A blue void opens beneath my feet

pulling poison from my every pore.

Strings of dark brown acid

leaking through ethereal haze.

I float away on an electron grain.

The seed sprains the shrouded sky.

A network surges with accumulated spit.

I'm leaving it scratched and gashed

with the hatred of my eyes,

with the plowing reach

of my cloud-covered hands,

marked by all my emptiness and light

where a bright thought's born to die

for revelations on the sly.

The smoking neighborhood

is hurled into space.

A leaf of worlds goes

floating by from some galactic tree.

Roads are withering on the earth

the folds of clay between long grasses

sighing of a time when they were formed

in the furrows of a yearning churn.

DRINK

How your eyes light up

with electric threads

as your mouth fills up with hot cum.

You drink the primal protein

with delight, your nimble tongue

and tight mouth insists

on gently drinking it all.

Slowly you slither upward

into my arms, gulping

with a happy sigh, and we kiss,

and kiss, and kiss, and kiss,

tasting me with delicately

intertwining tongues,

sharing the sweet taste

of semen and saliva.

This is how we kiss after

we lick each other's assholes.

We love to wash

and investigate each other.

How I love it when

our tongues are deep

in each other's rectums,

happily plunging and praising.

How I love it when you suck

your pussy juice

from my mangled beard.

SPLAY

Tapped on the spine

by an extending pink array of forces

caterpillars crawling teeth

ferns draping lucid genitals

I want you to swipe

your damp sweet bush

and the split folds of your pussy

across my chin

let me speak to your clit and love you

let me open that pretty ass

and breathe on your bootyhole

you are perfect

when you're getting fucked hard

on your hands and knees submitting

perfect with my spit

on your adorable little anus

perfect when you turn

and anoint me with

your luminous brown eyes

almost enraged with joy.

Rainbows of black paint

and a crowd of moons

corroding on a silver sky.

Drums under the waterfalls

pounding through the summer steam.

A butterfly's hinges

moving on some knuckles

in this rock-hewn scene.

Crawling out of a grave of flowers

black eyes bright with sight

riding earthly dawns.

Water of washing light,

cleansed blade cutting waves of darkness,

the rub of bones beneath cloaks of steel

leaking quiet sparks.

From the belly of a frozen ocean

comes a cry suppressed

of ages that must find their circuit

for the flames of an unfound day

cooling into architecture.

Round hills blooming

from abysmal swamps

the rouge of southern sky

above shattered parking lots

the grime of deserted rivers

torn metallic fences

like fallen battered wings

of some massive

destroyed thing.

Bulbs of luminous air

glowing from the fever of corpses

who want to come back to life.

I am a child of the abyss.  I took down

the cross of the conqueror.

I removed your worshipful fingers

from my pineal gland

with a flashing knife.

I told you to go back to the desert,

or stay in the city

where I can never come.

Because our language and our ways

have departed from one another,

and there will be no reunion.

What we have now is lives

headed for separate realms.

And what God has separated,

let no man bring together again.

Let it unravel into separate kingdoms,

see what they can conjure.

Let them drink their separate poisons

from their separate stills,

and die the same.

THE CANCELLATION OF THE HOLY SPIRIT

We are expected to become

accustomed to spectacle.

Shaped into a smooth resource

fisted by plastic idols.

Run through the marketplace like fuel.

Used up by limitless fantasy

with no roots in the real.

This is the way, say the lovers

of language, to become pure spirit.

And the corpse of this planet

must be sacrificed to the same ideal.

Those who don't love democracy

must be tortured to death.

Those who hate freedom must

be imprisoned.  This is good.

It is not right that others

benefit from being forcibly civilized,

while we neglect our own people:

they too must taste the joy

of political reality.