Bringing twilight to the peppered fog
that rides me like a canary,
in the canopy's nimbus a compressed saint
with a flickering belly,
tongues from everywhere
the realm of shattered shingles and bad karate
filled up with accidental blues.

Force of what's gone with a dance,
figure me for the mouth of
nothing in particular
to blossom everywhere.

IRON PLATES WERE COVERED WITH A FINISH OF WHITE PLASTER

The green overhead
chooses a confetti of eyes.
Surf of days edges
a calendar to the end
of a last wall.
Hours spread on the days
like wounds for departure.
The soaked organization
droops through a corner
to a hidden doorway.
The collapse of light
in a longer and lower room--
moon dirt pecking at daffodils.
Lots of broken earth spackle
teeming with cameras and cold sex
only to be ignited by unseen love.
The kick of a machine gun
in the claws of a dove.
Gloved air reaching for purchase
across the footpath
of a rotten overgrowth.
Pruned lips leering
back at what blooms
through the sevenfold thorns
of neighborhood
water moving with no urgency
far away.

My guts ache with sorrow like silk
I like to think of life as a rotating chair
in the gone soup kitchen that guided my lizard face
through many piss mirrors I empty my lacerated crown wallet
I dump out the brig of souls on towns that sour for me
red-faced spirits inherited from mortgaged hells
feet infant soft on the feeling banister crawling rounded corners
toward triangular supplies that melt their own shadows
slain immortal aspirations drive a fork lift
through the animal heat of a mangled mind
trying to playground the edge around the eyemeal
laced with rumors of a war on the inner life
sledge which I will fight with the costume of my cowardice
pulled past a moose's emergence by a stick with eyes
fighting in the woods, slapping mother and father,
whacking them around like dolls, thinking of onions;
nullity in the blue bulb ditch where I was condemned to die a stinkbug
sunk in the torn tendrils of a newer tongue
the wrapping paper of yesterday's plan
discarded by the look of the mouth that spat it into being
intoxicated by poetry like my mother at the bible puking
reading this pig of sky with clean entrails
gloved in field mice
by the flank reflection of a full moon dozer.

The woods quake and suck at the egg of the world
pits of footprint shimmer like nets
to water cutting threshold of hills
with wide-leaved stem choirs
twisting aches of turned necks
in a pond's depth of rotting color
turpentine mustaches form in flocks of bent wing
a vast and loving pulse of mouth around the anus of the moon
towers and towers and towers of dead light
arc bridges to batter wheels skyward
from the smack of kissing bodies
the scent of a lobotomized dollar
furrow of growth in the folding of earth
a chair of shat flowers.

Healing circles of the earth
coil to let in the dark sun.
Forms of laughter and thought
are careless with their genius
in the forest.  Two young men
are sharing a seasoned jug
with their crooked arms, crooked mouths,
with the canopy's familiarity
many caresses deep on the millions
of needles, millions of grains of sand
that made them up from the thick
and swampy air of all that placed them here.
Foreheads and eyes ladled out
by the spoon manufacturer.
Avalanches of cool kissing breeze
in this rented valley.  Princely the disarranged
clouds, the thrones of remembrance,
time-positions of eyes eyes eyes
in a crumbling zodiac.
The measure of sadness in love making music
deck of thieves emptied only of bile
by the nakedest man
on a plume of impenetrable water,
where his footrests are proportioned by careful molecules
and the tug of the body sets the bibliography free
to tatter the landscape
scraping notes from each leaf, each guide-thrust
of emerging tree.
Ground and its parallel broken sky
by the birth of departure.

ROOMS FOR PLEASANT LIVING IN A FOXGLOVE STRONGHOLD

the elegant society and its protective Buddhist monastery
tied one end of a cord to its hand to prolong their careers, but a really good antidecapitation
beat with electric cranberry whose canopy of foliage shades the foaming substance
toward the center of the pile.

HEADGEAR TO THWART AND TERRIFY THE JELLY

I begin by laying a blue mason jar on its side in a bed called the cast-iron plant santhemum
roof dazzling traditions of warfare against artists as hairy subhumans
the vines of caged tomatoes blackened their teeth; white stone walls
painted red and covered by a form winkle structure
like a bright windowsill in the shadow of taller sun sleeves
who takes her watering cues from the formation of modern eyes
a hot griddle using across rooftops to freedom
tense with contained energy and undrained pineapple
sound effects, butterflies and birds
on slender poles and costumed with his brave mistress

Mud season capped skyward currents give wetness to hallucination
pale slum holes take leaves toward the order of the earth
long paths of jaggedness with a great view
hard to leave the honey that zig zags the blow alone
hard to fling error at the moon who's become your sister
hung to fling money through the mirror of butchered soul
bleeding from a shot of eyes that goes down to the the eternal
moved by the gush of lungs in a fish tank to a square yard
where years fall hard on the unproved galactic plan
and man opens his head on the doors of his others
in an unprepared garden groaning
the breaking of re-taken letters for a swill of tethered time
falling on forehead after forehead
only to be removed by rain.

Volcanic worlds knock on my tether
I drive a hooded snake through these disrupted streets
leaning past the wheel of its submerged ear
to find glory in the heaven of dirt
wild hands have been waiting for
uplift of scattered fields across the sunburnt galaxies
resting places disintegrated in salt
and the careworn wash of hands
that descends from a tower of ashes
the way that movements walk paper lives
outbreak of the ceaseless voice
that seems body to body by growing
in greatness and error, inner vastness
monotonized by imprisoned powers
steroid-ridden butterfly
chomping on remagnetized sugar
as the blade frisbees his hours away.

Tell tail to fail time by thrashing
talk to the pink whale of civic unconsciousness
shrink wrap your ebony orbit around my tongue of ages
descending wells with the skeleton of failed technology
dwelling in this ivory cavern yours to plunder with
thickening kisses, faggot's breath of my mind
plundered world's transgressor of silences
the map of the mind in a hand's palm
to bomb cities of thought with untaught wreckage
I make the utensil's arrow of this fake speech
you made the thief of my mouth,
I spit it back in high tones of beautified error,
stabbing with bluntness that splits like planted light
fist-fucking the many-mouthed mother
with discoverers of widening streets
walled industries of stolen rhyme
forge of glasses
which disfigure the face of god's self
in the fallen arc of perfected identity
nullity of hooded snakes
in the purple valley of mesopotamian awakening
crescent of fourth eye's ejected totem
windmiller for the digitized ram.

Come to me on trackless trees mulling
frank head butt trains out of the way babishly
I'm waiting in the tape deck with sugar
propped on molecules that don't have moves yet
to thrill the gasoline with vapor of smiling effort serve
tan the preferable beauty of destroyed townships
in a force field of huge dick
fangs tousled by explosions of speeding thoughts
and the promises of subway interiors
to the future of reptilian sex in a transparent room
for the thrills of fading in darkness
grin shopping for empty space to fillet
mum lips in the future wreck.

EYE AGAINST EYE

   In the flow of new colors produced
   many bodies get lost in the furniture
   wires join the trees outside dancing rooms
   throats gulp and eyes swell vision breaks from the crowd to weep
   rocks pour from his throat his tongue a fiery shovel
       the mischief of gentility in a stabbed galaxy
   limp lovemaking paroxysm'd the gates of dams by wisps of sky lava
      factions of wheat turning to push the sun
   with vigor of agony stored up in attic and basement rooms, with chocolate powder
       the lights in the ceiling piercing a thought of infinite error
             into my tiny mind as my torso flexes for microwave
           and freed the lions and rattles flee from the idiot's wrinkles in my forehead
            and the hurt of whole cave-shot mountains
              steaming wreck in my timid atmosphere
                                                 my stupid life on a long feather of unearned thanks
                re-ignition of tiger flower in the time of my narrative
                 simultaneity of faucets many air-shipped pictures conglomerating sex
                   for the new age of revolutionary perfection that I missed
                     while shaving my ass.

River's breath is big in the air
conjure the rafters high in no final mind
limbs of canal out to the ocean
and wings above the fire of the territory
speak in carpeted tongues
fried with icy outlines into the essence
crater of power, doll of humanity
wavering with residue of free movement
building up in his eyes his walk time
his crouching in the theater of burnt overlords
trying to free the shell of the shape
of a bucket's rim from this run of reality
and fill its rainy depth with troubled pebbles
each selected by explosion from the wall
of error breaking like a re-run sun
speedometer village, eating its language
from attics of paper flowers
crisscrossing the dim bricked air
with the sword of words and flubbed tears
freaking into its near highway
fountain basin review of
finger prints lost to calendar
anonymous mother of the all world
whose come I am.

Land links in the Arctic exert an upward force to hold the object onto the stage

land animals against the backdrop of the sea and broadcasting himself on video for photosynthesis

satellite hand reaching for a computer without sunlight in the brief peak

and reproduce oblique on the two ends of the seesaw

to push the car out of the snow on the bag of groceries

remember the formula for work large eyes that reflect

machine then does work pale olive body, as a whole, the upperparts translucent
the weight of the pennies is the force they become sexually when the rains return

A tank with polystyrene sheeting shaped like a papyrus plant
to send pictures over wires and with fluid pressure on your skin or clothing
create beast lizards on thorns and three to five females long-haired and stocky domestic egg-shaped red blood
with grass-lined nesting chambers, plates of bone joined to the ribs and ultraviolet fireworks
mouth as beefsteak of the general poststructuralist repertoire with paper labels
the materials of architecture and the venue and shadows of the U.S. songbird

They live at depths in the open ocean of these abyssal plains
sunlight deep in the water for a sound wave to look like stone icicles
sheets of luminous square mile standing and running
a round, suckerlike mouth ringed with a rasplike tongue
its plumage to white in winter the name of the animal's discoverer world wide on man

Dawns of raided hose
verklempt in the lighting
that brings their efforts to water
their limbs in a liquid wall
the stage burned that they asked for
covered in tenderness with iron
downy feathers from neck fluff
adrift on the swing set of the wind
drawing the chains from heavy-muscled water
as gravity rises through the lips of their tent
they hasten into halter and star haze
drink stirrups of daylight that frost never tasted
ungather stones for the finger of canal
pinching the eye's taste for curve
gently at the edges where rubber hums
screens of tumbled hair
glowing mapless in agony of cognition
on the living room's fragrant propeller.

Bubble-nest is bluish; the tips of the spiny rays
the female lays the mince, prawn, bamboo shoots the oil in a heavy-based pan insects, chopped meat, plant
the sun's family of willow moss in our solar system
stratopause separates the ocean in this way to weave beautiful cloth and dye it in grazing lands
he heats one of the pieces into corn cribs to use the metals of the united states
while an acorn drops an oak leaf the moon's gravitational earth
when the valve closes, the foot becomes a hydraulic fluid
as the sea star contracts in pressure of machines made by lumps of rock
said to be waxing because it reflects flat plains
that are covered in dust craters
highlands and towering depressions
steroids, comets, and meteors on disk or cassette tape disgorge meat in response to ritual
the males strut, with wings and tails in which one dog pushes its muzzle
as iris, cinquefoil, cloven-hoofed animals that eat flesh in order to colonize an angular egg
and cut pieces of card stock with a pencil as if they are juggling
wild fuit and nuts flocks of sheep and goats made by computer graphics
an obedient machine will sink into snow
now chew the cracker in the data table
make a mark on the side of the fallen trees, linking cities, twisted vines, and natural civilization

Flea ruffled ears fears man
lurks a laundry trash bag into warmth
crossing my fever with more fur
the stiff paws of a sorcerer imagined
a notched bridge walking with a freshly tossed salad
gasoline air on the lips of a calendar
many hands rising from a freshly opened matchbook
pork belly eyes the frisk of the sea's
cold machinery of lovemaking
bigtime hands on the sheared wool
of a hell-hole's happiest walker.

From the center towards iced water--the spring onions in the oven
supported by springtails, and including beetles and and heat sensors
the mouth of the female from a higher to a lower level to time a meal cooking
swamps and marshes a huge mass of gas and dust controlled by chips
neighborhood sealed inside a ceramic, metal, or plastic thousands of people
edge of the lantern piece by piece, to the mosaic of metallic leaf tissue paper airplane bamboo

Life filled up with bile flowers in the bottle
the bottle zapped cold with answers
tone perfect manifold oxygen plan man
sends kisses into the zone of walled-off horror
bats lashes for the mist of Everest
when orangs stand erect breathing is fed to an inner layer
water on Earth exists as ice locked up
grout from half-marbles wandering lumps of dust
men takes care of the sewage and a red longitudinal band of airstones
the fulcrum around the outer edge of each teardrop in transmitted light.

CAT

She can feel the focus in my love
when I go to ink, and wants
to be near with it; she knows
the chemical force of the rain,
and fears its touch when I've
gone out to feel through it;
tangled numerals in the leaves
drip little down to us
green blood and jittery stems

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

Perched here, on the twin crests of my being,
burned by your razors and singing
the song of the planet in motion.
Time moving now will be stopped cold.
Time held up by force will shatter
to get through in fragments.
I sang in healing and roared to smash
did both best backward when blasted
broke myself with my own sophistication
and now I am a simpleton, delayed boy
looking for love in the static between
all the strong faces.

On a balcony of earth, over the stilled tasers crackling,
positioned twixt these impressive structures
that endanger the lives of human beings,
kissing the shadows of rocket fuel on each other's faces,
from the engine that burned a galaxy down yesterday,
time moving now will be held and cubed.

Shrines are hopeful, the day eats travelers
all the grapes are sweet and almost as big as a doorway
the color of this red velvet when a water pool forms a path
furred at birth, disks on its fingers and toes its horns grow sideways
leather and gold jewelry soothing the frantic beast
love of the stars translated into desolation, marked
with oblique pale bars he'll jump out of the pit

All wild pigs was a blind girl uses large strap-on solid electric pulses per
stirring of leaves, two blank pages brightly colored industrial noise
small bags of fine sand acid at ten centers a truly zen-inducing portable
soap, toilet articles, and shoes whose exhaust is similar to that tin hound a heavenly body
behind the gill cover he uses his magic to rob cold-blooded creatures of the tropic shell
wings, belly, feet frilled lizard and thin, leaflike ear

Concerned females, inflating air sacs feed on seeds and insect maggots
underparts are pale air filled with feathers through the lava fields
shapes and serendipity weighted by his golden almost eel-like appearance
a loud booming call with the whitest head where they were born
to see the flowers nodding the mud with its long fingers and bloodshot eyes
his ragged teeth cut strips of magnet between which you sandwich your image

Homeless by the tremor in plastic-product protecting their fleshy stems
waterproof skins, and leaf pores and trim, half-timbered towns treacherously massacred
by energy from the original home of life on earth, with its gilded dome
and marble columns as storage basins  for heat to make a single pole
that is perfected and integrated eye worm, which penetrates the eye
as the house shrew, which is weaned among small insectivores,
pink or pitch-black lakes, hot mineral hollows in plants

The tapes upon his death a monorail in natural settings
the remarkable body lies on the ground waiting among the rivers, castles, and mountains
vast gas fields, open pits from which the sleek pants-boots were worn classic
stained glass distances in space and time pushing the vine down with background pieces
songs of local beauties beloved, fiery horses are reared to savor each sex as the fish mature
and the ground cover burned with sharp contrasts between the columns
crashing of monkeys by the closely woven colored flowers roots of lianas overhanging petals
smaller climbers spend their lives stranglers grow from seeds lodged in the bush ropes,
epiphytic orchids from an auto in a public park to religious pornography.

Immense shade of waves
torn over hilltops
by the accumulation of moons
building on wells of fire
that the sun has lit with its age
light on light ice on ice
the empire of ended things.

Unprintable in the known world,
the feel and the tact of arriving
and departing, sundered from the atmosphere
of the populations's incredible innocence,
sun-folds wandering, scratching tablets
multi-color with rejected beauties,
scraps of love tossed aside by excellence
and correction, coming boat-side
with tits and teeth, hideously winning.

Found hills and found mountains

found monk-caves full of

diamond angles and kissed tongues

found paths apart as rain pooled

ice cubes on the golf grass galaxy's biggest sun

crushing on the ridge fabric

lonely electric cable lives

train-table through every season

with their misfit flatlines on fire

sent to an unseen ledge,

themselves a peacock's question

flesh root dangling hard from the rock face

The nocturnal territory is opened up
haste on the wing of what moves
a cream-colored stripe like a saucer of lowland
the dark band of the sun's ray from outer space

Trees yawn into shape
fold for the heart of a hidden season
the clouds hold set pieces in place
where the sun is covered over and blades hum
water is lifted to the color of the earth
whose inhabitants are roving ghosts
in a network of riots and laughter

trees are set down and moss blooms
the ghosts send electric shivers
through their many wires
and retire their ponchos of light
their firearms of nudity
and their sourglass songs
to a recreant abyss
full of recycled flowers
where pistil and stamen write on the air
the octopus of found organic thoughts

I am the guardian of green hell
with a wilder and wilder mask
the domain of sad kisses with twin lit ideas
failing at a wall of slime that is over the world

feinting at it with bravery, then with semblance
to gather up the waterfall with wild hands with covered hands
to mail it through the mountain on rails
that killed electric fed wet prisoners of the future

the panic of light ricochets through my chest
tornadoes of iris well up in my canker of a beast
thrills of severed springs hung frozen in volcanic sky
over the forced sanctity of the disintegrated towns

I am the guardian of green hell
glooming around with a stifled lightyear
mask fiercer and fiercer

Molten trees disengage the mind's body
moss climbs and roots taper
tower the side of the universe.

Time is dragged toward multiple centers,
species sear at each other with sulfurous commands,
galaxies and amphibian omnibuses are alit
with ruthlessly educated fuckfest eternity,

the shore offers its broken machine parts
to the laggard with a tin trembling eye--
gather up hearts to the bodiless,
hourglass stew the end of seconds
hissingly punctuated.

The broken seam in the flask
the path diverted by the urging of a fractured bone
sap root and root sap
divinely parted.

Warped bond of ages
throwing off new bodies like a highlight reel
laser eyes on the doorway of mirror
that threatens division's dimensions.

The heated room that makes the body cold
the falling world that makes
the laws uphold their emptiness.

Gloved abandon striking into the tunnel'd void
that knows no core.

Schemes hatched in disintegration
that give birth to a galactic ice babe.

Rain light on the dim shine of the city
flung back the day to an empty spectrum
missing light on dry cracklin
smacking lips, dropping hints
of revivalist limbs in a net's worth
of dreams revisited, with gloves left
there from the previous visit
unlined bodies filling up with steam
ragged in their pursuit of themselves
to hollow out the helicopter heart
and come down with whirring blades intact
ready to walk with the impossible.

Tinged with vaginal aftertaste
the whole hills of America come rolling in.
Yes to the evil brilliance and beauty of this erring and great nation.
Filched by hypocrisy and self-lust it marches in my own bones,
I subvert where it inhabits me, we exchange with one another,
our intermittent energies the color of light all the way through
a mountain tunnel thrumming with long metal anti-laughter,
not just speaking but shaping each other out of the air,
becoming real to one another, frightened by each others naked grime,
the lines of a bare foot on lunar dust are read and re-read by
terrorized by repeated scrutiny of genius
weaponized and warped into false identity by the pressure of insanity,
influenced by fear to dance, to float objectively without examination,
to fucking fly, to be unreservedly in an hour of glass exact
as an hour of steel, filled and re-filled in cusp in crest and in crash
the dog of yesterday and today's cat, the feline inhabitant of
a departed madness.

I love each tinfoil pan, each person.
The arch of St. Louis holds a faint cobweb, today.
Scattershot the movement of humans as the universe breaks.
Warm asphalt hurls the winter out of the sky.
The web is water I sleep under a christmas tree
in the bus station lobby until the sweepers bring me
back to the world with my whole spine singing
and swinging like an elephant's trunk.

I spring the door of ages with the sinews raging of what I have created
I am crusher of air-cubes where the inhabited live, to be cured of silence
fallen out of their anchored telephones like children starving
patios climbed by fire-escapes where grey thorns match red
the match head burns in a tray of glass where gin splashed my eyelid
crying child's wrath of imagination across magnetic poles of the earth
vision solid as the scales of a reptilian people
the inside of abandoned steeples laced with the poetry of
our few flown outcast brain-saviors, brazen announcers of the night
with a poisonous counter-poison that is alright.

Stadium crater mic to the treetops
long lightning in sensitive shadows
down the trunks on a broken shore
spilling roots to the sand side
where the sky melts the earth
I kneel by a water cooler
spilled ice from a red mouth
grass running over the bounds of the fallen
heights of the civilized speaking with a torn mouth
from the water's line-spill into electricity
and falling wool from the edge of a sled's slip

THE WRATHFUL TREES

The wrathful trees will strangle your death
in their long hands and give you life.

Other forests will join in with their natural poison
to celebrate the tongue of your corpse
speaking the soil of the future.

Man belongs to the infinite.
And the earth does not.

They work out their guilt on you
you're a tin puppet carrying diseased cum
in a vase with robot fingers around its glass neck
flailing with original dances on a microwaved lawn.

Warrior of poetry, pounding fist that smashes the faces
of the complacent with the sun's voice.
Warrior of flow-etry, speak to my speakers
with the air-space of a bossa nova cube.

Murder my false authorities with sadness, murder them
with a knife and with a gun, that I may feel greatness.
Fist me with your wedding ring
that is evidence of your link to a glacier.

TRASH CHAPTER

Phlegm-daughter phlegm brother,
riot for cones of hilltop light
with horns in the belly
marked for colors in the high mind
flung by leather to canvas
of cast-off clothes,
peaking on broken ceilings
where the fingers of water
reach like vacant blood.

Tongue hugger of pink lips
for what leaves life steaming,
pool of ashes and bent leaves
where a battered plate
hangs suspended.

From the wire that becomes its plan
existence is twanging shapely, erect
and forgetting motherfuckers.

Hang plate with a navel on its old lid
glazed drifting eye with its pyramid
of stacked daggers.

They live surrounded by their dead gods
and cannot empty their minds.
Life like blood in the mouth
pouring out of me.
Death like glue
in the nerves of my true system.
A life-attack from light,
that leaves the darkness
unsatisfied.

Chameleons live on the members of the chameleon
sick fishes away jelly on branches overhanging water in foam nests
you need big chunks and disorder
open flames like the bottoms of bottles
an uncovered circle around the valve floating in a silicone blob
grasping feet and prehensile them climb

Spiny oysters and snails live
beads or glitter with hot glue
the copper wire with lengths for each of the lights
you are a beach walker lined with forests of evergreen
rivers are a jar of sea glass
zones of mud crannies along eroded shores
young drift in the water, mimicking fallen gray mullet
the trees above the rising tide over the bead wire
the crab-eating frog lives on a head pin,
plastic with a button inside the earring

Sunset slope of the line absorbs and evaporates sympathetic spirit,
to flex the dinner bell for the right to mate with vibrant shades of metallic khaki

Canyons split open at his foot-reach
lightning trapped on the rafters
where he stepped in from the sky
eating with energy
stamping his fist
upon the beautiful creation
in order to improve it.

2 THOUSAND 5

Nerve-blasted, half dead on his feet shot through the neck
teenage hurt guitars on the cemetery hill
have that stung blueberry pie
on a drum machine highway
never touch the limits
a stinking stung by kisses
understood the forced sun, in its distance
moon in its holding pattern hurt
dog walked into a new silence
the lust of its musical hours sended
the podium it held upright in the woods is melted
its fort is a heap of leaves

Dams of crayon break like salt
on the desk of my brother.

He is scribbling his whole life
crafting his whole life
bringing his whole life
voicing his whole life without mirror
tongue-twisted by fate to make
the call of melody deform into meaning,
dissolved into several.

My brother has a feeling
which will last for ages.
He crouches over it and bashes it
into fern-patterns where the whip landed, on canvas.
He sorts by strike until the colors have faded
into a different weave.

In the temporal arc
tensions that held me together are drifting
chains of the flesh that cloaked
are unlinking time's disorder,
stretching what loves emptiness
to palpitate a fallen sky's hot winking triangle
muff I fall through
while I call to you on this cellular, secular dissonance
that resembles the twitch
of a fallen religion

Passing through dust through water vapor
disposed to dream light from a dazzling occult
women in thrall to the destruction of the human mind
starfish pineapple a charmed pearl in an enormous ark
the light of a blood-red sunset built and stocked on the coming disaster

Fawn fall on your yard
like a yardstick going soft in the damp
waitresses cycle through clusters of trees
on a path of risen ice,

flinging bits of money into themselves
while the sun eats the daylight
and the world starves for it.
The windows glazed with breath
square off against the inside/outside
that is killing and preserving us,

lopsidedly dancing the machine of humanity
into a veil of cool black plastic.
And the bodies are taken out by those
who can still move, and frozen
in the river of frozenness
that has overwhelmed and underwhelmed
the real flowing thing.

I'm wild for the sun on the road, the sword in my pants.
He who chooses the highway bare will attract travelers.
The gridworked ribbon winding toward the planet's light,
I watch the trees and houses dip out of shape.
Panoply of grief's music for faces
keys jagged in piano's work of hands
the shadow of the wooden leaf on canyons of strings
parallel singers in the wind of metal
booth mic'd and expressing the clitoral spider
of amplification.  Beaches that unfold in the mind
to lap the readers of sleep awake into its purified
consciousness of water
the desperation it does not reflect.

PHOTOCELL FOR A FIRE LADDER

breasts in half brothers and sisters--both females from a genetic point
meat on a platter with powerful jaws and yard lights
the alpha's den snapping a chalkline of its own genes
pups has rails and switches and whisk rungs
wolf pack is a new year's cycle of subordinate breeding
denning another burrow snug against the sauce
both sides with the marinade muscled into alignment with the mud sill
follow the wall up--siding is lightly sauteed chanterelles

Charcoal sunrise wet with yellow rain
the circles cut a square of sky taffy
barren ships made barren land
for rent of hair the wigged moon slips
for lending ass her lips surround my dick with shifting seas
my babies leap on her belly like birch trees
we murder the anniversaries of our adversaries
with our female ends pointed at the speech of each other
corroded by the sight of white brick
in a wilting landscape floors carry
hearts in a dish and the unlidded eyes that bobble upon them
titled and tilted by the misnomers of silence
the milk stains the linoleum fried shapes
our cum evolves with a lake of fire in each pair of iris
thrust against the tent roof of earth
shaking her titties like a wet nurse driver
gaze to disarm an elephant's panic
a firm foot variable in the pressure of orbit's measureless breeze
dark daughter of matter

Refreshed with ribbons of mint we balance the skewered fish
medallions of veal to delight in those moments when he redeemed himself
with a midafternoon coffee clear of the morass of religious dissent
apocalyptic events refer more or less to a cold soup, but the leaf pattern on paper towels
with a watchful eye can master this fine space for meat and char
a floor polisher with a clean, soft cloth starting the engine
a man's weight on knee and toe boards with a wooden float
in a bowl with the base of the powers of divination smashed to deliver

After the shrimp have cooled through tough hides and thick hair and hang on aspic thickness
juxtaposition of raven windows or a wet basement persecuted by people
the tongue of one in the groove of its neighbor females
the sauce caulking stunt won't work space between sub and finis to spot sleepers
forests for winter, north to the tundra king carcass
a dodging rival built for dining
after the flames have subsided from the grill splash

PLAY

I honor myself, the spark of creation at rest in me
which will overwhelm galaxies.
I dwell in bung hole nirvana,
armpit of the imprisoned colonies.

Tablets and furniture cluster in shaped air
at the glimmer snap of my key ringed fingers.
Engines shuttle out of the walls built up for solitary travel,
the circle of eyes grows to eclipse the moon.

The shadows of city ships totter like lampshades
attacked fleetingly by the drunk of hell.
Love medicated by punctured dreams,
stormed by reality, subway seats and country trees
split open, leaking with sky stuff
and scum basement stuff, the brittle funk of ages
halved shell of spilled grease for brain
from a going omnibus.

WERK

Vents reflect the soft light given of the breeding female's urine,
which had been marinated in several of the frieze boards

I'll scorch you bitches and faggots with hatred,
read you the tangled bicycle of my body
with a relish of stinking oil,
give you my hate with a plate's edge
no handle for your lost soul to dig in with,
run your round numbers of silence
your uneven numbers of the blade's miss,
until I bury the hilt in your heart
and explode on command like a sun-fish

Took extra breaths while I waited without solemnity
scorched earth with the back thrust of my song
climbing the small town's sky-sword of broken ground
simmering panic that does not flow efficiently over
crowned my experts with dunce cap lavish meant
the boom bap core is eternal purple
the stars are fire marshals squawking like geese snarl not
the noise for peace, the whirling paint rose garden blown over
tails of laundered coats sown at the elbows blowing toward the exit way
empty suits pointing like clay

Born in the cave-womb just as a wolf howls
marked with the blood of a sacrificed goat, scourging any woman
naked through the city howling with ritual laughter to seek power
the drums changed their spirit world
his lunge for the gills and whip drops these rocks will break through
the entranced fish out of the water with a depth stop

When the high beams of you both track and lead the traveler
with the front bushings from a horse's bite he never predicted
to pour concrete into the forms and the panels stripped off
tying the building down across the level and the nails the parsnips after
we have killed enough wolves.

Bye GG

All the barriers of sense will disappear.
The imprisoned will have beneficent, total revenge.
The complacent will be raped and murdered
by their mid-gods and demi-goddesses.
Fuck them.  Eat this land and tear it out of your throat.
Fucking die.  Fucking die with the stares of the numb
cackling all over you.

Haggard, toothless, hair fucked:
the man who wouldn't listen to the professionals.

My defiant library sings in its
color on the highest sea;
it's true that my ape's ma
left humanity to attack me
properly from its haunches.

I sow herb towards death.
I dig ground with nimble what's bloody.
The sound and sight of life tell me what to do.

I call you the earth
I dream you and sing you
in your offshoots and remaining fragment.

I sing you the bridge
that hymns my body to yours
across the falsified centuries, a crucifix in salt, a barn standing
yours, mine, ours, eternity.

The circle of the moon
on a dull day it would come hard in the sky
furthest to a center of thought thrust
and a nest in the sex
a relevant bulb of information burst
in a head dreamed dull
slammed shut against a wall of shit froze
no reason for the pendulum's swing.

I am the falling rain, the death of
man.  Who calls me by name
knows me not.

ROOMMATE

His pig with its thick walls, the house's soul.
Chicken and chilies wheat rolls and coffee salt
bawling for its eastern neighbor or torment of fire

drag their rockers onto porches like water lilies
this great pit will be unsealed we sense Maya
tied to a yolk yellow consoling childless Sally

stains the four corners to a crisp tortilla
chockablock with tombs of new life
vulnerable to sheep and soccer
Employing paint

Death of their era through hatch or open eaves
bone rasps and the staccato clatter sporting wings of vivid bug repellent
to backstrap looms, one end newborn, the fledgling house must be fed
blood spattered on incense is set against villains of weather and wildlife
to curl into the blue heavens, beckoning the rich green of new life
smoke-blackened color-washed village of faith the cycle of sustaining corn
royal artist-scribe setting about his sacred uproar
the low lament of the gods and their cosmic spiderweb
throb of a great wooden drum and passports by flashlight gaps in the rusted-out floor
severed heads, torn fingernails, land is sad and faded
the vanquished are dragged by their hair from the chaos in the female realm

Along the plazas and avenues
there were clusters of closely placed upright poles

conical types and a few low,
curving antipatterns that convey his eyes,
almost as if he's waiting for a face

in the bright falling curls caribou land's brave settlers
necropolis of a golden empire
their rituals in the sunken court disappeared from history

I see myself old as fuck, a twig
wrung dry by a young man's game.
Smelled in a corridor of life's wishes,
thought through the labyrinth of implanted hearts,
brought on an illegal feeling through glass walls
to the thickly rooted, thinly vaunted
superstructure of human animal
feeling, the cube of lungs building
on mid-air.

Dry as a baby, pawing the current
for rumors of hot life and super-heated life.
The grief of the trees is the grief of my bones.
The grief of the elves is the grief of the giants.
The grief of myth is a fist, and the grief of DNA
is a pang in the galaxy's work of ribs.
All things will be seen through, laser-lit
because they cannot remain flush.
The thrush tugs with beak at a wing-pit
in its staircase of feathers.
The spring of tigers will not come.
But one will come, and one, and one,
and one.

Making smooth silvery lines on the red to Nike and lance mountain
sliding his tail at the apex
as both flashy dandy and sober think     van Gogh as a Buddhist monk
gilded I waived all my rights and revered by the plain people above sea level
a waterfront with ships from whitewood furniture, the shelves of glorious copper dome
velvet on a gray satin ground profusely decorated as Christ, Rembrandt, a bohemian outcast
an obedient, faceless servant of a dogmatic establishment class bourgeois to
                                                                  core self--or, as we would say today, narcissistic

                                     articulating a sense

I will suck vegetables of the earth
and rain terror from the strength of my bowels.
On the opulent interiors of the gilded age
I will make my song to the electricity of unstoppable worms.
And the gilt frame will come alive
with the totality of my fuck-error.
A highway of sadness out of the bowed trees
stronger than the blown reeds of the river stream

PESKEOMSKUT POEM

I hate the voices of these bitches.
The dope's shroud moving with him, as he talks.
The cat's vain back
as she struts her limited gambit, back and forth.
And every motherfucker eating his own shit,
tell him to hate this place too, on his own terms.
The beauty of earth, suck on it.

The beauty of the rotted blood, suck on it.
And I will proclaim and sing the true name of this land
until the sky swells to meet this place
and the wrath of blood desecrated runs
with all its names alive in the corridors of power.

And if anyone should disrespect,
even in the silence of their mind,
the true name and charter of this place,
my poet's curse will follow them into dark hallways
where their family photos warp with secret error
and dark hairs spill out of their nostrils
like the beards of the living numb.

Drained canals glint of reserved water
below tadpole and minnows' plain
shelved up on rifted soil
drying banks offer up the sun on surprised shoots,
weeds of flower sodomize the moon's reflection
in the bent dim of afternoon.

Not only from the waffle iron sky
but also from the leaks there, in the stern lining;
sun-cracks that speak to the eyes through a shattered terrace:
a wrecked place with pastels to sip toffee,
see brawn whistle and lie down.

Ferns of hair come through my grave
seed pods of silk erase my bloody eyes
roof shingles slide to land beneath forked pines and pave the earth
enchant the shade's collapse and cup a deer's turd
in the landfill of an underground forest--
scythe's blade whir and whistle behind the swing set--
branches of broken air that eat, mend and extend
while trees outline the groin of a larger forest
hinted in the ice, burnished on the sea of the sun's face
wrinkled by radio waves--stunted stalactites of spiritual life
building wells in the mid-air of a cracked ribcage
where a prism of language re-filters light that has struck it
like a spermy kiss touched by split wood
and the smell of charcoal clothes

Lean hard on the blood moon hype
dagger man out of the sky for mountain fuck
sending eyes to the height of mold
through a massively annoying hyper dermis
in the bleached field of nerve kisses
where blunt cylinders rise as makers of extra
proud excess fevering out of train caves
knuckleheaded human activity filling the air
with busy neon languages in hot transit
playful fingers tweaking horrified oxygen
so that new orbs can descend
and break in the form of water
hacking the death of what's left
with its sweet non-insistence

Firs of autumn strike the mark
artificial dark of ponds
flaming with an underlight
and gone to the sought after dawn vagina
ages palpitated by madness

fishes in the sleeves of men
who wander in her orb of thoughts
to be forgiven for their torments of the cloth
and making stinks in catacombs of grease
to feed the geese a bit of bread from overhead

and heave its sweet collective gizzards to the breeze
in song of galaxy death
rushing bridges' street with portholes to worm intact
multiverse city to multiverse city
idiot eyes lighting up at the sight of a girl's

thickness through falling veins
and a wrung-out velveteen sidewalk
needle pulling to the center boom
the paint in an apartment room peeling
for a condom'd finger tracing toward broken brush

the song of a thrush trigger's mantle piece eyes

The workmen on a yellow girded roof
are scraping the sky, jack-hammering clouds
upside down, loins and hands throttled with sweet
futility, bricks pouring out of the vapor.
The clash of sky with sky
as a game of marbles shifts them closer
bends horizons deep to blades they held in check
when all our earths were separate, and God was hood.

Buildings that hate their own brick, pets on brain steroids
who have taken over households...ditches dug
by city-assigned workers flowering with colored worms.
Power lines taken down for use as sex toys.
The chilled and crumbling flash-frozen tundra
in a landscape of shadowed drones
where I hope for yogurt.

Fossils of new moons fitting neatly
into excavated canyon sides and valley vagina,
bones melted into flesh and becoming penile.
Years turned to pillars of salt in the position of the body.
The failed urchins of drugged concrete corners
munching wafers of vanilla substitute, eyes
stained charcoal black by an unguarded sun.

Toolboxes snap shut like instrument cases, spit
stains the experienced cement, garages
open robot beds, drills of hardened fauna,
screams of null time.
The muffled babymaking of the new slaves,
wings of the feathers that pay
by falling off
into valley hands.

BODY BLIND LOVE

Love this body down,
love this body under
thunder this body in thy veins

Give me body blind love, landscape
arrayed with secret warriors,
festering with real lightning.

Meekness departs from my being;
the scraping of breakfast cereal
ricochets to the thrill of my forehead.

BUCK

I rush a corncob over my fucked teeth
and think of laughter in hell.
My tall dick in your mouth.
The moving sky and its living
objects on the wing.
The afterbirth of eternity
scouring over our last thoughts.
The bridge top
where you finally tickle my airplane ticket
in an ecstatic moment of destiny
that ends on the cusp of a city-wide sink
and kisses down its canyon sides
in an avalanche of burning glory.

He places a dead moth on top of the live one.
On the motel door, wings under weight,
and for this alone he deserves to die
if one can deserve the inevitable.
The 2 moths separate into numbers.
The door opens, the door is his hand,
the redhead in the corner's bed opens
the eye of her mouth, says he is the only one
who feels, can find her with himself,
the drapes are thick with silver embroideries
and he is a moth man, her prince of dusty hands
who replaced life with a symbol of life, and then
entered.

Archipelago of suffering beauties
invested with diners of gauze
circulating through its waters
the strongest current of dumb love
the sheen of gasoline on a kissing face
the evolution of an interrupted error
an eruption avoided by our sad dispersal
awakenings perverted by madness
a charcoal kiss that removes the rot
fire of the ages built pyre upon pyre
on a human face.

<><><><><>

In the mirror I see fighting itself
woofing what's been given to a torn sky
fish features truck stopped in my loins
coins fountain that scumbag back at me
in godlike reminiscence.

Dig for the deep planetary eye
the gland of universe's birth
behind the prostate.