I ripped a box out of my head

dumped out the golden thread

that squirmed in cotton insides

while the ornaments were sprayed with soul

cabins of glass in vapor

looking over graves that squirm

handles that lift up the earth

submerged in ways of fire

filth a roving eyeless claw

I've been turning to the times

when we were mysterious,

letting all the scenes of love cluster

above ten trapdoor clouds.

Moving with my ghosts

over slick silent cafeterias,

table to table picking up empty glasses,

waiting for the light that spells my name

and burns a day's layer of skin.

Slabs of merciful weight

landing on the enemy.

Tangled fires and flowering corpses,

the shit of exploded babies

splattered on the shards

of ruined architecture.

Tablets of hidden machinery

invading tormented minds.

Screens of forced telepathy

beaming from transparent walls.

The lovers fled, they died

on the last green hill.

Skeletal limbs of automatic minds

that take themselves apart

and leave no heart

are all that's left behind.

Diamonds of glorious hatred

beaming from the phalanx of dead souls

that inhabit the machine palace

each one filling up a second body

with gelatinous pus,

discarding all the flavor of existence

for an empire of bones.

Frozen entropy begins to thaw.

Awakening is painful.

Then the orgasm of battery acid.

Teeth leaking on an oily cement floor.

No more dreams except for death.

Seed flung on charcoaled climes

brain sucking off the spirit's hair

those flowing filaments of nonentity

all blooming into darkened space.

Hair of seaweed wrapping incandescent flesh

ripples of metallic sky hardening against geysers

of breath unleashed by dying poets

calendars all flung away

cells bathing in blue fire

eyes of all desire

glowing over deserts and abandoned ranches

rows of frozen cornstalks

clacking as the wastes flower with useless beauty

sprawling towards the nowhere which is ours.

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.