Shafts of pathway breaking the night.
Human toys lost in the woods glowing.
Logging roads blocked by dead machines and live bodies.
Plows passing that have scraped bone.
The weaponry in rolled-up eyes
increasing its gushing glue
minute by second.

Even for the thrill of safety,
I don't want to live under a man-made sky.
These skating apparitions and slanting trees
will join me in the highways of the whirlpool
trading flesh for my impact crater's child,
wild of luxuries that have left their mark.

Goat body in yarn
eyes fringed with hooks
shorelines painted with animal heat,
seagull's belly held in the hand like a banana,
nets of wind holding back a universal tongue,
trapped in the mutating sneer
of a form submerged too long in its bath of birth,
acids of vitamin-drenched juice
in the buds of a flaring reptilian ear,
he listens to the sirens he will eat
when their peach figs capture him.

Woman of long cloth and hidden archways,
smiting my walk with eyes,
torching the bridges sadness brought
to this bright veiled island,
swimming the sky with untangled wires,
pulling the drum skins tight and resonant
before leaving the partial exit
of my sorry head, with a tongue
tied tight to the roof of my mouth
and a wound no longer gaping
sewn up in arabesque.

My mouth turned
into a blood ukulele.
Streets of country beauty
strafed by metals
of a fallen city.
Materials climbing the air
that had yet to taste
a human lung.
And the fettered kisses
of a crashed cab
in a twilight of black red wine
and pebbles crushed by thumbs.

Ladyslippers
turning the vagrant's forehead
pink and eyelike
stems and bulbs that
tremble to catapult
in the hot earth cold
needles on the rib's vein
that rainbows between
broke-down houses
engine torn on a stone walk
the smoking ears of
a body-walked head
whose thoughts are shot through
frame beautifully used
tagged pirate silk
pouring through the gates alone
with the shadows of dead
used friends all around him.

The slugs come up to the sugarbowl
to see if there's anything left.
I'm sleeping in a rancid hallway
frowning at the flicker over a blanket
when the nubile crackers roll in.
They remove the vacuums
and electric cords, chattering
like disrupted birds.
Their bulbs are all over
the eyelids I keep down.
The see through ceilings lower the sun
on to the greased napkins
and paper lids, our naked limbs.
And all the lights turn to paper reps.

The key unlocked from the wood,
courts of sand and cig-stamped pottery,
inkwells near the drowned pages
clicking with frogs and bird limbs.

Carts of soaped cords, hallways
so long and bare they dissolve context,
and this America, and that America,
and the next, and the last.

Pine bristles lining the doorway's light,
waterslides tagged to concrete valleys,
empty rocking chairs on bush-grown basketball courts,
hands scarred from the rusting rim
inhabiting a sainthood of cruel filth
helmet tomahawk'd in a puddle
melted aircraft saddled on a bronze horse
clear gloved hands and penny eyes
vacuum soul for days.

Wand in wand
restlessly parading these pilloried streets,
hands on all doorknobs,
something jazzy, with flavor,
that got into an unpainted room
whirling with a can and a brush,
flat hands, poking tongue,
rebuked knuckles
stone flinting eye,
tubs of water
numbered like stars.

THRUSH CORE

Up on the wooden hilt
touching the sky's tin borders
with long antennae,
wilting toward the powerful chest
of the onlooker.

Pushed on a hurricane bed
over oceans of light
the buried blade deep in magenta caves
floors puffing dust plumes
eyes lined with gilt tape
fingers growing longer and longer
over the arms of the throne
breeding lightning bolts
for the walks of the onlooker.

Sight's paste chinning from the throats
of the onlooker who joins the flesh
the power of throttled cycles in churning leaves
he machine waves from a drifting frame.

One can only wait for him in rapid motion
the fullness of rhythm selfishly dancing,
to fall back on his frame is a rain of spikes.
He punishes a king with his mind.

Spikes of bone
stapled to a cliff's wound
schools smashed in a closing canyon
bleeding retrace the mouth
of the rock face,
climb long oars
on the paths light swept wide,
for the dawning teeth
trickling silt of brain
to the pile of tongues bitten off
belt rotating above gassy concrete,
figure eights painting eyes
vast as the cemetary's claw.

Iced off in my big chair.
Goddesses dancing in the street.
Sliced wool tumbling down a blue cape.
Feet banded together with rubber.
Their clothes coming off like cotton belts.
My necktie holding the tongue of my stabbed throat.
Closets bursting with wheat in swelling plastic.
Bitches sitting in hampers with crossed legs
tapped by the sky's milk.
Thick lenses that eat magnetic waves,
long hallways of tarp rustling toward the exit.

Nomads do not live an easy life.

Explorer found half-naked topped by hipped, shingled roofs
out of the sun's orange tint the mainlock door to the soil of a dead world
the entry of energy into the lobes that was blocked, predators and meat animals: my other self
Frey was the god of darkness and showers
and Freya light

Tresses of notville
who never ate the salad
sat in a room with high glass
thick ounces and a bounced computer
complaining her headgear
monocle on a screen
that blinks time through water
basement doors breaking
in the tug of webs
a projector crank
on the fangs of the old animal
a tank that won't blurt
while it drinks lead and butter
a bridge to the afterworld
paved in golden dirt.

The landscape where I frolicked is fading
into stone walls and fern hair
long blueberry ditches and stinkbug leaves
smarting on the buds of a tongue
long crooked waters that peek back
through the blade of a skate flash
or the rim of time transported sunglasses
droplets dangling at the whited-out bottom
of an inching frame.

Bodies dappled with rain bank
clashing in sunlight under the tin moon
mushroom ears and hair
stacked lenses of big screen eyes
and I'll be the janitor last to leave
when the lights and their voices go out
meanwhile the armchairs fight
in the streets where I used to chase females
drunk as paint, quite pleased
with the options available, and fuck
all you important people,
I'll stand over your graves while you jack off,
in a chorus of sickened flesh
pledging fruits to nowhere.

The human mask
still moves up and down
on my burned face
the voices of trees
occasionally speaking through it
the shoreline flickering on my mouth
corners turned and wrapping around me
but the cliff walls between mine and other minds
have steepened, are leaking hail
kitchenettes popping out of the sea
where we walked together on our broken lenses
across a linoleum sun
tossing eggs on leaves and laughing

ALC

A rolling head and a glass
a fallen shelf of stars.

CLOUDBERRY PICKER

Toxin are in the skin, liver, and ovaries, dazed at the wheel of the Dingman
there rose up his neuronic whip, stiffly elastic for the present plaza
robots caring for my home underground, as I support the vast platform
the synagogue of the emperor
this soft, happy rivalry

Supple curfews caress the flesh
these warming chains
berserk monopolies leaping cell to cell
having their fun with the beauty machine
parchment scattering desk after desk
with dust demands,
the sinew of a fragrant curtain,
lime after lime in jagged sodium,
spines of glue climbing a numb socket,
the engine's hood returned to the mouthpiece
a sputtering tree revealed to be a sagging sock
floor after floor soaked with ancient blood and shampoo
spiked linoleum of faces leering back through boiling water;
two eyes on a spit: a match of clouds whispering
their gust's last echo
firm as rain.

AND THE PHOTOGRAPH IS NOT A MACHINE

The computer says there's no atmosphere, luminous and bare
human fragment by artificial insemination from outer space
psychohistory of the galactic empire with a giant satellite
myths of humanity physically through emptiness a wrinkled teenager recalls
the sun about which the forbidden world revolves the powerful mosaic

by the new mechanical environment
this older environment was elevated

Nerves blown up by thought
feet scribbling on the sidewalk
heaps at the roadside that drip
with a light they can't catch
parties cashed out that have
left my body breathless
hands slapping acoustic wood
and dancing
slowly to the scorned outskirts
looks melting in the fire
of our engine-hitched existences,
strutting past grotesque panes of glass
revelers and their nostrils
broken pretzels to tie my shoes
long docks I walked that are
fished and faded
friends I've freaked out and fled on
because the vertigo in my veins
or the vast scene unmanageable
I'm not tired of the clouds
the unset stone or the pushing air
only in the kitchen-lit night
I smoke alone on one elbow
and wonder
why the wide net can't catch.

Flew from a bike to split my body
other half peeled off the pine
left me here with this sap face
short cloth on my stems
gears caught in a tear duct vat
got up from rubber with an ax
long clouds darkening heat
marble courtyards in mop soap
wheels sputtering spin in the dome's stomach
chains levitate centrifugal kisses that
long to hang on to chimney socket satellite
irises penciling screened-in torsos with magnets
veins of the eyes sticking like hair pasta
to a matchless glove.

Blood bones and skin repainted
brick prints in the palms of burnt hands
alleys of glass the gloss of wet bootprints
traces of hair on slab concrete
churning velvety rocks and deep reptile eyes
at the bulb of a forest bouquet'd
cut stalks drinking in a planetary vase
axis spinning bright burning dye
sprayed from the quake grown hands
rattling wrists on a barrow
dousing their silly string of light
with the pepper of flaking bark
umbrella shaped patches
of tree base shade
ferrets in cobweb and old paper feet
clamoring for quieter leaves.

THE CENTER OF THE MOSS WORLDS AWAY FROM THE DEAD PLANET

And so the world computer had been programmed with my own nudity
in the time of the mule galactic
to inscribe in the arc a factual magic for seizing a
behind, the whole rectangle of the portal itself, crowds or
fists, bellies, heads appeared in that order; it was all a speckled blur
featureless, lightless, unrelieved heap of rust technologies
that had once been water mains and power lines of bulldog opacity that
we have only meaningless figures but--we just have to find
the softly glowing keys of the computer the steady trend
his hands on the handmarks embracing woman
a large angle view of the Milky Way, a heap of powder.

ROBOTS ON LAUNCH ALERT

The furry alien rapped his new hand sank its claws across
seven hundred huge dishes, spaced condensers with strips of black cloth
the incomparable silver egg touch of the human skin
wrapped his hands around a thick sunflower a plastic patch on his neck
the sunflowers were taking convoluted shores and peaks
the woman seeing his blood on her mouth, wireheads grow warmer
rather than air they were inside a huge building.

Nights and weeks and summers
worshiping the female
watching bricks melting into the path
on the way to see them
power lines twitching with heat
on the way to see them
blood pumping with blood
respondency of life to life tonguing eating
these streamers of sense that
bind us together for awhile
while the pines lose branches
and the sheets under my cracked head
are lapped at more and more
slowly by water

In a high dome the frail life
burns its limbs off to be alone.
An egg in a tub, sending orders
through buried electrodes,
pulsing underlight
through the solitary water.
Body of car doors
drawn to a gummy center.
Blazing diamond eyes
in a  cartoon vortex,
beaming naked cells
into the worldwide
face of the enemy.
Satellites filling with pebbles
and female condoms.
Arrows that gravity returned
splattering bodies of floating paint.
Airways flung to the heart
of dying towns, the sheaths
of sliding missiles decorated
with ghetto graffiti,
an eyeless multitude cheering
to the sound of splintering bone.
Solitudes lost to man' sun in its casing,
histories melted down to hate's coherence,
print manufactured by blood
time's curtain split
by a doctored heel.

Blood spills from my books
to the mouth of a raccoon
by the water that spreads its words
he drinks and speaks like chemical man
scrubby chin touches my eye
from a dumpster heart
my language eats his mouth
he keeps speaking it
rises to take my shape
stretching and clothing himself
with my thrift and baggage
stoking himself with the night moon
eating thin-wrapped fruits
from a bronze basket,
running and gleaming
with drums and sour drink around the fire
turning to fling reflections
for the ribbon onlookers
turning to eat roads instead of conscious time
then trapped in an armchair screaming
ten tons of microwaved eyes.

A broken honeyjar
some ladies used to like
stuck on the same avenue
fumbling painted gloves
reborn from the woods and a fallen bicycle
reborn from a moss crotch in the rain
thinking under a large leaf
about the relation of skull to sun
long metal on wheels, smoking past
him stuck to his taped and gummed subway line
clawing an amp
figuring torn time into the cracked stone
under his rhythmic feet
that drum to his stunned column
from where a fire breaks out
and finds his forked heart,
the fangs that shape his silk
and the tumult of unwanted souls
in his backyard mind
breaking out in purple stains
that they assembled from
and bones of wheat that shake
beans of the eyes
down into this busted glass
to settle dust with scripts lashing
like tongues til they pick it up
lay down stick to the breathing current
poised by rum to stand front of the woods
then jump the stalks that stab the belly
the lid the gods liked
gone.

Phallic towers of huge refineries attaching the interior sill

SILK THISTLE PANSY DUCK WOOL

A bright, shiny roof shoots out the north stairway
produces a breakfast room to oyster tongues
cracked corn scratched down by the blue winter

fire opals robed in redbud
her brushy tail is thick with moments of frozen beauty
the mountains of Maryland are meant to be sipped

the flat iron that sits on the back eye of peanuts
at the top of the finest fool ever invented for cracking black
under the spell of the locust leaves
through stained glass
are poor people

They've trapped me in an identity I don't want.
I must tear my flesh in front of them
to show how much I hate it.
Until the cash machines come out of the woodwork
and chirp like marionettes.
Before the moon of blood makes its ninth circuit.
Shitting from my ears to the sides of a plastic mouth.
Convincing them I want it, a glorious and heated social being,
A cock-bitch with no leash on his soul,
another superior product.
An important messenger from self-inflicted hells,
his own naked secretary.
Until the mirrors shrink to mica flakes
and turn on long delicate wires.
Before they've lashed onto me
with their eyes that claw shapeliness.
Shitting from my pores
on the sheen of an enemy's front deck,
stunned in front of the townsfolk
with a killer's visage.
Showing them I need it, this net of empty sights,
this caged atlas wheeling aisles covered in bubble wrap.
In defiance of my own life and happiness,
in the hope they'll let me borrow their tools
to chisel away this face
their hands in the dark have helped me to see.

Torso my subject
I watch bodyguards bleed into pans
the green leaves painted silver
descending to the pale grey floor
of faked and clotted earth
hammered to a level beneath them.

Muscular foreheads emerge
from the bodiless
part of the body.
Torn veins surface on the eyes
that bleed there.
Jawbones stapled to the knees,
spine wrapped
around the punctured heart
feathers in clotted hair.

Chest split open like a cracked claw.

The voice of man is puke in an aluminum alley.
The works of man dribble with stupidity in complex ways.
Banish him, and he resurfaces
in your sacred places
with a wolfsmile.

Bubbling taint, he ravishes his own expertise.
In the presence of others
he is a duckling doll.
Around the edges of the bath
he plants  nuclear femurs.

Man demon machine
feel them scrubbing
metallic sides with skin grafts
the early alarm system torn loose
from the fabric of the body
shields made of clay,
an ornithologist's gaze
tightened over rice paper graph
the elegant deceptions of silk
a blade in the oiled guts
coming forth in straps and a valentine gun
grinning sheaths of plastic teeth
black as tar gum
snuffing out the stars
that land of them

Once you've walked to the door of the earth
and the streets say through your feet
you can't walk here anymore,
scurrying over a mechanistic void
still you make your way
a beat-down shrimp,
a fucking square loser,
one crimson dot,
a pullover,
a sheet to stack over death,
sets of swings on step after step of earth
sun gashed on the prominent path
works of machine engineering
thundering over tenement steps
like the work of shadows with signs and tents
mussel shells in black and silver blats packed over the eyes
a bowler hat on each foot
sweating.

Rivers of bedsheets
washing up on a stone roof
galaxies in the chest bone
bursting past the mirrors
raw paint on scab wound garden
rust tank in a tear drop
on the animal lawn--
shades ripped on the sloping driveway
pretzel'd forms anointed by blue electricity
twigs turning on the windowsill
wasp's hook in the ring of flesh
digging and spring-bouncing
lewd rocks and tan hillsides
flanked in rolling fire of decay
are calling the trickle of ice
over radiated whispers.

Meat sticks kiosk'd
on a long concrete courtyard
walls licked by the ocean tide
frost touching fringes of rock
longitudes forsaken to the umbilical
boxes turning air
marble fenced chairs
and the wetness of bathing suits
the world drunk and the world whipped sane
weeping like madmen
the plastic alto sax on the soaked antenna
bicycle body stapled to a piano top
chains melting into maple
keys on a long stretched rope
clanging to nowhere
gowns in a taffy room
the pulp to a clenched fist closing

My spinderella, young animal
with doll hair fetched from the breeze,
water lapping the full soft pubis,
feet poised on shells in the mud,
tits scorched by the edge of the sun,
shoreline reflected in a crease
on the churning forehead--

salt ears, waistline pierced with a cross,
a fiber of vaginal metal, priestess killer
who bewitches the burning piles,
bleeder on hills that rivulet to the valleys
with prompt ink, caves breaking and pouring,
her sainted hand bound in moccasin laces
soaked in fever dreams on my winding chest,
where she lies down to muffle action words
and observe her drippings on my bearded
chins lapping back from the wax of cracked mirrors
and bent fans in a razor's eyelash

Burlesque of trees
stone walls hide blood of wolves and sheep
lattice of birds and ears
the flexing of their slender and vacant bones
question marks in the soil
from boiling magnetic answers
two faces turned to a kiss
who will be burnt away
apple halves who feast on dainty clouds
paste that answers to a skeleton
straps on the spreadeagled conqueror
tight as the teeth impact of the continents
wires in the window of the eye
bouquets of dark space in chutes
blooming against cruel light
trusting their helmets to a hammer
their tunneling has made
from the break in a swinging chain

Every planet had its own odor of flashing lights
with his hands in the air, he watched her touch the cloth of the wrong controls
that thrilling contralto, that lovely woman
a sea of wet concrete, links of green-and-yellow-striped sausage
vertical sunlight reflected back at the trunks of flowering trees

the file of animals and humans made its way out blissfully
they were beyond the main worlds of the planetary system,
the sea beds bulged strongly; the map was carved
the vehicle, having reached cruising speed, moved with absolute, smooth
computerized equivalent faster than any human in history--and
fifty forbidden worlds luminous and unrecorded on the galactic titanite lattice
honeybees growing in clumps were able to sting the distance

The factions tore me apart.
My mental home burned down.
Flowers crawl up among the edgeworks.
Vines curl around the cans
that carry our cast-offs.
Blooming and cracking earth
peers through the tar like flesh.
Tabled insincerity leaks
into the leaky pipes.
Milk cans of rainwater
jiggling on rows
of wood like wheat
Rooms sliding against
each other's emptiness.
Body-printed furniture
tumbling from picture windows
into the vast water.

A path I started cuts
through my guts on its way
to the altar of fire.
What are words in the woods,
what are limbs in the sea
of thought?

Hallowed blood surrounds me.
I am faked by the fundamental
thrust of the universe.
Urged to lose my vessel
to the immortality of others
finally I take my words out
of the clown's ears
and tumble down the stairs
out of the world's apartment house
and onto a green brown back street
singing for love of expecting none
walking in a stalemate's heart
with doorless hands
unstuck from the time of blood
by an embarassed price
crop of eyelids
orbs basking in a syrup of blindness
a weaponized void with cheers and whistles

push over a dawn's cracked wood
mushroom eyes on bent legs
crutch feet carrying a chair
the smiles and bellies and herbs on shelves
all going hurt to the remanufacture
relived by minerals and vitamin salt
to the root of the time-socked nostrils
and leaking pap.

A tadpole sun
in its silver slime of clouds
fog drilling tar through rubber afternoon
while steps of shadow selves
collide all around the torn up shrubs
gravity's hold gone lost glove in a tide pool
ripped roots and soil's water floating up
to slap a sea of helmets on descent
suds on the new wobblers
mesh on tin over shrunken faces
the day our bellies slapped together
and sent lunar through a small tunnel
an anvil's tongue
the arm of an ax
big aching web
boiled down to a stuck dot.

Imitated by the shadow, twilight limbs laid out
carpet to the cliff, bright lens tapped by charcoal
to the napkin's inner eye, long legless table
drifting past the brokenness of line-walkers,
suicide attempters and signpost smokers
the world of civilization folding up like a document
carefully prepared for some time.

Rugged in the surf, parched on land
ridding spandex of all vines, reaching like an oil,
patching the sun with captured water
hellish underbellies of ships turned up to face
it's let loose, the undulating eye
at the center of the planet that never sleeps
rending our obnoxious oxygen.

Knuckles scraping on the forests they've parched
naked through the woods, rediscovering stone
in the midst of reaching fibers, long tuberous faces
that reach out of a mossy cleft
and put a hex on daylight.

Claims that eat the speaker's face
and the ears of the sightless listeners,
bronze torpedo beltbuckle cute
the violence of capable people
an eggpole and none
the zilch tone
of animated blood.

When even solitude fails to comfort,
and the sky is stripped bare by human terror,
my fever walks on many paths,
looking for an accidental light,
intrigued by melting branches in the net of a bridge's fence,
staring at dark water, all my vacancies humming,
hooked by a swooping machine that knows no location,
taking me to amplified heights, abandoned corners,
seats where the damp wind has worn the ground thin and weird,
planes of beaten soil that fit the curve of the body,
hillsides streaming with plastic numerals in a thick soup,
hospitals with sheathed and hacked-up parking lots,
my ankles carrying wounded blood, and the tree-tunnels
that I stalk hungering with moss, with white cucumber root,
for the sinking of my knees in mud, arms like dragonfly wings,
as the pine's fallen things crackle under my wordless wail,
and I bang on the lack of hope with my tin pan head
til it gives way to green fury.

The marching trees color over me
skinned canoes carve brown water
rubber ruts put latex to the rolling berries
dragonflies don't pick on their winged,
invincible cool, princely glass of eyes
bullshit detector burning out
at the equatorial checkpoint.

The bottom of the frame seeps light, is uncut.
Fronds at the edge of a pizza park speak to me.
Picnic blankets fly up into the sky like parachutes.
The crowned warrior of nothingness' nimbus
at the river's edge, perched on a rain couch
skin stuck to yellow leaves
rolled in a goldenrod gutter
hair frosted with mud
an uprooted overcoat.

Skull empty as the egg he crawled into
mirror thick for eyes bitten by fireworks
hands on a stone fence
ass in the air for the weather messiah.

Elms attacked have knots
where the sun shouldn't be,
powerlines run through branch hearts,
whole cores crackling and absorbing
half-rotted metals of totally rotted men,
rust tangled into the rust-colored leaves
in a barricade tide, the fabric's edge
of planetary wings, bittersweet mortar of
space between space, tar-eaten molecules,
tan shoulders severed on the rim of a hat,
rivulets in sand whose paths matter like fire.

I reach like a mechanical baby
in the insanity of reason,
stitched into time
by the fangs of these humans,
drawn to the sky by a bolt,
my cranium a chimney
for all that has been hurt here,
tired of stalking signs, and missing
directions, tired of the silk
of mammal words.

Tongue bandit on a steel girder
falling with lunch through the grand scaffold
last cigarette in hand, last posture
for the talkative strangers,
face distorted in the skunk's tallest bathroom,
torn smile of earth
and the miseries of desks relieved
by a cinematic tide.

Canyons of golden flowers
eating mitts that are fond of the chemical
crawling fingers down to the bone
boosting fingertip rockets
long stalks and cones dripping with beetles
from the earth of the upturned face
smog twilight eyes
fondling snuggling sightless death's future
as it falls to greater twilight within
lampless calling, quarters naked to the deck
that awaits them.

Masks carved into the hills
clouds brushing the globe
gardens pouring out of the ears of a dead man;

pools in the foot printed ditch
a blueberry burst on the palm of a marble hand;
an arrowhead driveway

stumps of crouched and smashed bodies
watching through eyeglasses
that time has gouged into their skin--

and the glimpse of innocence is strange,
it dims and drags like rag dolls
all man's weary agendas,
and takes flight into a helpless ascent.

Dancing through the flicker street
little broken librarians
smarm unraveled in the smashed limbs
of immortal trees
big square mailboxes filling up with rain
driftwood porches and hazelwood eyes
the gentle who are punished
and the cruel who get to carry their pride
footrests in moss
cushion for loins and headrest of water
spirit on a hang glider of blue silk
open to the forests of fallen eggs that it falls on
in the quiet of country dreams

Warblers who made a net of noise for one another
throats cut, nobody calling

A raft of leaves
against the sun
a path of film expanding
feet bare to stone and glass
vague guitars landing
blood puddles all around
the ice on the conscious mind
skeleton blades gash the river bottom
canoes come pouring out of the mud trees
fully formed crowns of twigs
sky-depth hum of water landing hard
on the shattered bridges of a whale's body
stump hollowed by a lunar shaft
left dry in electrified daylight
roads staked out by the trash can
bus-beaten travelers to a frosted kiosk
wind workers searching their shins
the refrigerated tops of easy burdens
mountainous backsides moving
caves of my torn clothes
rooms of torn-out pipe
sharp shattered tile
the blaring stereo stacked on rags
the lonely room flown through
the trees and branches
armchair kicked and taped
the zone's unpainted walls

Skin ripped off and stretched
across the globe, vast trees
and shards of continental plates
pushing through pores,
disheveling the expensive angles,
painting the broken skeleton
with magma, twisted fauna
and muddy depths, that hold
the scale of a blade
whose penetration will never cease,
whose handle is a shadow
and whose edge was filed sharp
by the movement of one
looking for a womb
whose stone wheel
was faced backwards.

Spotless vacuum taking higher
the orbit of the empty
cracking wooden mouths
to run tapestries down
rings of heat in the mid-air slump
encircling bone-broken wrists
straightening hands to reach abyss quicker
light scanning the ripped face
jaw drumming bone
throat cracking in searchlight haze
ears plugged with infant fingers
the face a cabinet door
swinging open on empty bottles
closet's backless cracks

Rudderless traffic,
smashing into a soul
that does not want it.

Eyes peeled to the intractable perversion
of truth and beauty, clutching a mirthless butterfly.
Claws indoctrinated to the cliff.
Forests chopped and piled
in the space of a painted letter.

Ruts of tar holding the core's adjustment,
center breaking its masks
to vomit on the earth.

Ocean belly to spindle eyes
a pathway of cages
walked with skull balloon
bumping hovering metal sky.

Strings in the blood that crumple
on contact with the outside shields of air
ancient barriers scarring dark material.

Steeples cloaked in wax paper
plastic wrap needled by the hour hand
cornerstone smashed in the earth that moves.

Running light that pillages
empty canyons of quiet
to a bone gazebo
the children of one's death
gnashing their yarns of spittle
on a drifting bench.

Haze of droplets on the skeletons that walk
bursting into a strewn alphabet
panels against the sun
stirring the cloud laughter
paths winding out of the sky with stuck shoes
arms on a departed harp
stones in the satisfied light
puked hand in hand
vent's maze in the necks
shoreline's moving razor loosened by leaves
little spines uncurl above stems
drip mother sap to father floorless bundles.

Parties broken up over the long hills
whose voice whips through the hairs of my ears
from the jag of ridges
to winding patterns honking and honking
ropes sunk to the floor of the sea
flag's staff drowned naked in the thick of the woods
attics prickling, organ and harpsichord chords
fake flowers in greening water
where the lightning bolts flow in heaps
crane-size ants eat rubber piles
triangulated scum pops outlet mouths
worlds of melted sugar
and a tooth of soil high
in the wave falling.

Roads torn through the human form
accessories abandoned, aisles colored
with smog and vegetable light,
frame shined in its unmultiplied self,
ready for the bulb scan,
that goes into the bicycle
criss-crossed garden.

Chewed sky and thrown-up clouds
constellations dripping with smashed scaffolding
fronds longer than the continental mouth
blossoming over the head lamp
shadowing shields of glass and after-party kissers
meters ticking in deep and shallow lots.

Shutters whacked by released rain,
eyes harnessed to the horizon rip,
rudder taped to the unseeing stem
that runs and makes his many opponents.

The buttressed walls of the pint of milk
add a panache to this spot of industrial earth
finer than face powder in a freeway of spaghetti.

Slates of bitter stone
foot soles glued to the cranium's
nonsensical aperture
narrow tongues in the ripped
tubes of destroyed ears
flicking fiber optic tendrils
that peel from a steam roll
caricatures of blood
in mineral veins,
that inhabit an advertised body with ruffled eyes,
punctured heels and concrete lashes
storming a pebbled run with scraped ribs
and machete hacked chest, the wheel in the belly
split like a folded rag
and a thimble smashed.

The head full of snakes
traces the birdbrain fragment
in its skull to a harbor.
Decks wobble in the undertaking.
Ropes kiss the flesh
that pushed their vessels off.
The body's recorder brushes hooks
and eases up like wind.
Many lassos pull the legs
of a fresh dinner.
Monuments of proven clay
clamoring into skin.
Windows clenched in their hulls
like the sheaths of infinite eyes.

Apart from all this for a moment
wondering if it is possible to live life at all
without playing the fool.
Seeking wide, solitary windows,
the company of sightless leaves,
then silent branches.
And a pal said, if you're going down,
take a notebook with you, I want to read it.
That's what it is anyway, she said.
A magnet seeking locks to untangle.
Days on the china pony that won't move.
Stuffed animals paid for with tickets of metal.
The sky claw dropping drinks and meaty favors.

The idol eats until he is transformed.
Until the space he traverses becomes
a frame that's aimed at him.
Others are transformed
by his consumption.
They are the mouths
that open to be eaten.
He consumes more and more of them
to change outfits and be posed
on the surface of their things.
Full of their mouths, their emptiness
and openness, he is paid
to lose control.
His love and hate is their excretion.
They live to harm one another
and celebrate his success.

Maples tap to tap
send stone messages in blood

Sleet on the high peaks' canyon'd rock,
duels with mossy sticks and leafy gun-shapes,
features sanded with salt, glass cut to fit
the edge of the fire-pit,
a melted slide on the ribs
made crooked to smile a trash can mouth
down technicolor taste buds a long wood's shine
scorched by glove-handled wells
the snowbank gut rot catcher
rhythms with long tracers
and plastered streamers
from the mountain's blood.

BARNACLES GROW TALL AND TEARING DOWN WALLS CAVE IN TO LIFE ON EARTH

And the observant tree dweller so cruelly besieged or so torn in adobe dust

contrite but ankle-deep in blood, up the hill of winged heaven

astride the dismantlement of the main dominant Babylon religion

mid-June until fall frost on her African violets to kill aphids and skinny frame garage

coiled green rubber globe, the cities contain stately lakes--

elms, small well-kept yards, the birdbath grape arbor,

golden horses on the roof, the great dome restaurants, muffler shops,

and some stopped by in loose white blouses and leaned down, holding their hair back

the brave little skyscraper of my stucco bungalow

the loneliness of blocks of furniture under majestic archways

Laced with purple rock floor after floor
sliding like a deck of cards into quiet dens
the tool shed arms rise in speech defending
the chestnut chest, the numb lips, the botched teeth,
the threatened headdress torn curtains on dawn
he dancing an air conditioner
he gone on spittle
he eating a radish of paper
stewing at the library of sounds
milking a vegetable Sunday
ice booth around the holy body garland
long rods to hold the leaves of books
petulantly in place.

Broken light at my back
bridges jumping arcs
flights popping at the neon orphanage
on the scratched mattress
and eating in the flash
a groundhog, a high unit
of fog.

Broken light at my back
pushing cars aside
dumping libraries into the sea
that I dive after,
coming up kissing the plow
for no reason.

Time was reeling after us,
we caught it sniggering,
we beat it into submission.

Big ceilings drip with animal heat.
Our stimulants are stirring their deliveries.
The burned-off tips of swift tongues coming back.
Posterior vibrato on the lap of a sandman.
Solar system's parking lot sighing from the cushions of dogs.
My spunk on her hot white teeth
we lie down thighbone to thighbone
and resuscitate the webbed manacles.
Tinfoil chimneys wheeze cursive avenues.
Potted pines gulp water and breathe mint curtains.
Waffle irons pattern the painted lips
and decorate the septum.

The drifting solid stream
the muscling green surrounds
huge upside down pyramid clouds
eyes in bronze lidless gaze
the taste of ten thousand year old honey
eyes in the sides of a rib less worm
tunneling landfill for heroic comics
building the frenzied networks higher
corners and girders a flicker with sounds of light
which is heat which is the sound of our breaking
our ears cast aside and our wrecked maybe
water picks up fallen eyelash
among other sweet debris
hills roll toward the ice cream parlor
nicked and bravely bleeding dancers
glass caged inside the telegenic brigade
the stream separates and separates
water keeps carving and
the observing life is tied to an aching monitor
bells twitch in the sea it goes to.

Her halo ropes the night close to my hurt ribs
brings the starved light closer to the vessels of the face in gear
wraps tape around the knuckles that might have fought for her
but hit wall after wall toweling the clay while still wet
with gashes and gills I make my way down to meet her
like a minister of rain, a hermit exploding in laughter,
she douses a fossil with her hair it erupts into a lawn chair
and dispenses the currency of the day
freely in the haze of smoke and doctored water.

Bushels of yanked veins
long concrete walks
geese radiant as smeared scars
padding along the earth.

Graffiti heart
whipped by curved winds
on the water tanks.
Paths carving plastic wheels
broken shells and seeds to tar
branches from the silent moon
scouring downward.

Fields glow at the edges of tarred earth.
Groupings of eyes burn from trunk to trunk,
stalk to stalk through the heights of multitude.
Broken trail ways encountering water.
Enchanted moss the light trickles through.
Stubs of smashed branches poking through the barrier.
Torn cloth at the soil's edge
for the root to trace emptiness.

Milk washed sun
sand washed mask
fingers over the map of stone
reading the plan of man
flickering off in rivulets
and volcanic circles.

Frozen crossroads pursued
by a tent dweller.
Wires to unbalanced ears
muffler cracking across reptile eyes
from three-pointed landings
windows whirling laundry and bang radiance
a park bench long as an aircraft carrier.

Hogchoker working and loafing, and the mountains somnolent green ice
looking down on rice terraces the swamps are drowsy the days wash away like dogsled beauty
our summers pass curtains of northern lights that dance and perpetual snow
the white rhinoceros lives along the tomb of the cliffs of an unknown cave
folk find shade where ornamental chain-link leant on my knees
aquatic ecosystems: the two main divisions broke up off the coast like dish soap

Land pierced by fallen bones
tables rising out of mud from scattered banquets
bronze flowers losing light in the stabbed sky.
Cracked tar in the eyes of a whipped runner.
Flopping flesh shedding sweat on the sand of ancestors
machines coasting out of their crushed heads
ripping the breeze.

Long tubes on pebble-covered roofs
thrumming with cataloged mystery.
Canyons of aluminum smearing coils of birth
with the assistance of the moon.
Weary of blood and sad work
the deserts and their scarecrows of water
come channeling soaked cities
to bury us clean and crack open hurt brains
singing to the broken blade

In this borrowed height
the view of shattered runways
traps the blood's wings.

Alleys of glass on bathed trees
that breathe sunbeams and ragged weather
sucking the green cushions of soil
with a strand prowling
denting the glow
cut through the stone apostles of thought
toward a gurgling river.

Combs float up to printed sand
settling in broken shells,
their raking empty
salt scoured and ornamental.

Leaf's underside eyelid
lakes blinking
body finger searching the soil
every pore on a thread
painted creases and steel black trash cans
pouring out of a mouth in the dunes
a window of sand woven into a thumb nail
a bouquet of signposts and smashed lights
clenched in the rolling rubber of a magnetic hand
flies smashed on webbed bright glass
wings frozen to the stem of a growing goblet
steel lids spinning where steam bursts and paints brick
with moldy water and the form mud
alleyways melt fingertips for knives
silk's arabesque caresses
milk humming between rocks
and oceanic holds
the rippled cells awoken.

Galaxy-wide blue walls marked by green doorways
slide show in the veins of hand
long legs concrete and sliding suds eyes
rooms pop in liquid buildings
neck gashes and cheek chewed give way to mouth
tremble to the scream of buckling restraints
in the faint tree top's smoking fingernails
daylight throttled by wheat's overabundance
shores tripled in light
well hung shadows walking
into the darkness of weed-filled water
a box of doors breaking open.

EAGLES GROW TO RAIN THE MECHANICS OF KINDLY STRANGERS

In air-conditioned cars, we wonder truly aroused,
lawlessness above and opposite fields and fishponds
scattered by the glorious particles
hybridized by the house of floribunda
glossy, bronze-green blooms, measuring bedding
coral-peach, double bloomer borne in tight clusters
the dimension of the panels on long perpendicular walls.

Baby bitten nipples that spring
to my nudge of tongue,
female hills and fences for me
to box and ass under,
ferns quickening around
the coil of blankets,
branches that drop
needles to leaves
and the wrecked car's eyes
broadcasting across
the great desk of the sea,
tie adjusted to the thought and speech
bubbles that make up
the day like ice.

Glitch in roses
twitching fibers to the sun spot
pipe limbs
aluminum-faced smoking stoic
current cold on open teeth
flowing rock and sticky stem
herb crushed to the path
glue gun pump dented bumper
pine harvest tops crawling leaves
ice connecting over printed flowers
tipped carts pouring cubes and cushions
kerchief tongue mugged and bumped
by slinky heat
sap for nipples to stick to fingertips
lizard glass in the air
off the road with swerving paint
into the elephant darkness
and the bunching sand.

The eye grows larger than space--it burns clothes.
There is no escape from its unsearching seeing.
The planet may burn, but consciousness--wants more consciousness.
This is how the body joins the eye.
This is how emptiness uses knowledge to eat.

When I became a stranger,
I saw the way those I'd loved look at one
whose mind has become troubled.
Void will disarm these gazes--
vein find bodiless places, and take heart.

Oceans call to home having no outlet
artichoke hearts in a trash can
totems of severed stacked heads
atop a toaster oven pyramid
long eyes in the sides of snakes
pillow house on a spike flagged dune
beauties wearing beard hats
strutting bars that are knife holders
melting windows to the way they lean
dressed up in falling trees
tattooed with chimneys
blinking rain from leaves

Ink-blocked walk through the old neighborhood
terrace boarded by pigeons
lace hoarded in baskets
piled on half-bleached cases
feathered hats' smashed pile in a corner
porch a crayon wall of cartons, lady
leaning over has a broken car
a leaning mailbox
a forgetful head.

It is summer in the place we smoke together.

Peach-splattered sourdough matrix baby
knocking around in the people computer
without a team of assisting bodies,
without a rug of spent tears,
with no interior bending,
a spent door chaser,
a long wire going mute across the satellites.

Transparent bag stacks of rejected food,
ant farm bogged in gasoline
sinking away from
the high totems of bagel.

Chlorine eyes out of the path half-dark
pushing a wet hand of signs,
sketching on wrists
what music springs from the spine,
rock walls on my eyebrows
her service provider
vacuuming salt from the tabled flesh
thinking bloated micro-macrocosm
from what erupts.

Tempests rise like daughters of mercy
through telephone tunnel halls
and balls of mercury rolled on the tongue
wood gleaming from the heart of the sun
falling through the technology of dust-mites
pushing wounds out of the walls
like a felt pen, galaxy
churning to plot its dark revival
revisit of dawn's province
on a hailstorm of wrecked chairs
rain dashed out like an emergency prayer
hugs and clasped hands air commas in the blear
and grasping the ransack of death
her active hologram celestial body
priced in prison errors
for the saint of asskicked man.

A mouth of quartz teeth
purple-blooded gums
mind embroidered by the blade of a shovel
looking out long windows at long parallel windows
wondering how he drowned so many hours and stayed afloat
one hand on a mud-buried mussel's shell
the other on a replica sun
sky's cloud fork filled with tongue meat
pine tops pulled by meteors flying
roots releasing river's shore
painted lots puff through sewer grates
and heat throws light to push water
over the desks of grass
button tablets of octopus pens

I guard these darkened halls
from a folding closet.
Light scatters across the planet
out of reach.
Chairs are set up in the mud
and left standing in droplets.
Polished leather marchers
stir the breeze
with fractured perfumes.
Screaming cleaners whack dust
from crucified carpets.
Long paths fall from the fresh eruption
and leak through the horizon's wheel.
Forests plastered with fake blood
falling under the sunrise.
Twisted stairs multiplying through
the atmosphere.
Nets of bone that don't break.
Sorrows pouring on the desert.
Ripples ping ponging
over the blended carnival.
And a fang, and a song for the earth.

Fresh milk sky
ghost in booming shoes
zig-zagging the upward path
in rock through the mountain
hands cupped for water
at a cleft in the rock
moss broken and cloud cut
flowing through the hollow gestures
investing a mighty wind
in the feeding mouth
and loins lingering
to search the shattered
doorway for a dance
legs juke and disposition wide open
for the fires of earth to hammer a cymbal with
straw bones and vacant eyes humming with space
a scarecrow for my own mirror
lipsticking testaments to a sand cave
running through hats and haircuts
wedded to a box of metal on rubber wheels
pursuing mercy with broken wings,
yet having flight in mind,
stuck to the frame I have carved and crafted
vibrating with gemstones and failed utopias
shop worn loves
and gloves left on the chopping block.

Wet rind on the branch broken so many times,
lightning-struck and re-mended,
puckering overripe orange seeded
mouth in the air, stirring the caves
of interrupted flour, an eclipsed season.

Dirt moving in tides across other dirt.
Bench and chair sleepers tight wads of grass.
Coins in the rectum of light.
Lifeless rompers.  Burnt helicopters
drifting down like grasshoppers
drafted by a child's lamp.

The tree's limb climbs the sand
in the water's sonic blitz.
A woman on the quick shore,
several birds flying out of her body.

The cloak the inevitable wears, and its closed lips.

On an iron shelf I keep myself
inside an ashen box.
Feeding circuits alert themselves
in far away ceilings.
Waves tick on and off
awash in rubble cities.
Friends and family are
picked away like lint.
The open floor calls to my hidden flight.
Courts stampeded by rubber people
glow prices to the sightless exits.
In this, our second dream, you
and I are trying on shoes
for broken bones, I am buying
you a haircut, you are nailing me
to a car.
We are watching lightning bugs
trace our surface with interruptions.
The woods are rocking our pulse.
Flakes and bark shards
and leaves came down
without partaking in error.
The warp and seepage of dirty births
strolling with your follicles like a fur coat
high on the darkened concrete
beaming a plan to my eyes.

Now I have my elk, my
pasqueflower
his meals with the uniformed peon laborers
to excavate brick walls from a legion of nomads
needlework across the face of the earth
of such figures to plod, pace, and toil into the imagination
grain; in Haiti, bananas; salt but the figure became an icon, a symbol
crushing loads of bizarre Pakistan; fish in Portugal sprouted a five-gallon drum
sleepy, intricate faraway early stories
straining their eyes
he posed her in autochromes.

Gelatin brothers
riders who purple down brick work of thieves
back doorway a steaming laundry
front bench two suicide chatterers
flopping on a trampoline to the mating switch.

Numbskulls who nevertheless cracked the dragon.
Brute errors broken in handiwork who clean desks.
Excreted screens for a sun's emperor.
Shopfront veins hosing rays of lamp gauze.
Dropping leaves bouncing eyes
to head lit carpets of pine needle patches
the sap of the fallen kiss tickling in shaded ices
a river's armor
the bullet-catching face
of infinite agitation.

Big shades open to the fierce electrified night.
Splashed motels with fresh paint, shivered front yard's hyacinths
with running water, mouths caged in multitudinous bouquets
aimed at the hill's rim near the sky-button.

Hungry doors on our younger footsteps.
Tablecloth dreams in tobacco seas receding.
Late-night lawn chairs on the glass eye kitchen floor
chat going.
Crow's arch of eyes
concentrating through
the blue sky terror.

Diners identified by sounds and steps
that patter into the frequency fade.
Numbness of dudes, exitway of metal,
understanding of the faded numbers
sculpted by charcoal and moss
in the fuming of tree branch's error
hands caught in a noodle nest of pickled vipers

The bird bath key ring toss near the heart
hardening entrance marble mopped
and clean lobby rigged
wormhole to the radio world
in a gem-packed sound.

The rage contained a prophetic passage
old heraldic emblems, turbaned dolls, red lions of maple fried to a golden brown
elegant parquet to colorful plastic living space clusters and arching canes
among white dawn corner and pinocchio stonecutters, the high altar western utility gold
sunshine airship mud into rough rectangle beyond the bright colors of the butterfield
volumes of strong linear perspective on a gossamer fiber optic bundle of light

Bonds that break in the light of day
the smashed works of empire's people.
Formless words underwater
that can't be undone,
the drift of planets
captured in a sneer.

Washpots eating their own clay.
Fenced-in matings
that dream of destiny,
sand whipped from dogs in dim backyards
to a high bright slipstream.

Split roots shivering into a darkened river
limbs spinning on wax.
Tugged fertility dripping
down the chainlink
hollow diamond by diamond.

I wake up smelling like a vinegar factory.
Trespasses in the night have left me solid as a lamb.
Day vacations of robot transparency
repelling my soul to a void.
Mercy's departure from skies
that never knew its meaning.
Skunkflowers blossoming over the highway.
Shelters of rubber and leather that never knew a body.
Burning roads of paper cups filling up the dim atmospheres.
Dusk on the wounds of men.
Dawn coming over the picnic tables
where hands are bloodied on quills.
And a path of sand showing the way
to the gnarled fireflies.