Sunday, March 24, 2024

Roads reaching over high hillsides
the edges of green lined ditches
glinting under a raw pink sky
bones thinking and toiling
before many pages and in the midst
of many upturned carts
the signature of divine hair
turned to divine disorder
or suggesting an eternal shape
as the ferns and their elder oaks
reach from dayfall's astral fur
in a parched canyon, and in reaching
invite a flood of sweet ink,
flowerpots of gathered mud
and quills from moon-fed fields
that penetrate the veins

engines organizing eggs
a fog with pincer hands
enveloping dreamless lands.

Saturday, March 23, 2024

Green heart beating in the gray shroud
of mid-winter forest,
charts and lines that speak
to my vertebrae,
hills multiplying in a sliding land
behind many awesome mountains,
cliffs talking to vines and water
frail branches of a love that's torn
growing strong in disintegrating daylight.

Fronds of the tongue that was buried
gathering like the tail of a male
peacock, scattered sections bleeding
through oily soil, beds in the valley
of flowers that have overflowed.

Friday, March 22, 2024

Plateaus capped by tar
lit softly in the dim yellow evening.
Windows gleaming radioactive steam
rails carving broad mountainsides
from thickets at the feet
to jagged pine peaks.

Nobody has ever stopped moving
in this hollow hell.
Bulbs glow from the pulse
of burning bones.
Voices flow like rolling coal
over the toilet bowls.
Butterflies quake in the reins
of an electric haze.

Smokestacks excrete black rainbows
on the bronze periphery.
Shallow cuts in the turf
broadcast an otherworldly mirror.
Reflections darken to transparency
between the evaporation
of days and nights.

The trees lean various ways:
conscious oxygen
learns the map of minds
and retracts its touch.

Sunday, March 17, 2024

HYMN

Let the sun scratch my face
and let there be days of slumber
let me sleep on a long rag
at the threshold of the goddess
let the leaves fall on the fading scars
my feet leave on the earth
let waves lap like grain
at the air that gives them assistance
let there be decorative torpedoes
and suits to die in
with immaculate ease
let the machines make love
to melted bones
and the foam unicorn of alterable fate
be cast on the pool that pounds.

Let the deer continue their diadem walk
stars dying into space
limbs bracketed by blankets of fire
far past lunch and riveted
to infinite things
scraped bare for the life to come
ears rock n roll for the hand's potatoes
shale shading the moonstruck mountainside
with a masklike light.
Milk laden lands
frozen with ecstasy
neon posts uprooted in the rain
left flickering and crooked
in the paths of the inner flame
that drives the outskirts

embankments of moldy money
strewn with leather blankets
and scriptural underwear
the hosts of the prophetic gleam
bowel's music in ruined bookstalls
eroded landmark towers
in puddles of half melted coin
rescued by moss and bright
animated bones shining in salvaged paint

the crossing of rubbery staircases
under knots of tied up lightning
fissures that clench and ooze
with darkest honey
in the flanks of lost
and freshly fertile earth
the serpent of the skies
is a torn heart's mirth
and a soft train coming
with oceanic windows
and wheels of sexed medieval fire.

Saturday, March 16, 2024

Lyrics of rock strips
and reefs of coral sharp as steel
cavernous rib cages
howling with the worthiness
of tarnished pleasures
the rust on a harp
twanging in twilight
while the astral corridors
across open prairies
resound with strange sneezes
and relinquish ashen wings

bricks multiply from cloud
to stained cloud
walkways
for the ascendant damned
who move between
sealed plastic offices

plucking strands of time
from vain contours
to reveal the icy light
two sets of lips in flight.

Friday, March 15, 2024

Two headless wonders
walking truncated roads.

Do you have a magic eraser
that writes, do you wear foam
shoes that sing?

Do the wires that cross your sky
bring you dreams abundant?

We will walk past
the clamor of many spirits
on planets of dust.

We will rush out
from ravished temples
to dangle from
the longest branch.

Oh lost companion,
oh absurd sculptor of the night,
whole sidewalks of conversation
will follow you home.

Wednesday, March 13, 2024

Ledges blink
with dripping living light
roots climb intersecting walls
bulbs and wires dance
in tender breezes
the void outlines
of long gone dancers
lungs of disappearing speakers
sliding out of living air
to dwell suspended in dark matter
a freak of wounded color
lacking butterfly haste
the big bang palpitating
agitated in a glass case.