of hereafter

be my banner and tongue-smashed flag.

Electrified vanilla knives,

a glitch-run enterprise

disowned by the thieves

who stole it.

Platforms pockmarked

by magnetic bombs

whose mouths of shadow

pour with lilac branches

and rust-caked conscious tools,

the seams in liquid rock

alert with frozen tongues

and settled fragments.

The panorama's gap

an empty eye

that swallows clouds

and rains on underground chambers

bright veins across tin floors

with little teeth

each one a sad enameled brain

a fallen stranger.

From the vacancies

in punched-out states,

from the weaknesses

furnished in gold,

from the old ways

crying and bent

and the new ways

crying and warped,

I come with the outlined fumes

of a rotten splendor,

I come out of the rot

fresh like moss,

you can't see my spinning rims

or cascading chandeliers

until they land on your planned attack

with a dancer's troupe and cargo,

with a whip and ten fists,

with the mercy of disintegrated love.

Frontiers close down

like sandwich time.

Someone is cradling

the dagger that finished it

like a precious jewel.

Shields of water explode

all over the wounded emblems

of a perfect calibration.

Salamanders crawl

through the paint brick walls.

The searing clean curve

of planets from a distance

a face full of unruly gravel

freed from gravity's chamber

or in its maw

the bronze lights

and long glass

of meticulously departed places

their yield of dark milk

the wheels in the ceiling

of an ever-extending tent.

Wind will talk to blue clad limbs

through the ditches of the kingdom

strewn with forgotten gold

the stems our hands have touched

will intertwine

the soul flown around in plastic bags

will find its evergreen cover

and the jabs of time

will fall to a greater curtain

all the veins of ancient highways

fresh as milk in glass

where the trampled seed is stubborn

and the bad seed lasts.

From the beautiful month of your birth

I look to the sky for signs

that the waves of deeply layered

forests will bring us together,

that the semblance of sacred stone

in the chinks of our vertebrae

will vibrate in delirious tandem,

that the fettered bark of growing trees

interlinks and knows.

From the bleachers in a cloud

that look upon a faint ethereal auditorium

I am eating peanuts in the gravy of the air

and I am betting on your lips,

your sweetly braided hair,

your tiny rebellious chin,

the set of your eyes

on my dedicated gravestone,

your climax's taste for laughter.

Let me climb into the mischief

of your ancestral curve,

be my shell's grain of sand,

my quiet reminder,

the gaze of many women

on this thousandfold man

bisected by a grand piano.

Let groans of love multiply like stairs

(no matter where they go in the grand meander)

forge between two

the weightlessness of monumental chains.