.....
A lady with a fiery tiara the size of a room,
all the magnetosphere being rasped off my finger ends
whisper-thin winds among the flowers, gulping animals
the shanks of the golden eagle seared and broken
locked in his cell, judging the ricocheting echoes
the huge eyeball devoid of feeling

.......

eyetooth, in the far corner
received in planet glare
for the thirst of the galaxy
a blood lamb, buried in salt

the fronts of nuns and the backs of storefronts
pigeons and sparrows in common green
the throat of a charred altar
a fresh sailor buried in ink
at the height of the harbor

like Frieda in drag, boardwalk-wise,
planks people toward me
forms and reflections in prayer of existence
dragging a net for the soiled sheets
of late dreams in arrival

<<<^>>>

The rose in your mind is bound on synthetic snow
in steel fingers and cunning joints and electric wires
and punched cards--an electronic master

death-bringing stars within air spaces of the leaf
wrapped in a gossamer veil a crust of dark matter

then a spongy mass, which, from stone fireplaces
to split-rail fences and peeled molecules
your soul shall also wear a wet suit with a window for his eyes.

(*)

She dances like a sight-full flower
with roots for a joke
or endless movement

an electronic epiphany
puts April strong in her legs
to shoot up in visions
past the height of the power lines

we have wandered on the mirror of the earth
have given up some already gone thing
to see this one stirring

yet
death doesn't turn off his security cameras
when he sees her coming in infra-red

the reflective soil has no maw
to take her in, we are hired for digging
not to love, or to save

so she goes somewhere dark in our blood
and spirits there
chronologically unsatisfied

Queen Panic

Everlastings.  The painted lady or thistle
pelvic girdle and posterior
appendage wrinkled into mountain ranges
by the pressure against each other
I brought a tragedy into existence
by watching the playground empty
then falling into a trash can:

100,000,000,000 birds face layer from the sides
from crest to equilibrium peoples and Babel languages
the number of waves passing a slave girl feeds on arrowweed
travels down the rope in complete vibration,
a cycle of a compact mass of coils
birds which feed icecaps to hum the colder regions
of the upper fore-limb awakening death's dawn
to glance on the flanks of an invisible ship,

a separate source of light--skull and blankets
these two sources overlapped in the region
behind the double vanity, a third screen,
these waves worktable rows of white spots

Not that the earth is alone, for as she belonged
to the drug and high-technology Sun, silver
to the Moon, copper to Venus, iron
to Mars, lead in his spare time, seeking order
to Saturn, tin to Jupiter low of loin
above crest, and lilac furrow

<^><^>

I don't drink Coca-Cola;
I think about Coca-Cola.
The big trucks go by, preparing the fizz
of battery acid red.
Knocking the enigmatic insignia
from my soul's template,
filling the basin of a baseball stadium
with great power--it is opening day.
I have bitten my lips for a whole year.
The patriotic air is unfamiliar, now,
forever, extends.  My country is dying with me.
The resurrection and the river of lifeless
space pouring through a wide crack
in immediacy, stuns
a quiet pigeon from the high-domed
air and lands him unflapping
but for a twitch on the pitcher's mound.
I try not to mistake life for death,
death for life.

^^^^^^^^^

The trucker is having the time of his fucking life.
His gasoline lunchbox, his liverwurst
prepared by a countess.
He is letting his angst balloon
into the radio frequencies.
He is luminously understanding
all the glad and sinister messages
are for him, but not for him alone.
Nevertheless, he is almost criminally
solitary, a stone carved heartily, left in its own
chiselled dust, he cries into a silver bullet
then seals it up in the glove compartment
with a cracked toy airplane
and the remnants of his marriage degree.

I wave to the trucker because I recognize
the strange stubborn miracle of his transport
but he only nods begrudgingly.  He is taking
a cargo of neon screws
a fleet of french fry ketchup plates
in flying saucer formation
and a crumpled pack
and the blah blab lah
goddamn windshield wipers
as a stunted language of mother--many wheels
passing the laundromat--begs her daughter
not to climb into the round and punctured mouth
of the open dryer, though it looks
bound to happen.

<*><*><><>

Imaginary grandfather took his special flask
down from a high shelf, his hands
were the blades of an old saw.
He opened a valentine wormhole
by looking at the wall
between himself and not quite immortal her.

I've been gazing since, no matter how many
ships and goggles I gather for speed and blur
to paint highways over forest,
in deep corruption to be accepted.
Imaginary grandfather took down
a paintcan lid speckled with whole stars.

Orphan Vortex

I was a boy in a small frame
with grapes growing out of my chest,
vulnerable to all the wind.
I was a girl with early lipstick smudged
by a flying brick, and I do fight back.
Whole parades of human beings moved past,
smitten with plastic words, we spoke
across ruined air.
Intertwining above and below the blood,
we learned to share one body,
to make this nightmare smile.

NEIGHBOR CAT

Matilda on a bright mat, velvet black
brown and red striped fibers
big squares of sunlight
so pert in eternal window
this moment cannot eclipse her form
she is a swervy shape in fur
in the doorway's window on the dripping world
she is paying attention to the weather, nonchalantly

Matilda
on my wrists I can observe the shape of your claws
to remember you purred against my veins
you are ecstatic in your off-hand cruelty, your
cut train of thought
so small and hard in your eyes
you are the portrait of my feline self
shitting on ashes

THE NOUMENA

The king of laughter came around, yapping
about a woman who fascinates him totally,
slamming his strong square head in the freezer.
Talking about the noumena, the expanse of the unknown
that frisks us when we wake deeply,
he fell through the kitchen floor in a riot
of clothing that discarded light.
He bellowed from the basement and leapt
singed and grinning
up through the gaping linoleum to stand on the edge
suddenly munching a zucchini, asking between bites
how the world economy should be melted into happiness
by a fire dance, how he should be first in a conga line,
how he should fuck, finally.

The king of laughter has a pain in his side
from a rotten rib, he still reads the Bible,
but only the dirty parts.  He visits
because the outdoors, he says, only insults the sky,
even in the woods, even on a mountaintop,
he can feel the inadequate architecture.

When the king of laughter has exhausted
the night-life, he finds a stone apartment
and lies down.  His snore is an engine
that starts it all up again.
In the hung afternoon
he is leaning against pines
with his cereal bowl full of blood flakes,
he is like Oscar the Grouch with a hard-on.
His audience waits in a thicket of earth-dreams,
he moan to bring 'em through a galactic cervix,
his bed is still wide open but now
he can't lie down.

()*(*)*()

The tiny, foolproof mutant moth in British smog
from falling water, which spins the machinery of power

folding and eruption
the face of the earth

massive walls take shape around us
distribute the flame into an even curl
lip downward and outward; draw it
backward; three heads together deep
hollow behind soft and slanting breast
between 3rd and 6th
ribs; with the sun's face blacked out by a disk inside

(..)

Every day I feel the contours of your absence
slithering in my belly.
Every day I must allow
the flames in my shoulders to flicker down
and let my arms hang quite limply
in the water of life.

I strut around spending money and drinking
friendly laughter from the air, trying to stifle
for one more night the invincible disquiet,
the mortal hum.
Astral vines that grow from my pores
want to be bathed in the milk of your ribs,
your fiery outline on the wall
of a tumultuously growing forest,
the door that you are
and the cathedral that sprouts from around it.

Until my room is all moss
and my pen hand is cold
as a buried stone
somewhere on earth
I will think upon
how everything I love is lit by you
I will study
for the core of everything that suffers from thought
the fiberoptic crossroads
where desire burns against eternity
to extend and extend
its meek love and its proud love,
its loud love and its quiet love,
until all the fertile chambers of the unknown galaxy
break down to pour it out.

POWER-PACKED PHOSPHATE FOR THE FLAME OF LIFE

From the flow of raw
by the cell from the atmosphere and the soil
this millionth of
a bucket brigade for energy
throughout the living world, in animals as well

As yet, the exact manner in which into its lethal halves
locked in the granules of the worlds beyond the milky way
the affinity of carbon breaks
animals fill a cold room
the air is warmed, moistened
it soon becomes sheaths, which accounts for the difference

Threaded coupling exhales, he gives off much
as the green moves in
as the dusk flowers

~^~^~^~

If the firmament remained
unshifting, man would wink out
beneath.

For the fire returning, for the
earth giving up another notch
of eternal space.

Be spoken, by low bushes, by
puddles half frozen and all
things winking half-eyed,
necessarily wounded.

{~~*~~}

When you stand apart let the sky feel closer to you.
When you go grocery shopping let the strands of the sun
connect to all your follicles lovingly.
Let the light of green peppers and other items
reflect the skin of your flesh accordingly.
For we all thirst after you, and you are tired.
For you desire to be loved in the comfort of a vast cloud.
May the hammer in your ribcage finally crack the heavenly door.
May you come down on me like a real sunset.

Rawmn

I am emptiness, terror.
The tethers of imagination,
painful scrawlings on cell walls,
the feel for life imprisoned in cliche.

In the dawn light of sarcophagous towns,
I paid false angels to whip me with bicycle tires.
From the genuflecting heaps
of their dying, participatory victims
came no word of how to avoid
being futuristically broken
and presently broken

so I simply left it all
drying to premature age
in its unearned spotlight
and laid up in healing, hurting salts
for in my short life
what passes for a very long time.

(((((

Take your gypsy skin to the dull sound of the dryers
take your hurt venom to the ultimate elsewhere
please reside apart from mine broken being
which apart from be

take thy print strongly through the side-bank steaming
angry on the horn of the car

moving always when they told machine
shoving digits through paper flower
knots enough for
we will always
at
tack

(((((

__)(__

The geese are wearing beautiful masks.
Mine is heavier.  Flight is an afterthought.
The landscape is whimpering under our many feet.
The sun punches dripping holes in the snow.
Riverside explodes
with roaring white ass-feathers
of our cousins the swans.

Next is the planet of all birds, slowly arriving
in the torched sky.
There will be a place for one man there:
I latch the window of my helmet
and to my honking fleet
I hang on.

__)(__

~()~()~()~

I left a trail of hats and sunglasses.
I drank until the moon capsized
and then I, kept drinking.
Fields rushed by in an unplanned riot
of gasoline maps,
the babble of sinister squirrels
under the projections of old men
in dilapidated fur.

My scalp torn by midnight after midnight,
everywhere I knelt became a rushing tunnel
of errant prayer.
Desperation was my suit and my song,
the unearned pride of getting used to it,
shoulderblades tickled by the longest branches
of this land, I began to lie down
earlier and earlier, chuckling
about the snail in my belly.

Women who cared sadly for me
laid their masks upon mine
and we languished beautifully that way,
painting the weather into a small radio
with our clefts and our hairy rivers of blood
burping fire through vast pornographic laundromats.
We watched the world through quartz of warped glass
bean-shoots of planets fertile toward the sun
until invisibly it began to come down.

~()~()~()~

)~`~`~`~`~`()

The quick night thunders,
the growing night folds my hands.
I have bound up my tongue;
should I loosen it again?

Hungers deeper than my body can contain alone
wrack me day and night...
and do I have a right to cry out,
among so many others crying?

Maybe you will be foolish enough
to pray for me, to sympathize
with my common and paltry madness,
to conquer the world through dreams.

I have not run out of language,
but today I do not want to speak.
Surely you can understand my body...
surely someone somewhere understands my body.

)~`~`~`~`~`()

)()(

two lavenders
magenta and orange
I built myself a throne of magazines
to treasure silence
toss off ecstasy
the emptiness of beauty
two eyes on a rag
beer inside the heart
lung flowers of smoke
a certain pulse sound is waning
from the upper deck
where love won't listen to reason
no commands are coming

two lavenders
magenta and orange
the creatures dancing in canvas
who come out only for my hands
none can keep me company
in my body bent backward
from love and understanding much, too little
the murder of fictional destiny
that they cannot soothe
for they are moving

pulses.  The photoelectric surface is made up
heads and wings and long tails
the sex glands

slow heartbeat
the trachea in the throat

shelled evening
stars hardened in their casts
to watch the tension ascending

Hollyhock instruments and furniture
on the brightwork of boats, the superior vena cava

leaflets that turn red throughout the United States
and a scattering machine that must be split into different beams

each of the smaller tendrils a pattern of the sound on smoke
with five to seven lobes off a mirror standing near

three kinds of tubes: speech made the membrane for teaching caged
birds to sing with each other, creating light and dark

a disklike sucker pad which attaches
their peak in the famous

<*><*>

I turned into a cat.
I ate and moved back and forth on the floor tiles.
Do you love me more?
I believe I will tolerate you for quite some time.

Don't put my affection on a tow-rope.
The whiskers will come around presently.
Yours is to sit and wait.
Mine is the territory, claimed so quietly.

<*><*>

{}{}{}{}

The little girl is dreaming of gold.
Her father is holding a bullet.
They are together under all the winds of the earth.
Shopping carts and pinwheels roam
the scorched, flat terrain without will.

Someone is singing a song for them:
an unextended man, a very sad man.
As he raises his voice from a stone fence roadside,
the fibers of his being are infused with tender prophecy.
From the fracture in his spirit cast,
a healing river meets the many currents.

The embrace goes beyond blood.
Father and singer are one.
Tarnished earth, the choir of melted libraries,
the way the soft weight of the innocent child
hurts the arms that know.

The singing throat, love that wavers
no longer, suffering and still.
They are two men: they learn to talk
and then learn not to talk.
The little girl is dreaming of an unbroken god.

{}{}{}{}

*~*~*~*~*

a lattice shell around the open mouth
and the four other feminine ways
there are, to call me home
wires around the soul bunching

there is a bulwark of stone serenades
in the center of a cemetery
and a beercan, and a dampened cigarette
next to the tree that has seen nothing

and the textbooks, full of distilled valentines,
that will be made from its passing
the mold of crass destiny from a pulp of ancient wood
the mask successful even when broken
the freedom of the will locked up in a bus-stop bathroom

windows are salt swept into corners
a scaffold of chipped floors
a barren place to parse the electricity of death
which the field and the flower could not open
the curve of the last barrier singing against a wind

we anchor the ceiling to a life of chimes
and do not speak of its bombing

*~*~*~*~*

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

Take my broken body
my trash mind
take my warped creations
my insane mission
take all these for your pleasure
all these for your time unweighed
lash me to your strength and your terror
an instrument of your imaginary galaxies
my fear in your fear
my near-total lack of understanding
gather these unto you
I am your harmonium

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`

~~~~~~

I love your dark dark
blood rich, Miss so much misused
by Massachusetts

the residue of a forgotten affection
coats my being from head to foot
and the sweetened horror
and the mountainous edges
melting in a wealth of planet light
hurl my song of water and sleaze
into the thinking air
and will not wait for propriety to shape its passion

you are an angle in heavens
that scorches the nearest bulb wall
and I wear its scratched fire
and I wear its silence like a second skin
and I wear its wound and its wig
and I wear its obscure image gleaming
wherever your body is absent and my eyes dry up on the earth.

If I could speak to you in the voices of every epoch
I'd woof time is not between us
all that can be discovered has found
a rift unknown to open
it is only these many fears of flying
the force of our division from a naked rib
which split along three seams
which split along two seams
which split along one seam
remain closed and do not release

~~~~~~

~`~`~

Magic is illegal on earth
and the false burden weighs, falsely;
light conveys to the bearer of light nothing,
she who visits is not the inertia of other planets.

There will be a merger of flesh with plastic,
there will be a total absence of ethereality
the cosmos will not lay back
stunned at all our beatings
and now that even the dark art has departed
alien are the inheritors, sacred only
are those who go up in flame alone.

~`~`~

[[[[[[[[[[]

Here in the earth's half-circle,
inadequately cloaked.
Semi-world's dying on the comma
of the tongue, the language of the body
in a grid of freezing snakes,
fur on the last ellipse
in a dying dialect
scythe-rings of a reachless planet
night moving apart
without resistance and without eyelids
watching the sky-hoop close over
vulvic magnet snowcap dawning
here in the earth's full bulk
still dozing

[[[[[[[[[[]

>>>>>>>>>>>

To see you in so much pain, brother
my teeth hurt from my skull
for the metal casing in which you live
hesitantly inhabiting your hard bed
your room of wood and glass
too high to climb down from
where the walls freeze
you are attentive to each common animal
to each fractured sun
you heed what comes down hard
and what rises frantically
I have a cesspool in my jaw
for the terrors you inflict upon yourself
so casually

>>>>>>>>>>>

THE HIJACKING DANCE

I was exiled from the woods
you were the queen of metal town
I was the king of the apartments
you were a runner of diamonds
which I never cared for
but your hands

ghost rivulets run
across imaginary planets
turn wheat to the air
mesh wants with desireless void
hear the thousandfold tractors doing nothing
as if we could watch each other's weather
over torched surfaces
shovels bent in rust on ditches' sides
water flowing that we wish would stop
and the airlines that move their tortured cables
into all this with the moss that beckons
and the railroad failing
and the subway coming through the wet soil regardless
and the appointed time for the moon to crack
the music of servants who slept on knives
while a short-lived camera shaped them in buried caves

I was the con man in your rearview
pretending to grin
you were not driving with elegance
it must be said that a restaurant exploded
it must be framed that we were at the centerpiece table
gleaming with the beauty of partial oblivion
waiting for one another to eat olives
from matching glasses

there is an end to the telling of memories
there is an ellipse in time-sheets
where even the softest gaze flickers out against
you who play with gods
you who make plans for society
tell me you have a name for it
so that we may laugh at one another

you were the mother of rulers
I was the father of no narrative
our war was mixed in with the lovers
a short-lived camera shaped them in buried caves
their blood on the reach of our splendour
their movements tethered hard to our cessation

we sat in separate beds on the same earth
warily eyeing each other, searching the spaces around each other
in a deep forgetfulness of windows
you were the queen of the woods
I was exiled from metal town
smiling

.......

A dusty diamond cluster cracks and blooms
between a pigeon's shoulder blades
on windows facing windows
in a narrow alley
the universe crushed into the 3rd floor
trembles with combs in hands
to skim cobwebs from feathers
pull twine from bones
take down time's fertile curtain
lightning pulled from the clock
a towering sorrow, a neutered phonebook

.......

)(()(

To the depth charge in rust
under the shine of the harbor
she is swimming powerfully downward
without a mask
with no jewels in her eyes
just the kindness of a creature falling

her fingers ringless trace in time
the boards preserved in salt
of my ship's bowing side
her ringlets uncrowned
spill life on sand her heels have trod
I'll rot my treasures open in the tide

)(()(

ROB THE PROPHET

His lower legs were melted off in a fry factory
he lay in bed longer than sleep toward birth
he began to have visions
to manifest and project
persons not yet arrived who would make deals at night
in the bulb light of his hollow room
he watched them changing
in the fog of their own presence
and he drew them out
led police to a broken-bridged ledge
broke his heels on the jump off
broke their eyes with his landing
broke the dream with his life of the world's ending

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

_______
}{}{{}{}{

Through the riverside thicket
I see a dim star, a distorted milky way
the deep behind it
the rough light won't make the water fade
all the factories have stopped blinking

If I can see my errors
in going to the store, and the emptiness
of all my hellos, all my
I'm doing well, all my worship exhausted
on the shore not yet licked smooth
why can't I step out of this path?

It rustles to fragment
it shivers to join the regimented maze
it leaves stones in my hand
that I picked from stems
and a marriage certificate
to be burned in the far corner of a parking lot

Through the winding of the water
I see the scarecrow in my clothes
signing check after check

}{}{{}}{}{

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Pigeons puff dust of seasoned salt
a cage of cameras
wielding institutionalized bodies

feral cats perched in branching air
teeth at the wind's edge to gnash
or grin at what pours over the sides

a childhood rain from a stadium ceiling
the crystal of civilization
where dead conversations graffiti the mind

when the country came too close
we held hands and jumped onto its forested boundaries

where the street's become a cage
she's an ivory-smasher
seated on a glacier's child
back of the dream she organized
my head will go bald in this room

she's a day-reducer
a full tub of evergreen fingers
my life performed in a nimbus of burning money

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

FINISH THE WINGS FOR MONA LISA

The song of the cicada has to be the epitome 1,000 times its own weight
of the stunning: a red lady
the wafer-thin bones of the face flow of energy upward
the twisted stamens of blooms that have long called the watery planet

the smell, the stab of the thorn, you form a pianist, a marksman--
the moon once baked in constant mesh
twisted skeins of hair energy in a flood
a crystal of copper day duplicated on earth
fluoresce through its black paper wrapping
and five billionths of this flocked to have their skulls read
elite among atom-smashers

+=+=+=+=+=

>>><<<

The ruins of a bird's nest
cotton from cigarettes, crumpled straw
birth's viscera, and the leaf-stems
of sacrificial trees
our efforts

You can find me on a floating porch
next to the highway where the creatures flee
in rubbered steel, to their deranged holidays
I'm not waiting for flesh on flesh
only to be removed from the human circuit for a moment
only for the animal twilight

An aborted hand, a ghostly unfinished ribcage,
small enough to cover only three frozen knuckles
on the back of my wishing right hand
to carry all the vacancies to empty plenitude

We are the gnashing grain
in the glades by the side of the tar there is still room for us
to stand and wait leering in whistle grass
trunks groan, artificial light goes down to the harbor
to be reborn in reflection

>>><<<

~-~-~-~-~

From the womb, the sun slammed into him.
When he began to think
he discovered he could not stop.
When he moved without, he moved within.
This motion was pain.  He looked for a day
that could cease, and when it came
he pulled all the other days
into its crater's pool.

He dumped out all his cups: where does anything go?
He burned all his blueprints: the structures rise
somewhere in the twilit outskirts
of the same aging universe.
The saviors failed him; he failed the saviors.
In rooms they talk, in open spaces
they speak and speak: language is mostly shield
and rarely pierces.

He took all his precious things and mixed them
with household trash.
Nobody dares clean in there, but they glimmer
even as they regurgitate darkness.
He banished himself from the only realm
where we continue to live; and the living
is freshly questionable.
And it seems he did not escape: he is lodged
deeply within--intermittently without--
uneasy as ever.

~-~-~-~-~

~~~*~~~

When freshly caught
cleft beyond the eye
hung by the hamstrings from the beauty of machines

I often see parrot fishes
a mass of molten silver and sun baths galore
our approach corridor
after a road connected it to an azure sea

water like the blade which is a static force and does
and the song is wafted down sweeter and fainter
the weight of the volume of air
and so soars and sings until he fades from view
in a hydraulic cylinder and a series of pulleys

~~~*~~~

~=~=~=~=~

Some paper gods and human cells
up against the values to softness and rolled on mats
the violet plant with its five
free from animals and vegetation
up to the very walls of the government and to the tablets
the form of a hollow sphere silver-spotted

divides leaves into leaf to the seawater as the outer ones dissolve
the process a dark, coppery red to be gently bell-shaped
on earth the weightlessness of black wings are white barred
pyramids of round fruits discard the white tendons
should space not be curved
locust, clover
the moon will become the gateway

~=~=~=~=~

{}.{}.{}

Just look at my tapestries
not my trapped face
alone in a rip tide

I've been an organic factory, churning

alone in the printed walls, there is
a creature free of system
a sung form waiting

we live in an internal sea; this ancient area

a tufted network
and lies behind the breast bone
what ties an atom to a neighbor by the lens

I felt the blood which is being battered
force winds back across understanding of crystal
to decay somewhere in the north

scores dead, thousands of homes and buildings
the body can show little more

{}.{}.{}

*.*.*.*

of the clock merge at mid
the day increases; as the sun orange-red with white patches
only as a tiny disk dissects lightning
so that you do not fall into the descending streaked with white, both conditions
among the dead, and there to erase like a bridal gown

nature is always the same rocket powerful enough to land a human
a large doll walking his dock, radio noise erupting
one big terminal across another part of the tower
the railroad's private microwave radio network the divine purpose of all things

wind pushes out electrified atoms soft colors of Jupiter
the mirrors, the mirrors--I am only a spectator in this priesthood and soldiering
unknown cosmic rays--one of the angular, with few visible scars, and
with a space-walk laced the continents over many miles, flashing messages

*.*.*.*

*.*.*

The macula unlike a movie screen
with its unmarred surface, prepared quartz

rivered with veins and arteries, and in the padded cabin
he once hurled a glass how long is a second

a committee of the motions of the heavens
star clocks alike in winter millions

*.*.*

~~~---~~~---~~~

Within the time which is near within the time which is come
pictures we have of the landscape zigzag as a dish
ultraviolet as cloud decks move
from sun to sun; there was no time to think to transmit

they sent it in puffs of smoke, in the sound, in the flesh of metal or mirror
pulsing through their thin metallic nerves to root for the thighbone
as a glowing band of light the ear unites with

Brisk bay winds dust the furniture for relaxed living
machines bring into our living rooms invisible waves, flows and forces
machines extended our muscles into a vapor--which even a dead universe
will transform into something else

A huge hollow in the clouds which stirreth not
a runaway greenhouse in a new cycle
a mass of shining, spinning earth-crossers sweep in close to us
a small iron core wrapped in coils by men in power
an unending roar of thunder thought of light
the passage way of force

process of a star at a saw-like edge
like uncollected garbage, in aging cells; encores without end

~~~---~~~---~~~

---~~~---~~~---

Plastics that dwelleth in flesh
set unruly waves--save by the breath--
the mystery of the firs in order

man first took to the air and they are still in a single town which lay beyond the magic
couplings, the rhythmic chuff
the starlight on the rail data from deep within an animal
the commerce and the passions of the nation luminescent in color

dogs, bells and saliva
the aurora borealis

---~~~---~~~---

"""""""

The marigold at 9
telltale flashes of light struck by alpha
disorderly and as shapeless for all its wonders
as the aimless flow of sensation after a piece of event candy
a small glass disc coated with zinc a roadbed made with loving
currents that roll the nodules in a cloud chamber
sea creatures that shove to a screeching, honking halt in the narrow

Earthmovers take over in gangs themselves begotten by impact
engineers follow every stream, the phenomena of heat is motion
our mode of operation is zero there can be no division
made to order a city from the inner earth
coal, air and water have an opening

These high antennas and a timekeeping flower
of the convolvulus where it will hit

"""""""

<.><.><*><.><.>

An evening star was a fire-blackened hearth
lattices of timber falsework in the polar regions

the hoofbeat of the iron horse to the core of their being
in all her glory; and she had smashed the nitrogen

eyes on the nest and eggs of this spur to the space age
delicate clocks in control rooms across the country
the days of cast-iron sheathing that coils and uncoils

A morning star and a few bits of iron
moonquakes burning glass on a wax tablet
artificially frozen reflection of the nonexistent

clean-lined towers earth hugging houses
you are beautiful, you are dreamed of glimmers
over the old ornament-free steel slung across the gorges of

your cries, for I have walked the formation of networks
and main streams of ancient floods
dry channels hinting

<.><.><*><.><.>

::::::::::

Dust of a hot room through the veils
engine is heard in the sky
forming a gateway for the beard and eyes of steel
from the rainy bottoms to the frozen tops
outnumbered by droplets

These deadly coils stronger; and the strong field
and the driller has to drill much
the earth makes the winds swerve
send energy to our new executive
keep our office running

::::::::::

THE EMERALD OF THE UNIVERSE COULD BLOOM AT DUSK

Blessings of a distant waterfall getting air from a stone
comers in a rich gold field the power and beauty of working machines
the arm of a single bond to its neighbor and galaxy the patterns of life and society
I beam into place
to yield one pound of shellac which shall go to war no more

observation deck is crammed with wires, reels, magnetic tape, computer circuits
equipped with a scoop to pick up water beyond the limits
I know we are accused of providing few thin slices of Portuguese cork
Bolivian asbestos for residential zones, there was little noise and no filth
this day shall bring forth the gold from the crying of night which is called the ethers
in all its swiftness those youths, I'm afraid, are clear, current flows through a vanity cushion

and nostrils of flame, and the power beneath your legs
surrounds you and exalts your calling and vibrations surround every world
I am come within the blueness of it,
to be at the hairdresser four miles from home that this day
the mighty fortress unto the uninitiated
order, a new system delivered to the flames that you cannot see
for its power is felt which is felt, they fear this day
arranged, tier upon tier, empty of reasoning born one after another

no oats or stable space unto thine true identity
scenes deep in the black forest closed the valve, and at the same time drove
furnaces, clanging anvils, clattering drop hammers, pounding
it was water--and the waterwheel--the telepathic thread
his hell grew new mechanization never to be in worship
her flesh was scraped from her bones with church on the planet of another star

<<<.>>>..<<<.>>>

BLUE DIAMOND SHINING MIND LACING A THREE-WAY SWITCH AS A CAMERA

The nadir of the iron horse leaping lakes
and that lady of chaos and across her north-eastern
vein or midrib the train is impossible
plasma over the oyster beds
to red hail to read a railway
wetting the shadow and the petal the space in his house
movies, poetry and ballet black angels at my cradle
flee from the mouths in disarray
mass dancing, mass delusions roll into his life
a rubber-tired horse that he will ride
a journey in slow time to the end of all birdcalls

}}}}}}}}

THE AUTOMATED BRIDLE CORD AT HOME

A skunk in the dashboard
before the hamburger and milkshake
to mold one perfect, unbroken
stamina in a light bulb
into ice crystals; frost coats
on every cooling blade and leaf
memory's sorter of signals to watch the waxing and the waning of that silvery
one way network tucked away amongst the weeds
essence of a room filled with rich black spots compelled me to paint her
smells of leather and wood and the superb, mint-colored seedpod

You have been the living dead because all that ever was
books and dust, draperies and animals
the swarm of entities that came tumbling out of the omega minus

<.><.><.>

THE SHAPELY FLAME AND FROST OF LIVING SKELETONS

Tissue-thin discs of radiant energy--visible light,
vents of the whole world
under the influx of the stars
breath is double;
a hurricane caught hydrofoils
a hand-punched hole
they passed through it
to the mercury beneath

Among these are pulsars
new objects in the sky
a cross-shaped radiotelescope
bits of stars
have broken off
intelligent beings somewhere
if this happened
light is a strange color, quite unlike
light from anything else

Many are radio-waves sent out by stars
in striking and killing
it may at the same time strike others
tight flocks
con whose colonies exist in a togetherness
smoking iron monster
who calls every evening
when they dip into the third dimension
our computers are activated by thought
the mother ships are thousands of shining souls

<><><><><><>

~/~/~/~

Caught in the calendar's scaffolding
there is a brittle light the likes of which
I like to pretend I've never seen before
days without name or place in time
millenia of uncomfortable evolving
done by the pigeon on the sill
the way she shortens her neck to be warm

all that terrible effort to nestle in an ice age, dance
in the ballroom of the aftermath
to know nothing of the bones gone before
then to know it all at once
too heavily and too late
to die trying or for lack of trying
as orange and yellow shades
hostle one another for place
in the kingdom of dying color

in a map of the body
found under a refrigerator
and in hands from sunlit porches
getting ready to wear their parchment
which will take shape
and then take shapes away

~/~/~/~

~--~--~--~

Is it the wind's shape
or a skeleton inside
that won't rest for flesh
aching under archways
or strung on a flame's last flick
a room at the center
a feast for those who can't find their way
the speed of sound waves passing on the shape of the mirror
balanced forces in a drop of the supercold
energy from a purple figment in old buildings, caves, burrows
the wires and the porcelain the ice in a commune pool

~--~--~--~

~`~`~

She smokes in the sanctuary.
She is as lovely as a pebble.
She traded a hatchet for a soft anvil.
She is the same color as October.

In the hot grass, in the lake.
In a summer dripping with quiet.
She is flimsy like a kite on the earth.
She is a hot material, she is a solid.

~`~`~

A HOST OF GADGETS BURSTING OPEN WHITE LIGHT

By linking together in a long opaque chain
molded over and over whatever its beginnning,
looking like a blued and purpled straight steel
with men instead of automatic controls, already doped

We are shaded eyes
the rod of silicon--and an elliptical sunrise
that does not come back
our bodies are preserved in lunar vessels,
far from here, the bride refused to slog through the mud

Man has tasted the solitary power and the door-to-door convenience
within the megalopolis the streets are still locked
chicken tracks and children to ten metal cans, each about the size of a pea
included telephones and stoves--objects drawn--
the skeleton punches floods, plagues, changes in appearance

.`.`.`.`

~.~.~.~

Tea is bitter from the rind of orange
ship taking its last circle around a crater
I am tired of inhabiting worlds
re-made by your form
I want to wander off

For centuries I broke seed open in my hands
I could laugh at the pod's insides
the wet throne of nature

Now I am terrestrial, suspicious
then I am the breach between skies

Stopped me at a small table
in the cafeteria of rushing histories
tea is bitter from the rind of orange
there must be a sphere to lie down in

~.~.~.~

.~.~.~.~.

Matter-smasher
I'll be the beggar under your gaze
blurred world of history-making apron
living on borrowed everything
from thin films from black ridges
my eyes go wet on the world she inhabits
a filmy wall that breathes evening dews
our futuristic dreams suspended over a canyon
master keys to a meeting of the tracks
an age of cloud
the unmeasurable.

.~.~.~.~.

}-------{

That man is pretending to be immortal.
His sunglasses are shitstained mirrors.
A wind strikes his jacket and great denim wings
fold on fold burst out behind him.
He lives in a long rented tunnel
and on both open ends
the world clamors to pin him to his name.
He attempts to luxuriate in the wind
that wears his flesh down
onto the shape of his bones.
Soon he will begin to sing
of all the vastness
that never quite reaches him.

}-------{

{}*{}*{}*{}

A glade opened
as if formerly there was nothing
where a pomegranate gave
its red rotting light
on a carpet of needles

as if formerly there was nothing
the refrigerated world snapped shut
and left
us.

{}*{}*{}*{}

<------>

There is a forest growing in my house
that will not be shared,
mirage stalks that disappear
when the familiar enters.

My thumbs are two fat robins
that will not stop.
Somebody's sweet triangulated thistle
will elude them until they begin
to peck at the foundation.

<------>

.......

Little bloodstreams are run by
clamoring mammals and reptilians
in a race to eternity

creaturely embraces release them
from under fngernails
and between lush lips
galactic dribbles from ducts
behind tears that have not yet opened

scales on fur and fur on flickering tongues
a star's collapse in the back of a throat
veins on fire with branches, a leafless sky-path

.......

THRESHOLD OF THE EYES

In the feathered form which is joy
as it soars stillness of true space
to induce gasps and melt metallic objects
using the pendulum

by making roads without seeing
dry lake or the shadow of a single future

plant life toward the poles pure white bats of the valley
over the inland seas a violet green swallow
opening from the chest wall
into the spinning of the moon

high, lighted buildings
this deep red energy

**

MERCURY AND GEMINI OF BONE

You cannot see the metal strip inside
governing bodies connected with
everything on the earth happening around you

consumption of silver
to trigger off spawning

a free-swinging tone arm; an inside seam

tiny bones, moving deep
from cryogenics to comets
a coiled tube

^^^^^

BLACK LIGHT SIDEWINDER

Bubbles for you entities,
soft-voiced waxwing destroyers,
liquid smoke in the gray matter of the cord,
it burns and speeds through the air from seed to flower,
invisible gun crew to leaf into ridges and horns,
perfect limbs' water-worn contours
for the uplifting of frequencies destroys the golden
to garnish the nations through a dangling sleeve

///.

BUILDING THE SANCTUARY OF NEURAL CIRCUITS

Cells that look like crushed roses
a world that rots at your fingertips in full bloom
disharmonious being lampooned
by a courtyard of orderly stars

there's a molting fern bird on a doorstep waiting
the criminal circuitry of smashed bathrooms
and worlds that should have nothing to do with one another
veins coalescing in garage corners
the imprint of a fish left in my hand by the passing sun
and nobody left to talk to in the busted canyon

exhausted fields sprouting scarecrows of impossible oil
froth sound of cymbals
for a shy one in fevered rooms
cemetery yards overturned
bulbs veining claws into the desperate fertility

a small building's implosion of tongues
business talk on an umbilical phone
outside the sung apocalypse, inside the solitary end

mercy's avocado, pomegranate sting
forked claws of artichoke leaves
gulls croaking on rocks around a compost pile
coffee grounds insomniac mirage
tomorrow's newspaper flame-torn
in a ring of peppered glass
a quartz lily spotted with moons
to fountain past the thud back of the eyes

=*=*=*=

THE SHAPE OF MOVEMENTS AND SENSORY-MOTOR

Sea was there
the bony ring
these beds were lifted up
large beds of the hard rock
surf that cut them

enshrouds and ingests the weary red
beam) the pattern of total number with small mirrors on them
which the body hoards

marrow is the agent of a disaster beyond imagining

with variations, this has happened again and again
to dampen another man's maniacal diameter) in the center of the retina You

"""""""""""

ORGAN PIPE CACTUS DARKROOM

Come enfolded in wrinkles by automatic machines with wide-padded shoulders
the great collective mind swings to a line of targets
this pastlife hindrance having left his sword in the disc
the damp bathroom to pass through you

a shock, the white stone
you moved a portable heat against a wet matrix
a hollow scrape on sandy island subtle spirit of fire

wet grass or damp ground a narrow skin-pit
her rabbit's cage, or a photograph soft and pliable
costumes of cellophane neon

black monk in grey, remove the faceplate

(<)*(>)

<()()>>>

A killer

On a red brick walk
souls with little equipment
are hastening, to where
are moving, moving

alive under their feet
I decided, in soil
I am a coin tossed
I am not coming back to split wood

in a meek procession
crushed together by the clocks
into lunch corners
and suds running in pipes

they take a few telephone calls
in a basement, they continue
in the deep walls, waiting for embraces and words
to burn through both sides

in a work of brick and stone
off the city map, I'm watching
them with their eyes, my absence unpaid
the contraction in all their expansion

moves railroad rails into triangles
and the bleak docks lean and waver
I am not coming over for dinner
I am holding these pillars of ice

escape written into my sinews
has swollen in rugs and floorboards
I'm keeping the attic barren
those who visit will be unknown to me.

<()()>>>

(((

Birch branches had fallen on a fertile boundary
this particular cloud
walking tall in the energy of the city as the others cum

"I see everything twice!" your oceans, your rivers, your lakes, etc.
a nurse screamed and mother closed the door
doctors came running into the next dimension

rubber mallets and mountain peaks
forehead and horn one's own body as a pendulum
if you have machinery to stay

(((

<><><><<<

In near shriek cathedral
where the noiseless wafts out to be answered
whose choir is a breeze through a convenience store
whose one winebottle clatters to the floor
from a high shelf of rhubarb and spices drying
nothing near the sun
maniacally stabbing

the bricks are answered
by warp upon warp of gravity
but one body does not rise up
to trade himself for other souls
I turned around in the cachophonous market
to find the emptiness where he stopped walking.

<><><>>>>

<>
Dark-edged, light blue lines let your love pour into that cloud area
these things of the gentle luminous reflected light glowing
their abundance of bone and their great love and their technological grooming
draw blood for food to break light down and crack it
quiet pulsing strength to screw the strap to the ceiling

on wire he may be pushed to the same spot
a hot black wire, a hot red wire with milk and forms
the life-giving fluid with a zenith moon
the stud and the nipple a fixed drug eruption
coloured hooves knives or water
vent brittleness a current birthmark can feel
><

~
All modern films must be handled in a misty, gray light
voyaging to an afterlife through a needle into the moving mountains of ice
(very tiny veins) which reproduce the voice
guided by a turbulent ancient city who cared if you wept

colors make up the shadows between stalls
using a knife an electric eraser to lift the final hours, the final hour
of the tyrant from whom the dust, milk, molds, eggs and world will be shaken

ice-scoured coast air-conducted sounds absolute darkness
him in the clouds immobilized and held open with wire
mongrel dog handsome young beggar, sightless
store of physical grandeur, alpine peaks, smoking volcanoes, mighty rivers,
roaring and whistling noises along the pathway from eye to
tundra-clothed hills, frost-marked plains, warped horses nipping at each
~

......
Light watches
as sovereign darkness takes over
there were few who saw
human hands jutting from the plucking of a rose
the skin and the skilled operator have funnel-shaped sucking mouths

in some sheltered nook with a reproducing ribbon
he alters the natural pattern all over their bodies
he changes it with man-made butterfly-shaped soft skeletons

the father falls to his knees, pleading brilliant white light
a television theater ground fog swirls around him
until the dot disappears inert girders and pillars
landing near the islands of
as man adjusts
......

_ _ _

On a cold, dry day shuffle your rub by a bullet or stab wound
allow certain ions to pass like porcelain enamel

gray songbirds
a rubber collar
_ _ _

~
This constant motion is called thunder

a war-horse, an act
who instigated a riot
from which the ohm is the resistance

a fluid light sheds for his suffering and loneliness
a copulatory mirror, my golden key,
this glove--and knows he is dying.
~

.
Lone god in river steam
kingdomless beauty's drone over the water
gathers diamond electrodes
outside the storyboard
where planned action is light-torn
the ecliptic is the sun's apparent heir
the walls of the tracheids have
holes in the absence of air
want to come home, I have come for those who are desirous
.

'
Water  licking at canal walls
blood-crusted feathers blowing on stairs
I have a thousand fiberoptic engines in my person
that cannot take me anywhere new.

A starwall, an evening disrupted beneath it
wineglass standing with effort on a stone table
I want to vocalize like a psalmist
but that cry is gone.
'

.
Squirrel feet on the corpse's window
feathered lashes beating past the breeze
the platformed serenity machine made
camera firing through an oxygen field
high heels on the third rail

You can find me reclining my oversize head
on the dominion body of a pink spider
babies hatching from the ceiling rafters
to carry my limbs away from their mother
you can find me swimming a liquid paycheck
towards a disintegrating perfume shop
looking in the shut-down aisles
for the end of human nature
or lighting a cigarette with the national flag
little boats of acorn halved
flickering in ghost water
at the edges of a Greek bath
hidden in a park forest

picnics in chainlink, grape skins on the soles of the feet
from tromp in a controlled vat
hear the vines
before they are utilized
the soil singing
.

.
My antipodal body
wants to follow pock-marks
on an abandoned surface
yearns for the jungle in glass
a pawn melting in gravy
lips crusted in ocean's salt
close to the wall of a glacier
in kissed formation
.

.

Alone on a throne of bird bones
the king of eyes watches landscape erupting coils
from a fractured forehead, hearing it crack
the prairies grabbing
trees making motion after motion

and the throne turns into a parkbench
the restless land becomes a grid of houses

populated by the sightless, a cocoon retches

.

.
A parody of eagles' flight
comes out of the kitchen wall
cascading faces in mental plaster
wronged by daylight and moon
equally, stranded on bridges
that run from ceiling to ceiling

blood wet hands in the bushes
that grow around the estate
mouths that do not grin and gnash
discovering the ring of silence around this planet

powerlines pulled away like cobwebs, mouths that are not smiling
hands in skyscrapers
hands in barns
are not clasping

THE G FORCES EATING IN SPACE

Now, in the middle of the ocean, they are beginning to slow down
with the rest of the solar system

unending resurrections (an uneven wheel)
other trim parts well above,

some like a dove, and some
like a lady's slipper
animals with appendages

the fingernails of a goddess
the accounts of all the mercury
the planet: the northern wastes of a one-million-pound thrust.

THE ELECTROMAGNETIC SPIRITED METAL COMES HOME A LIVING SYMBOL

Light buff found on the ice of two ponds

the thin, round disks of calcite, in his bedchamber, as he rises
channeled and gouged and eroded, scabrous and resinous, pyramid-shaped

whether man be hot or cold, asleep in the tissue's soul
the earthworm has little trouble
he turns to the torn body
the wire and the card into many curving tongues

shields or palettes pass through the block, leaving it
the water itself breaks
I pour my mind into all mounted police forces

Lake-floor litter
tanks and trucks roar mental telepathy

the ancient fish: the jawless fish
this entity accepted the grain and the start of civilization

the little tissue became very happy with the shape
of the airfoil, the total area

embracing the blood's healing instincts, its urge to
secrete futuristic costumes: simple tunic and chamber with tiny hairs

sub-arctic waters and sooty terns the shunting of blood
through the universe lying outside the limits of the seven colors

earth zones of gumwood, ebony, and smoke that thunders
here and there heartleaf twayblades, tiny gobble at dawn and dusk.

a cloud with arms
a cloud with teeth
some time in the life of a bird as the acorn worm
like a man flexing his arm once thought to be in the same order
salt water spray borne in the teeth of all the higher animals
and put all America behind him

dead bodies--food that cannot escape
and a pair of feathers.

The violet flame light manual-timer light of the mind
where death may ride with the next breath; where
the retina can form, dissolve and create; where
one green pigtail wire to the armored cable
means to be god

the mirage
requiring only a drop of blood

I'll leave a full husk to block
someone else 's stare over the water.

Something to look back from;
others will lead forward.

The mask of eyes, sees in widescreen
never to connect all the wavering particle-points--
a cat appears three-legged in patches
of white orange,
stops licking and looks from four.

Every glance broken on what looks back
the thought of you walking around with your hair down
is crushing the bushes.

<>-<>-<>-<>

Planet's a gelatin dot
decorated with foil
the park is a pit of green

climbing pigeon-shit ladders
to a room undulating
in the turmoil of gravity

I see the frozen parts collapse
and the crystals form ships on the surface

take my body to work, to a bedroom
the hallways between
are always shrinking under bridges

subways in hot oil, steam-breath
on the hair of the body

planet's a gelatin dot
in a soft drink of darkness

<>-<>-<>-<>

MAKE THE OPEN ROSE GLOW PITCHBLENDE CONDENSERS

The fruiting body contains many incisor teeth at warm, moist places
taken from the ground, it is cut into bricks
the wall of coal above the slit
day let it be recorded that
they put their parts together on the council table

Time, garnish water and return in ten of your minutes
light become closer tied together liberated from all bondage--then
some local codes require clamps on the box
these simple devices provide
to pry the knockout loose in varied tones for the anthers
to keep sunlight areas

<>+<>+<>+<>

NETWORK OF LIGHT SET OUT TO BRING IN THE HARVEST OF QUARTZ

We work with all of these light groups a cinder fly into

soft, sleek, iridescent and pleasing to the eye--all radiant heating systems limit
when they dip into the third dimension flint, a variety
protects cigarettes, candy, snack
link in the great chain of ground forces

When these break through the veils deposits contain bands of a harder
grain, it noticed that there came a moment they portray lovers, yet you judge
straws, envelopes, ribbons and in tapes
the fantasy of what is termed stagnation
sat there, with all the water in the world

<><><><><>

.......

Mushrooms dying in white fungus
adorn the paths dips and rivulets
ants climb a backpack
enter the caved-in baby soft
skull's flower-bulb of adult head
and organize the membranes there
for a queen to inhabit

Two yellow kayaks toward an island
circled by sky-motors lapped by water body
tour the blueberry bushes richly hologrammed
to reach the taste in an ancient mouth

All atmosphere and nothingness
talkers flowering in the smoke dark
the purr of rooms over engines
I'll take me outside the mountain

.......

SPILLING OUT ONTO THE SAND WAS BORN

clip to the iris

trap-door within

earth is becoming less dense in her

by the shock of another

deeply the arc melts the workpie

deep-space radio rings the earth

my two identical bodies grab for some machinery

they placed a cat before

vehicles and a crowd of people

naked to a rack and bleeding an elastic-like cable

preparing vibratory shields for innocent clock built into the switch

to refrain from holding the dying one long, triumphant hiss

guncotton, cotton treated with a ray, a beam of hyphae toward the bright light

burns inflicted by robed interrogators gleam of purpose

her outer crust in order to give birth how the arc behaves

newborn female creature directs at a screen, eyes open

~~(()())~~

I followed handclaps into a forest clearing

saw a basement through the mesh of the floor needles

there was a messenger there with no center to stand in

unready to receive, I only searched

the branches for the usual birds

the clapping went on beneath a river

or a highway

I follow it inexplicably

and I'll meet the one with sending hands

only when I've become

both chirps and paving

so send for me

with sounds of flesh meeting

I'll try for a scaffold that carries

birds with nothing to escape:

a rapid signal, that does not hurry

~~(()())~~

{-}

an alien bible
a song for the ferrets
one tumult of cherries
at the tunnel's ending
one static tv
near the pit's bottom
flashing and aching
like bodies will ache in space, so briefly
an archangel on fire with blood gasoline
a narrow litany
breaking clocks at daybreak
two kids on a tombstone embracing
the movie that kicks in the forest
an ending
a feast for the wasps
where electric arms grasp in an asparagus patch
fingers on stalks and the sky twitching

{-}

*****-----*****

Alone with the riot in a duck feather skirt
toss another painted brick in the flames
a chandelier spaceship floats from city hall
the waves on the deck have been dreams
now they're surging up an overpass
the cops push me onto a stage
the smell of gasoline on old cloth seats
she brought me a bouquet at the barbecue
a handful of cattails and reeds
we've been booked on a freight to Mars
a garden in the kitchen sink
the crews on light-filter patrol
pat me down and send me out to the shore
with a pitchfork and a sack of light bulbs
I sleep in the city's ribcage
next to her garden window
climb to a clock on a fire escape
and a feather that won't blow or bend
magnets past her waist
the mattress under the fireworks
the charcoal marks on the chimney
fish scales scrape teeth in the core of a teepee
forests for business and the street gone wild
I find out where I am in a quiet rage
to talk the sunset down to a foot bath
salt the rivulets that trickle down the hill
so the kids won't follow our careers
a vacuum at the edge of the earth

*****-----*****

A bunch of granite decembers (song)

Anti-globe is a sweating sun
I haven't had whiskey for weeks
and I know I should slam the drawer
and walk my hands away from the cash

she said she'd come if I could take her ride
to her father's place in the woods
I went there and I nearly died
his dogs prowled a path out of reach

and if the engine would've turned her head
she could've kept me at the hotel
tape player's in a puddle of sludge
spiders crawl the cracks in the scene

the blood birds of whatever's next
and the lace-work of days
that shiver over them