I hear prophecies of you

in David Bowie.

The madness of the radio

is silenced by your breasts.

In the crux of crossing shadows

I see you are the trees

that cast them.

I walk beneath your body

through the sky

and then back in

over platforms of laughing soil.

The atmospheric curtains

thrust me out

to the senseless stars

and airless majesty again

I long for your talk of butter

of small grains and earthly things

that blossom in the flame of your hands

imperfect devourer

sweet fount of braids and chains

where I give up my wandering

and you send me into ashes

waiting for a pin to prick my soul

for you to pipe my longing

deep to be the water of my air.

Pelt me with red eggs from hell,

be my grim transcriber.

Let me not stray

from your frail and square

hourglass,

take the libraries from my heart

with a drag on your cigarette.

Let's watch the rivulets

carved in this hillside

run with restaurant milk.

Already you are blooming

under the lights

that scalp some.

Havoc is breeding

the central diamond

in your eye of eyes.

The soil's life reaches up

into your fertile web.

Sanctuaries cluster

all around you in a bright

stone-tapped mosaic

where I am

falling over.

I am the swelling

above your ribs,

the tigress heat

that makes tigers.

As the cliff blades

find my fur

my bones

will not let go.

The green rows open up

when you close your hands.

Palm leaves crack

when you avert your eyes.

Nets fling a harvest

of empty armor.

But the one who has

walked the longest

will not be clothed.

The sky gnashes

and impersonates

a purple wreath.

Thorns write on my pillow

and retreat into my veins.

The journey

is a smashed grain of sand

where the gardens

ripped a man.

The yellow flower trembles

on its patch of scrub.

My blades are careful

but her scowl

obtrudes the air.

I'm alien here

but the veins have got me.

I plow down the green gulf

into the holy river.

A cloud spits hail

on my dive

and the wake

retracts my eyes

to be born green

in the garden of sodom

one more blinking time.

A crescent there in black blue,

the sinking earth,

the fates of ice in current

like dying letters.

I love this whole

distorted timeline,

all its flakes

of hurt light

falling together through space,

and the sweet circuitry of noise

that becomes music, flowing

through the snot

and dreams of fuzzy multitudes

to create violent diamonds,

quiet embers

and radiant eggs.

Its tangled sutures

in my hands,

bruised wheat

and deeply speaking vine.

Its ice cold merry go round

and my seat in the fray dripping,

the whirl of expressionless horses

and liquid chains.

Let depth penetrate depth

and the waves fall

all in their places.

Let the goddess

anointed by time

fall under its wheel.

Let the fire be with me

in its open guise

and her tragedy fall

into my arms to be sown

in a closer cell.

Let the garment tear

with its willingness spent on trifles,

let the banner be

a thousand tongues.

On the brine of my back

let her hands eat me up like the sea.

Destroyed for all but you

in your pink silence

and quietly folding hands,

fixed by you as if I am a thought

from your sweet nerve.

Under bridges

and along despairing roads,

I wail in the water of life,

fall through the harpsichord

of all the little ways you were created.

Deep in the silks of your pondering

you seize me from a distance,

my barely modern body

in these ancient shoes

yours cleft for the taking

in my missile ways,

in the corners and lilac shadows

where we are breaking

in a dogged dream

in the hollows of unspent spaces

from the light of your mischievous chin

from the toil of the ocean

this desire was bound up for you,

exclusive as the molecules that matter wears,

one woman, one heaven's inlet,

one particle crowned.

Lily, daughter of the stargazer,

where do I go

to search you out?

You rise above the empires

and their adulterers,

you throw me into the abyss

with your little hands.

Jasmine stands next to you

with its scent of sleep.

September is

another care away.

I open the poem

and you come out of it.

Record another song

and your secret soul of evil

turns another pearl.

Untie me from my agony

of desire: have mercy on the years

that have not smashed a man

the way your furtive glances

and your pigtails did

in the months of your pale blue eyes

blonde sabotage of discovery

waiting with empty thighs

in the outer darkness of my mind

for the breath of an unknown morning

souls under the lidless scan

I beat your legend into me on hot tar

and go far to the day moon's strength

and the night moon's mirror

your name like a knife in my side.

I miss your green fangs

fruit of the fire that commands your will

as I drink from the smoke

in your shoe.

The wheel collects

its paste of human excrement.

We shine upon it

with our worship from a distance.

The bright zones tug

and the dark zones move.

Water boils.  The cauldron is angry

in its lowest curve.

Stalks of daylight fallen

malformed on a tent of twigs.

The propane forest quakes.

The stone hemmed junkyards

heave.

In the great mystic reveal

we will come bubbling up the depths

to embrace halfway

from the belts of a run down sun

where you are my cavern

there will be a ribbon

of brushed-by faces

melting on a bronze floor

and a high-set star that howls

from the wound of its beginning

salted in dayless matter

by the lights that never cease

rib's brain of echoes

orb of the last dawn

drowning gear in tongues

to come what's next with feathers

locked in kaleidoscopic combat

oh silk spun dyad

catching milk from the cloud's dark yield.

Ever to see you

stalk the floors

tapping dimes

into the shadowed rug

with your little heels.

Swinging lamps

the scene runs rampant

I duck beneath a feathered table

and watch the water

crawl across the wires.

Tongues flop in the hallway

raw tons of meat

you stand on a strange

precipice of chrome

commanding the rivers of blood.

Pound the silk,

you fragile imitator,

walk gingerly

around the knife.

Delicacies don't come

without fangs.

The jungle seethes

with diamonds.

Your vent for crimson air

the rage in concentrated errors

sown into the liquid

and the land.

Velvet bombers

with tongues of tar

setting fire

to the tangled vines.

The hourglass we rented

cracking in the speed

of time warped sand.

My rollercoaster highway

rolled up into my wrists

and lit by

a drip-drowned bulb.

Street signs

promising the sacred

to the vacant

all die down to darkness

in a desert wind.

A plane of light

anointed anew

from a single braincell

left flickering

above the punished void.

Naked in the clutch

of softening bones

my side wound

longs to taste the pain

of vinegar tongues.

Wings hammered in the deepest forge

to rise over the fallen prototypes.

Blood rivers reflected

in spoon-like eyes.

Lightning crossed

by vaporous souls

as it flashes

the fragrant abysses.

Victims lining up for lunch.

Diamonds exploded

at their feet

for gravel: this network

of ignored stars.

Strings cut from dancing puppets

sky ripped with robotic alphabets

veins of living things

stretched on a dying wind.

Smiles were senseless gashes

when the party swirled

this crushing solitude

lives near God's heart

I say to the smashed water,

I say when her ways depart.

Even in the galleries of beauty,

there are none like you.

On the electric boardwalk

where they twirl their finery

through the razor web

of a prize calendar

still

there are

none like you.

Your soul in evil solitude

like mine, you slim and fine,

quiet in the bamboo reaches,

quiet in the midst

of a cicada storm.

Tell me why

do I walk looking

when there are none like you?

Why do I wait

where you never come?

Only the time stripped bare

in your echoless clasp

can be redeemed

by sweat and blood.

The coin of a gone realm

shining on an empty road.

Wheels in gray churning transit

bone sockets for the trains that pass.

Uptown, on the frolicsome curb,

a trio of hourglass beauties

in owl masks

begging for the blessed light

that sticks to the ribs.

Sky soaring overhead

while I watch

from a cartoon face.

Disintegrated songs

riding through my bloodstream.

Your neon halo

body fit for a gun

scriptures on grass

a skeletal train car.

Zooming frame

your silicon nightgear

sleek spandex rags

the paths of a femme fatale.

Perched upon rails of glass

my braided heartworm

leaning in the light of chrome dashes

and frozen bars

hot moon-flung harmony catcher

a flopped series of echoes

or newborn ancient clay

the water's finger playing.

A slab of stone

in the coldest eye

shines with reflected bones

from what's left of me

claws that stripped

the covering of skin

their place with the hands that take

the sky glazed

with icy sperm and egg

the quick deaths

of a dying world

a monolith's cracks

that blot the sphere

of no horizon.

Put the veins of my eyes

in a temperature dial

ladle my blood

for the canal

of a desert chessboard

let it run to the clay root

from which this

flexing tragedy

was sculpted

let the corpses

run the amusement park

and me with my silent jewel

be gently forgotten.

Sermons of delirium

vibrating from a fallen wall.

Their unicorn vocations

and lust for suffocation

all their flash bouquets of culture

gone.

Gone.

Gone.

Blast me with another cartoon melee

from your insensate organs

tell me that your desire can find the soul

so I can sleep inside the rocks

make me a criminal of the mind

so I can throw my bones against the sun

and melt into your atmosphere

I am tired like a tiger in a cage

of your frowny-face mothering bullshit

tired of these fucking feminine old men

and their tired nubile nurses

let me rise into vapor and reclaim

what these animals have lost

let me feel the fanatic purple

O Lord of your energy captured

rain the linkage of frozen realms

upon these bitches

so the fire can sleep in form.

I will rest

in the socket

of an artificial mercy,

raging against time

for your love.

You touch the silver,

you perch in our favored lowlands

on carved and curving wood

eaten by the open doors.

Faint blue eyes

and braids of southern gold

will not save me from

the darkness behind the glass,

the howl of wounded plastic.

Resigned to flesh

older than the spirit,

I watch from the distance

that your beauty is,

I die in the rush of urgent air

to nowhere.

Vacancies ripe

as turned compost,

the bleeding

of open space.

Histories ringing

the helmet mirror

that I wear through fields

of bone powder

partaking of none.

Her bright cocoon

pierced by an axis

surging through

some other Earth

like a spear of stars.

Send me up

to the cloud you planned on glass

feathered with springtime

laced with summertime's regrets

plastered to a plinth

beneath a statue's time-hacked face

worshipping the valley

of mysterious laughter,

set me up for your kisses

in the shrink-wrapped radiant

dawn where no one goes,

set me where the moon drinks water,

set me where its minerals are afire,

bring me to your lips

so I can see my fate in stone.

I cut an eye-shaped hole in the earth.

Wolves come pouring out.

Cemeteries without end

feeding the speech of tall grasses.

Water that roars

and the veins that guide me

exploding into space.

Help me over the fine ridge

dyed multiply with fallen nature.

Stab me into the vortex of struggling souls.

Let me come up from the distance

of trees in the shadow of other trees,

let me be stained with solemnity.

And let the colors rule the world

with razor strangeness

as I sleep with the chaff of gods.

In the teeth of dawn

I long for your fluttering embraces.

The sidewalks move away

like a crash of waves.

The whole sky hovers.

I searched the aisles

of statuesque lovers

but none had your nervous,

peculiar beauty, none had

your fading and newborn eyes.

It's a sad opera with hilarious fangs

and it fits on a thumbnail.

I talked it into existence

and you crushed it without a kiss.

Claws tapping

on a stained glass dome.

Eyes of pain

plastered to an immaterial door.

The rat faced bodybuilder

in a gilded mirror

braiding his veins

to the mortal hinge.

I can't push the path

to the highway

where the deer bound

and I

silently drown.

Buzzsaw teeth

with all the right words.

Lapidary banquets

blooming on deep set eyes.

Soft touches

measuring a boundless frequency.

The velvet path

that circles a sunken bed.

Weak lights playing

on a blazing force field.

Stung circuits in the nerves that bore this art

going home to the rift of bright

but absent souls.

The vacancy turns pink

as a peaked sunset.

Stripes of ruin

carve over the quiet seats

settled once in rock

now gone to acrid vapor.

Companions of a shadow

little flicks of astral hair

find me wanting more

than earth or earthly light.

Now they've stripped me

of all my feathers.

I can begin to drink the brine

gratefully.

I can move the air

with my fan hands.

Ice will glimmer around my torso

from the passing talkers.

Knives will glint from the cemetery walls.

And a rash of purple moss

surround the open well

where the fire of earth

pours out.

I see you looking out of my face.

You rented my shoes and shrunk them.

Little monster of ribbons and bows.

Sweet tidal wave of eyes.

A pale blue lake with pink echoes

left behind in the sanctuary lot.

Girl-grim valentine

where my crane

raises a tumult

of petals and ashes.

A silk fish hook

pulling out of snow.

Ruined reminder of days

looking over the grave

with a hopeful rectum.

Fallen from tapeworm skies

to a lasso of branches

this bramble in the brush

tongue's thorn of longing

blood torn from scales of rain

sneaky mound of venus

like a stone bell calling.

Boulders torn

from the arms

of the mountain

screaming their own names.

A slab of cartoon crucifixes

squirming with bright tin maggots

carried along the horizon line

by a roaring train.

Where is the seismic kiss

that opens these barbed gates?

What is the sweet signature

to melt glass?

Only this brick with many eyes

unwary on the tracks

knows the coming light.

A dead schedule

will be imprinted on my life

again.

And I will go under it

like a bloodless dream.

Blades write quietly

on labyrinth walls.

One mousetrap for the planet

seething antique hinge.

Stripped eyes

in a lucid vacuum

unable to expire.

I'll let the rolling skies

squeeze out my blood

and lay down in a field of deer.

Squares and fettered domes

will not melt all around me.

The sun won't tell.  The pines

won't shed their ridged bark

in anguish.  But the long legs of the dawn

are agitated, and will have

their stirring song

in any weather.

It's just the stillness of her shadow

now

and my outline gone

from its departing measure.

The lake shore wedded to a mask of fire

pale blue eyes in a circle of galactic stone

the groundswell on a lid of hills

quaking like an android giving birth

railroads walked in twilight

lining up with velvet bones

I take off my shell of old bodies

and walk the blood fought bridges

man made in the sleep of life

that gave them shape

and wonder at the warped perfection of your form

conquering machines and graveyards

with its frictionless divinity

sun's fragrant carrier

invisible siren's caw

I crush these thorns

in my hands

to a black silt.

The moss beneath cemetery granite

surges and exhales.

Long arms of machinery

draping a cold distance.

A subway chain of daisies

flaming the linoleum night.

She picks up the arrows

tucks the movements of sundown

into a painted bag.

Treadmill mirages

where we cross ticket arms

touch circular doors

and ride the rag doll's elevator

to the mind of God.

Furniture stabbed by

the long gone nights

of a ruptured life

stung by the passage

that wrings the tides of time

stunned by the trees uploading

and the cautious deer

heart's in a vine cast long ago

hung loose to sanction the abyss

a whale-mouth, a gashed series

of spasmodic dreams

in jelly green peppered rings

all the colors lost beneath the tides

reborn in suffocating skies

the bones on the couch stuck

waiting.

Days in a liquid state

long faded from me

the rope swings of departed planets

where a dry breeze

tucks itself into me

like a language of dust

planks and planes of

the grid vertebrae

strangled in living vines

and by her sorcery of quiet dancing

running through me

like a leaf of scenes

the mercy of moss painted ledges

bright claws and lips

retreating from

a blood drained sun.

A segment of mutated flowers

offered on an altar of bronze

pools shaped like sacred letters

lining up to bounce the mid day sun

a crane scooping gelatinous matter

kitchen table lit for an angry dwarf

the midnight slab of highway

where a sky pours oil

your gravity of braids

and shaded thatch

in a colored cave

faint cubbyholes of light

becoming urgent bulbs.

Chickens are scraping the yard

I watch a fault line open in the sky

grates and manhole covers

come tumbling out

from the sorrows of lightning

I take my despotic hand

and shove it into the fire

a woman's body carved from sapling pine

outlined against the deeper trees

that gave her being

a shadow angel shaped in shaded pools

could come no closer.

A frozen waterfall with eyes

a scythe of light

sweeping scraps

from quiet galaxies

the screaming

of intelligent particles

dancers in suits of splintered glass

running down ribbons of cashed-out stars

a transparent pyramid's peak

dripping with neon sulfur.

Two little puff pieces of cloud

suspended

in the going of their holinesss

over ragged and light smeared hills

a track of salty tears

on stripped white pine.

Wherever they go in time's terror

the sunset horizon

pursues their robes of smoke

two unknown signs

flashing in tandem.

Nuggets of purple gold

on the cemetery's face

long sidewalks to nowhere

on the rough silk of curving Earth

breathing on hills

and slim low hanging clouds

the strangeness of some river

polluted by ink grey time

a mask sinking

in the sand bed

love roving over hours

where the light pools

like untouched money

and the water cools

the sill of the sky.

Our love will be torn

from the theaters

and placed on corners

of vine-crawled streets

by a rotating wind.

Belts of tape wheels

agitating in the sun

through the roof of a glass factory

where we walk barren aisles

with the kisses in mind

that have not died there.

Circuits of steam

that ride back alley fire escapes

your dress of flowers hanging on a line

my kidnapped eyes.

Make more emptiness in me.

Let me forget the flowers.

Under bridges I will smoke

and read the leaves

that are left.

Many will be altered as they pass

from raw sunbeam to sunbeam

line to painted line

minds roving high

above bodies.

I will keep the shade

and reserve these glinting shapes

tapping the vein of living ground

that knows an end.

Tankards of blood from my eyes

emptied through

the fallen lattice of ribcage.

Scopes left by falling stars

tunneling through space

glittering with scars

from the hot passage.

Saints of silence and dead time

perched on their radiant porches

ready to fall in the sabotaged atom.

Love recycled by fire

to return in rumors of steam

a force field of vibrating arrows

caught up in senseless water

and a godlike sneeze.

These burns will itch and fade --

that fly will die.

Planets teeming with beauty

will be seduced by the dark electron.

Blades turn in the arabesque

of hidden thieves

taking light

from the currency of fire.

The curb swoons by mirage

to join with liquid space.

A cigarette goes out

in the heart of an abandoned temple.

The hawk escaped from gravity

dives and dives.

You prayed to your gods

but they did not come.

Excepting every totem that

landed like a bullet

deep in flesh to be recovered.

Slabs of overpainted shoreline

on a fluctuating screen

my life lying next to yours

in the glow from a televised phonebooth

gone far down the channel

of these blinking years

in color to be commanded

from the stem where we fade out

far from our source.

At the cusp of the last waterfall

I hold a decorated rock

lettered with doctored moss

by a western knife

for your oriental pause

and your braids of light.

The waves lap the sun

at the height of an empty hour

green frames rise from ocean floors

a platform cups her feet

the vines that snake

across the walls of towers

lift her light up to the veiled sky.

Pedals of a drum that beats at dusk

the strings of a furtive arm

her unharmed way

first tick of a hand chiseled clock

on a garden wall.

Let the dry light run

to its pockets of water.

And the wigs on long sticks

be ruffled by a careless wind.

All eyes will be split

by a separating cloud.

Every grain in its hollow abundance

washed out to the ocean's bottom.

My umbrella of bones

its rag circle of shade

in a rift will remain

I tap dance

to the smashed candelabra.

FROZEN ON THE WOMB WALL

Cruel goddess, rule my life

with your whips of mercy.

Pour out the covenant of oil

upon my willing shades

and the terror of the dusk brighten.

Pull down the smoky pillows from the windows

let the cuts of light reign

and the bones of an ancient love

find flesh to walk again.

For hologram line boxed clouds

the crooks of a miraculous highway

long ruts with rank prodigious flowers

the cracks of a settled sun.

The wings of living things

point to you with the immovable humilty

of cut stone.

Trees bow down like reeds

without sackcloth and ashes.

The rubber yield of maple lines

peppers my aching veins

while you light up the bent depths

and stun the periphery.

The lost sun raging

and a milk drowned moon

your scent for my throat to drink.

Frozen suns

in the magnetic distance

calling to the oiled wheels

that roll my catapault home.

Split hairs

of the middle distance

breaking atoms of hot sand

the glass of the outer wastelands.

Needles in the flesh

that bloom with tired alphabets

vein's ruby electric charge.

The ocean's prismatic suds

washing a long knife.

Faces from the depths

of pressure conjured

fading in mid air

before they pop

the sky.

Evaporated mouths

that fly to darkest space

their invisible teeth.

Shells of the dancer's curves

standing crookedly on sand.

Walls morphing to a fortress

from an inner maze

cacophony of bone chains

the thread of a salt eaten blade.

Sheer cut sheen

on the wall with a thousand eyes

that I am vaulting over

bends with its sweet mirage

around my twin shoulders

afloat with a chain

of jagged glass.

Eyes bugged and yellow lit

with the fever of a cracked love,

torch of molten leather elbows

scanning the parking garage.

Four eyes on a glass plate

planet scattered in a comma of flour.

PURPLE QUEEN FROM TENNESSEE

I only smoke Purple Queen from Tennessee

stare through trees to the grime

of diamond chiseled trailers

made vivid by the passing sun

she says she wants to be

picked up and cracked like a whip

she came out of the thicket

of electrical antennas

to shed thick layers of death

and fight brightly with gravity

I remove her shoes with my mouth

while she sits on a milk crate

and the crest of the moon

hovers like a penetrated ring

exhale hot rays of mapped air

while she braids and unbraids her hair

and I worship the dirt of her birth

to disappear in chrome and high rises

or manifest in the old hill guarded

valley and eat my arms.

Lips eroded

from the kingdom walls

find the crumbled heart

of forms in broken symmetry

where the dance of stone

kisses back at fire.

Rims of a shining world

its statuesque corners.

My lasso for your tender waist

drifting into a canyon.

The tin and sand air

rushing through our dance of plaster

a delighted sneeze.

Let the dawn paste

cover me like a napalm calm.

Rivers talk to the telephone line,

black seagulls crash on the concrete.

What has been weathered

now gone to the galaxy's

rending indifference

the light of magnetic basements

drawn from tight gloved stars.

Newspaper in its cigarette smashed clover

now unreadable as glass

the desk's crucifix past.

Harm of bodies on lightning tracks,

blown circuits that move like mouths

while brains drip in the gutter.

Mates of death's seductive shadow

shitting on sun drenched brick.

Kisses of derangement

sliding to the oily floor.

Basking in the solemn flatulence

of these rubbery angels

pacing the carpets

a raving sky laid down

with soiled light

and broken celestial mirrors

sad eyes depart the skeleton

and ask barbed questions of beauty

and the love that failed

on a cardboard cross.

Shit sculpted for the river

with its shapely pride.

Mid nights in glass

where I suffer from the strength of your beauty

shells of my forgotten past

leering from the highway's forest pockets

and underscored embers in lime

stunned in your mercury evening

fountain's birth where I address the object

slave to your dewstruck inward eyes

like the sun thinking

the sheath of a reluctant moon

should be his habitat

for switching earthly places

her green and grey lacework of days

on the vines of a grid

quaking.

To fly through a cracked glimmer

in the gut tanks of the great facade

out the orb of consciousness

into a womb of laughing mazes

I follow your form

across these melting and re-frozen floors

and feel your taste closing over my mouth

in dawns of braided worlds

where I am the stone pan

under your knifelike river

lightning in the light

of your divine mouth

that ceaseless remembrance carries

to watch your engines purr

against the tides of space

and catch my departing soul.

Through the blades we built

in pixilated skies,

through the long reeds

and the silk torn

on a line for drying,

the articulate breezes surge

in like competing oceans,

through the handiwork of a moment

torn loose into the void

the fog is eclipsing us.

When we met in aisles of cloth

or shelves of reels and cylinders

strangers to the language of our birth

rediscovering rapture,

the linked fires of much mapped galaxies

hurtling across our fond marquee

and seeds of structured fate cast aside

were in our unreached recesses

brewing alien bones.

You enter on a grid of glass,

walking through the many cracked

pools of reflection.

Grains of light

from a spray of ice

on cemetery ground.

The eyes go up

to the floors in thin air

paving basements

with fans of spilled milk

the whine of metal shelves

on wheels.

Desolate highways

masked first in fur of trees

and then the stillborn leaves.

Skull welded to a narrow road

cut seed

of a violent cell.

Thick helmet

of many underwear

elastic knots and layers

speaking memories

of fond flesh

treading the cusp

of raw eternity

together in the light

of teething globes.

Tides on a knife

the dust raked

special effects

of time on spiralled wax

and charcoal lipstick.

The hedge cut yard and wired sky

a nest of cones from which to be reborn

her braids lighting up the foothills

and the surging of their paths

around a harnessed magnet's kiss

and a pool beneath the separated mountain.

Shaded by the leafy stalks

above a broken bridge

veins move at the speed of light

in departed dimensions

she carves me from a static rib

and departs the glass shelter

of my sleep stuck arms

the bright harm of inverted corners.

In terms of place, to be

plunked down over and over

by an unwilling self,

thrice removed from

the decisive moment,

the rivers are the rails of

something sifting through the trees

the scene of gathered light bulbs

at a first crowning,

I am alive in stone that is the sky's deposit

I am frowning in glass that is bent around the moment

my chair of echoing plaster

follows me along the tracks

of furry meteors,

I spill candlelight,

the photo lined hallways of a dream

follow me to the helm

of all cashed beams,

skin soft for the rope surroundings.

If I enter into the bitch

and time stalls, permitted

this fall in suspension

shall be my banner

and fulcrum drive,

the wheel of spines

is a city's height

that rolls with her acceptance

and the harbors are

stricken with labor,

and the shore mapped

with cloth-torn acres,

wet lightning that is akin to an indoor moth,

the meat levers of scissor limbs

at work on matchbook coffins,

garlic tassels and dune

photographs that ache for the rain

on a train of bookcases

strung forms of light.

To avert the blood

and see the vault of heaven

constructed like a snail shell

descending out of time

an angry tusk, whole arsenals

of flowers spilling from

anointed glass,

one smooth table at horizon's dawn,

three weapons of coitus

and a mortgaged womb,

stammering in the coils of

a great soul's antique apparatus.

On upper story lawns

of groomed rooftops

and ripening siloes

sits the empty flask, drained forever

of its potency and dry

beyond the roads

of consciousness it rides

she conquers time's analysis

with a liquid fist

fragile as a nuclear plant.

Simmering in bedded fire

some robots

will have to be punished,

some dreams of patterned will

led out of living space

through an empty corridor,

your flame of organic nature

tempered by collision with water,

framed in mating the most

opposite numbers,

beauty of rains and seasons all

beyond reason,

scythes of bronze

sky scraping floors

far up in the air from

where we know our clipped roses

spit tossing in a wayward constellation

groove touched by a film of pearls

The clock cranks out

dead-eyed doctors

run backwards by lunar dust

and the fuel of collapsing stars.

The screen of beloved eyes

is black as ink.

A vein like wandering lightning

plows down through the throats of dawn.

I minister to

the recently drained pools,

their bare walls.

Near the salty drains

I see what crawls back up

to recover.

Watching light crawl like sand

across the abandoned path

seated on the magnet hearth

where fire talks to fuel

I'm a mute letter.

Screaming dancers and the stars

the battered lips of sad stages

screens and their confetti

can't animate me now.

If only the painted scene

could pull my blood

over this fall of water,

or a lost grain

could start the stone

in my strange heart.

When the sun finds

your scars to travel

and you go down

to the lips of the water,

think of me sliding past the blade

of the envelope of space

hesitating to touch your little shoulder

with the boulders of the last avalanche,

the one that fills the field,

suspended in mid-motion at my back,

and our kisses held in prison

behind a false mirror, a neon promise,

a flask of golden alcohol

left behind on the coin-crushing rail,

where masks are hammered

and the strings of chastity

released into the doors of the rising current,

two letters twined in gilt

can stem the fall

dewdrop to ragged face

of the free ray

and the ravished republic.

Darest I besmirch with words

what God hath made?

Your glaze of hazel images

the angel glances in hurt smoke

that you have left unplanned

all wrapt in layered gauze

to be sifted?

Time will slay me at your feet

while the pines and birches

allay their frost to dawn

and carry me under.

The clock of breezes in your bangs

wafting me outward

has a wide

third hand and glistening eye

to the wink of costume wrought in blood

of which that womanhood is made

the braided cliffs

I climb to a braided mist.

Oil black cap of night

the maze of stars compacted

through an igloo's window

landing on the bullseye

of a reckless bed.

The lunar planes

of many kept reflections

flying from the broken caves

where they were fixed in honey

burning a tunnel highway

through the vacant sky.

Flecks of her marble stare

the one so cool at dawn

where the tar pours

and all the bubbles breathe.

I have a taste for bitter things,

monstrosities perch on my elbow.

The couch mid-floor floating

where my tangled loves lay.

Shrines and their mercy of energy

inured to the skank pale doorways

shelves of bottled cherries

glinting at the fringe end of

the galactic edge.

Born on a wave of broken crusts,

I love the wild hills, the wild women,

eternity squats on my doorstep, I can't

leave the fresh cut circuit,

the days add weight to the need

to be formlessly continued,

knives pyramid on the sagging desk's

array of contents, the magic diamond

of sorrow, spring where night

lets down her veil

my hot lines of wet white androids

leaping to inform her tongue

where the scar trails off

and the light of the cave

rules paint wall time.

To wash four panes

in the same light

and lay her bed among them

steaming with the hunger of violets

watching vines attach the ceiling

to a mirror chain

we met in red air

of a deep back hallway

surging past the stairways

of a hidden church

climbed out along the window smashing branches

of a fallen elm

valleys were filled

with a gelatin of hot

swift moving shadows

where she arranged the cut

transparencies.

Arachnid soul powering past the desert

geysers preening from moss mouths

clawed tracks of the hillside

I position my tinted lens against the lava

pull the seat lever's quim

around my clotted brain

the shine of divine spaghetti

in a bleeding man suit

a glow in the depths that slipped the catalogue

rhyme posters of the subway cell chart

dogwood flowers from the coliseum floor

the pine bark reptile look

of the latest spaceships

brine covenant for the dashboard

firm flash of a thinking pole.

The flowering imbroglio

tricks me into its immortality.

Suffered, keys pluck at my nerves

stuffing veins with candy.

I want to climb the light

to where I am.

I want the cushions of the breeze

philandering with shoreline.

Grey swamps eat up

the buttery flowers.

Mail comes in its lily pad of ink

dripping fossilized shadows.

A tower rises from

the refulgent moon.

And we are closed inside

its secret ripples

like two clocks of mice.

Forms of death in dance

of a stone's edge, a flash burnt field

oozing with the coiled vine

and the turd's anger,

squares of grass lined light on tar,

breath surging through the cracked Earth,

twin brains in imperfect symmetry,

tent's whisper lying to the persecuting wind,

poison berry of sky where I 

lie down to fade.

Ploughed yards and their ache of structure,

dyed wool rustling in cubbyholes of flesh,

my cluster of rounded mirrors

and denim clad cancer

all reeling into the pitch brown eve.

Light's anvil

and costumed hero

fallen in the green woods

for a stack of mushrooms.

Bones flying to the rainbow outskirts

a cloud's venomous carcass

torn sails in the pounded window.

Strapped to the sky's farthest nimbus

landed on a particle ledge.

Ears extended into the blue void

of cotton filters

a mattress of flattened saints.

In the grains

of a deep root

soil as blank

as the sun.

Swinging metal doors

the shock of the lit

green pasture.

A skeleton remembering

on a bulb of benches

in the faraway rain.

His tears are not for departures

but for dawn yet to come.

Blistering recall

limbs in a ditch

speechless berry pickers

a snakeskin scroll.

Arms for the womb

to take goose shape

ghost winter to summer.

The light infinite is the light captured,

is finite

only that, uncaptured

may it bless in

rings of flag-whipped cloud

to be drowned in leather

may the vents frown

on its abnormality of progress,

let the hills and mountains

drain shanked roots

and bring the ribcage home

like a leaning ship in tow.

Deep in the rows of trees

I am moving backwards,

backwards as against time,

looking for the face I cherish,

hoping to hear the cherished word.

Her travesty of anthill sidewalks

spilling the erupted grain

laser framed kiosks of the new abandon

pulsating airports where the

credit's soft in alcohol

jagged cliffs of green racing to the river

a deck of alien teeth

spread across these liquid ships

a fan of dying echoes

a propeller's wig.

Totem poles and centerfolds

collapsing into space

the grain of blades

a bright antenna

rising from rotating ribs

tickling the city sky

where shells depart like smoke

to drink from gravity

an oiled navel

whispers to a striking snake

for ink of the split tongue

my wind balled hair

and vein shocked eyes

her spit cracked criminal flower

our cloud of nooks

and sweet smacked echoes

a shrink wrapped screen.

Hills emptied of daylight

grow with a grey warmth

the stones whisper

with deep tongues

tucked into the folds

of fertile Earth.

Scorched windows glow

from the desecrated temple

and its icons of dust and clay

put on metallic masks.

I'm alone in a seething aisle

between frozen seas

when I see the golden

pawn they've made

of my goddess queen.

My losses fit me like a cup.

They're dialing up the grain.

Ash-spent decks

and oil lit garages all.

Do they circle me like tongues

or empty thought bubbles

am I panicking panel to panel

or do I just drift?

I'm the lion of the thrift,

battery pack side-beams.

Figure eights going over

the graveyard.

A diving board glistens

from the circuit of echoes

that subtracted me

here.

Dispose of the husks

into other husks.

Tap veins

with the one vein's eye.

Make water flow

through the machines.

Fog rises to its end

and the sun repeats.

Man missed it.  A severed eyelid

tossed on a river of timeless oil.

The horns blew through every dawn

while his corpse flew skyward.

A rippled park

regurgitates its trash cans.

Games favored by millions spin

into obsolescence.  Roots are fettered

to the green Earth

from more than one socket

and the blessed grounds ooze.

Earth is hallucinatory,

the time-saving devices

all break open,

folding floors

swallow remembered moments,

the forest creaks

like a ship enduring a wave,

my bones drink backwards

in a snoozing aisle,

lovers leave

the room lights up

friends depart

and then the sky

flashing like the oil of Mercury

that is going home.

Fresh colonies of limbs intertwined,

square vats of twilight

poured full with glittering

transparent jelly

the mouths in an infinite chain

that speak in lunar equations,

cloudy whips lashing at a frozen waterfall

walls of liquid ball bearings.

Fingerprint smeared glass doors

line up towards a mineral gash

where the sky's map flutters.

Ferns lavished from the fringe

of unvarnished foundations

a thorn spilling

whole alphabets of milk

speak to the surfaces

and uniform shadows

furnish the graveyards

with spillage of salt wings

I will be rising from bug-lit doorways

back of the shop smoke

to pine in your ruin

first servant to the neon rain

wings tucked in to the trees

bronze face of a torn cliff

gleaming.

Slabs of sweet blood

from the dawn sky

bright lit throats

from a patched planet's thatchwork

of roots and ghosts

in seminal gel.

Where the water talks

to broken bowls

and sand cracked channels

the shoreline is

a silk of neon gnats

kissed mute

by structured vapor.

Wind coil

where the tree frogs vomit

serenity's metallic creek.

Cold breath of desire's end,

far under the cloak of appearances.

Frolicked there

with a time bender,

with a harp of cages

the sweetest snare.

Fell from great heights

in their alien slumber,

to a dashed-out piece of wood

to a radiant armchair.

That forgotten window's closed,

there is no return

to the fading clouds beyond

or the first day's mouth

that only thirsted.

Leaping from a fang of ice,

bowels disjointed by

the wandering sun,

torn globes of this cosmos.

Eyes wider than

the dawning road,

a cut horizon.

Minnows of blood

quick in a pale stream

running over packed earth.

Lights from electrocuted depths

pouring out on a frozen field

where they come to rotate

with their shadow knives.

Bright gas

of a beauty gone.

The feathered fingers

of an exploded brain

stuck learning in

his labyrinth of cardboard.

Waves mounting

in a strange pause

behind the myriad

plastic doors.

His rib-mirror

with kneecaps and eyes

with swamps of gelatin callers

riots frozen in deep

wide tanks.

Her decorated fertility

taking on the runway trees,

the cloud crushed

blood polished

bus station.

Winged animals emerge

first from the rim,

from the contact's faint eclipse,

the dance-room emerges,

the tinted couches

lining seashore balconies

where we tore each other's

fabric to break through,

placing on each ladder

a completed canvas,

a marble-black hospital wedding

dispersing over easeful glass

thorn of anonymous kisses

lost in the cranked chemical night

and she who knows in many cabins

let the hour babble let the rabbit

ache open doors into early

morning.

Apocalyptic hens

crazed enemies

go plunging over the impacted cliffs

moon's molar champions

beneath a soaring playground

deep in galactic trees

the decks of paradise Androidea

a nude throng and their pagan clench

high pools on the levels of chessboards

stirring with a glittery peacock lash

dorm's rack and theater,

where the crucifix is altered in cellophane

the night sweats of wrong doctors

elms fallen of a ghostly street

in cage after cage proceeding

from gladness, from the ministry

of wire.

Light barred

comes crashing in

from the Earth,

from the fountains of fire

in the feminine core.

Lids pop at the peaks

of plastic encampments

and the mute emerge

carrying empty containers

smudged motionless eyes.

Lines touch with liquid acid

and return to indifferent orbits.

Rays cutting through

a stained glass cage

a series of tongue waterfalls

lips baked in clay

and rock teeth.