Muscles twitch like the alarm of fish

towers tremble on plains of tar

the slime of life climbs labyrinth foundations

fangs of light erect from temple gates

and gobble sleeping walkers

grates scrawled with graffiti

crashing down on rubber bones.

The tongue feeler

erupted from some intestinal miracle

protrudes from gray lactating rubble

scrambling thick air

with its fingering fright

fills crumpled lungs with bamboo butter

looking for the suns that won't ascend.

Slaves of programmed fortune

tickling the doorsteps of the damned

and singing death into the corridors

of separating worlds,

lit by poison light and licking

wounds that never heal

with charms attached

to tongues that are defunct

yet take their painted place in orbs

that hang from chaos in chains

ensnared in burning dark that never ends.

I am going to shine my black,

black fucking light.

I will resurrect marvels

that the Western world has never seen.

I will drink the milk

of the evilest goddess

from her magic cunt,

and engage the angels

with tales of spiritual vandalism

successfully repelled, while they slept.

The opening of a new idiom

has squeezed my orange dry.

I paint the wall with oily clothes.

This always goes well.

What gives me life devours me again,

the ground swells with my

breathing ribs that stretch for miles.

the fathers of my language

walk with me on the planetary flesh

that grows,

fists in the sky, documented

by smoothly tracing lasers,

the victory of a demonic jackass

orgasming on thrones of frozen beef.

When the tide of mud

covered speaking wounds

my elastic heart

attached itself to rooted stone

grew gills painted in slime

and sprouted pained and lucid eyes

to stare into transforming canyons.

From the crest of heaven

plummeting to hell once more

burning through the atmosphere

of distilled time, time

and its raging cycles

that never resolve.

Passionate nights,

passionate days on this earth.

I lived my life among the cursed

because I am one of them, because

there are no others.

I picked up rocks and saw

my residence in them.

I watched the noisy places

burn down to ash

on every mangled shore.

A blade that floats in foam

inscribed with cells

in multiplying fractions

climbing volcanic rope

when the river's gone

and a sky of lumpen angels beckons.

Gates guarded by elastic veils

furrows parted by the king of mystic rails

syrup dripping down through summer.

I got chopped up by cameras

in the fragrant woods

frozen in the freezing light

that crawls rough surfaces like raging oil

hung from floating car doors

putting signatures to floating magic papers

seated in the pleasure chair

in time warp diners

that replicate in unseen webs

the gravity of certain types of flowers

has pulled me through these stinging swamps

and teeth filled jawbone museums

lonely ledges in the midst

of broken dancers in the pits

of western dressing rooms

caves attached to all the dragon's wombs

unfolding through the dripping undersides

of cubicles coded senseless

and fixed feathers of metallic birds of prey

gripping satellite antennas

cold tongues asleep on marble

all hooded by refracted pine.