I watch with all my pores
that man who holds neglected galaxies
in his haunches and eyesight
impart love to the laundromat
and the lobster buffet
from his scorched windowsill
with most of his eyes closed
breezes aimed long at the sail
attaches fangs soft as snail antennae
who needs the local neon to bloom
on his devastation, pink attics
wavering in basement clouds
eggs fresh on the walls he stares
out from a force-field of blue paint smoke
on the limbs of a clicking tree

when the genius submerged in sad days
hammers the streetlights into fireworks
and you wait with a hard-on in the path
of an even-tempered steamroller
dolls with bulging eyes cling to picket
fences on each green side
line up with your spine
a spaceship in gravy

chronologies wither from torched fuel
of unprecedented hours, leaving wall calendars
bare as pure salt

ruthlessly you penetrate
the elastic, daring the endless to end,
taunting universal slingshots
to send you past all freezing peers
hoping someone will kiss your faint zones
the way forward, where insight emerged
from world airport blackout

in the last days of the fishermen
I'll take you by force to the froth of the tides
there will be a new kind of light in the sky
replica seagulls calling in a narrow canyon
waiting rooms of styrofoam filled
with coffee & cream lights, the barber's chair
tilted against a melting brick wall

in the last days of the fishermen
rain will be collecting in gleaming new plastics
our little dog will cry out on a chunk
of drifting lawn, oil will spurt
from the new earth in all the places
where it has not been wounded

and a chicken will croak
from the crest of a mailbox:
you have eaten your life by hours
you have watched it blend into the faint windowshades
railing with fists in rags
on the last days of the fishermen.

cloud ropes tied your wrists
to a fence long as neighborhood,
jittering under the ghost of pterodactyl

kissing the tied wrists of another,
you put on black lump lipstick
with a bruised palm, waiting for lawnmower
to clear shaded terrain
for blades of orgasm

panting under the icicles extended
from the dangle of a weeping willow
skipping seasons to be near
the brown velvet bondage
of certain dopplegangers

swearing he hates this world
and every cell in it, he half collapses
in front of a woodpile, fingertips
coated with gelatin kerosene,
she drags his twice her size away
by fraying shoes from white cigarette lighters
sinking in black mud

the cool of her blaze is kept
under pink silk
sex pyjamas, old rope clotheslines
keep copies of the same, flapping
in a breeze from ancient childhoods

175 MARLBORO ST

whole days with Greg on the porch jutting from all seasons
of the attic, lungs and guts
filled with the songs of terrible birds

fuck perfection, myth, and all
those many other things we don't need
that float constantly around us

younger in spirit each day
feeling both brilliant & stupid
as the town clock falls from the local sky
and crashes through the laundromat,

whole chains in mid-air above monotone autos
flowering neon yellow
pressing through the dark matter of every month

discoursing on the pleasures, watching the luckiest
animals go by, girls swapping precious objects
from pocket to pocket, staggering past the pancake breakfast
for men with thick frozen eyes,
fishscales buried in the lacework of the ceilings,

gold stains on the belly of the ship's floor,
house wagging its 3 stories

until the police fall screaming out of their helicopters,
colors fall short
buds clench and fail
in hard white
circles of spreading light.

lacework of naked trees
open in patches upon the harbor poles
staring with a battery in each hand
eyes aflame with nuclear day

two pigeons harass each other
on a block of stone:
the laser strung between foreheads,
statues blind in living rain
subway mouths with hot cartoon breath
urinals open to the pulsing world,

if there is a peace it settles only
in the belly of a large savage thing,
black branches sunlit-hinted grey
stacks of cubed human mind
up to the belly of the full moon

PIERCE

a thousand domestic dogs
run on the island
where domestic men
once upon a time paid for raw sex
clenched on brush-wrapped trees
or oceanside rocks
there is a loneliness towards death
in the wind upon paths
that will wind into the unceasing

flowers of white lace
darkened by car exhaust
brush against chainlink
next to the sewage plant
the eyes of the dogs are looking
at me in ancient longing
a gaze too strong for the sight
of a short lifetime

INSECT PRIDE OF ELECTRIC BELT

raw-looking areas and rainbow flowers inject electrical injuries
and reams of silk and satins with little heavy traffic
slipped between rocks to the bottom crackling with an energy
so large that their centers become hollow and fluid-filled areas
as media extends the astral into a ballroom,
silky gloves shaped by a garden
without food or shelter, finally made
into the forest of kelp ethereal

brown glass eyes, a closed mouth recorded
how he wandered the street
tarred roof, ray beams
young heart is more sensitive to hue,
yellow mist body is unmarked,
sagebrush and saltbrush spread ruin of potholes and bad patches,
both bear purple flowers twigs and tiny green into the fry tank

city gas lights on country lanes
forests numbed in finecut squares
bodies like scrotums in cold rain
numb nerves at scorched top ends of telephone
smoke winding faces of anxious dogs
under the long porch in red twilight
I keep our piss valentines
pinched filters neon espresso
river current through fern mazes hanging on
grandmother arms snake young-waisted screaming
to be let down from the air
cubbyholes stuffed tight with pennies and socks
four cylinders of pure craft
eating its way through fog xerox
heart batting under mute lashes
the curtain of certain futures rippling
voices in bark
blades on the climber's handle
banked on a thundering cloud disc
black snow beams roving sheepskin hills
snouts in the rice trough
hindquarters surrendered to a half moon

when the numbers drip upward on newspaper
chattering kids are there with charcoal
pressed to thin chests
sculpted ribs under the fur for an arrowblade
crushed czars talking over dissected chessboards
marble fingers in useless poise
averages laid out in grids on cubed flesh
breeders on parade in birch masks
flogging the heretics of the body
with electronic weapons
unholstered from plutonium pocket forests
the hidden animals fungating
a glacier that resembles their footpaws
replacing all landscape
missile houses fleeing planet to planet
through the spreading saucers of weather report

I'm deep in the guts of a huge building,
working deliberately with a series of hoses,
readying my one golden helmet
to wear as I pleasure you
orally if I can find you

lamps and clocks outside tall windows
tell me it will be too long until
again and again with black and brown hammers
they convince me I can't remember
what I'm waiting for with my mop my headphones
and yellow bucket of polluting suds

paths of tar paths of dirt
stretch from most intimate palm-lines
toward powerfully inconvenient stores
they are staring so long I forget
that I am also staring

NOMADS CONTROLLING THE NEW UTOPIA

And plain blue murder follows deceit against the crankshaft
in psychedelic colors, rigged organism dedicated to squalor,
checked for backlash, blind baby cuckoo naked, out; the fish
are so impressed by touching their wife or girlfriend's pudenda
animal births may take place with control of the air leak,
and a splash of scarlet beneath a spotted shell marks the wrecks
and the smell is foul in the vast sea of humanity,
and eerie forms of life operate out of such stations,
freed from the deforming orbit of Mars
and with different values for the eccentricity
from all parts of the earth. The idea was a good one.
A robot parade helping the body heal itself;
therapeutic dirt and electric belts played the dulcimer, trumpet,
bagpipe, guitar, oboe, and flute, half naked ever,

When an open globe is the surgical fountain of youth and drums
a labyrinth of benches and painters, poets and novelists
have come from the sea. Society collapsed, an ocelot on a leash
tumbled into oblivion severed by a breath
under which the ruins of the night would pass
into vibrating circles of thick, quick-drying saliva
a mass of frog's eggs with piercing blue eyes
that the new planet moved only like a puppy.

THROAT: ANTISHOCK GARMENT AND POND PIANO

heart; heart
of shock in children
pain on the el
because of a larger body

labor, with dizziness
our fingers against failure
to wake the center by the same door
withstands interrupted

the door and a video-electronic entry of evil
a flower garlanded around the mouth
hell time with egg-lay
ribbons of paved road I will eat the lizards

PROMISE

dreaming of force
you'll be so gentle and beautiful
that no one will be able to murder you.

of a dream so large and heavy
it will push all attackers aside
a dark vivid brush to pave
the contests in fake vermilion

and a half-empty skull
to take in harmlessly the enemy's fist
or to wrap you in comfort
up there with sad wings
island crystal in the crush of spontaneous night

snailbird, scarred gears
in a bucket under the body

scarred gears moving again

scarved deeds, for the inadequacies
between bodies always

you cover whole highways in salt
with your small refusal
slashed by town lights,
becalmed by big enough moons.

HOW IT WAS BROKEN FOR ITS PORTRAIT AMONG THE SLICKS

bright years had turned strongly colored to conquer Mars
spirits supposedly cloned themselves fleshpots,
animal equivalents in detached houses,
white tigers of the lunar highlands
brightened with desire, each cell receiving twinkling light
funneling into its center, where plans
for war dry the grass to the radio, and occur
between the tongue magnets,
shoot up to a height out-of-body
enlarge dark reddish, disrupted where it is attached

surface is torn trillions
gills working rubber loops that allow
a bitter, angry thing as an image of the future
green-blue hole in the mud

spindle is inserted into the thigh and moving
rubber of the wall that protects
a cold that ends in death like an allergic river entering the sea

THUNDERSTONE RACEWAY

for Leslie Dorcus

A powerful light is scarring at the icebergs
during contraction, shutting off developements
of the comforts you crave that air currents resolutely oppose
with ragged edges, curved rays or plush cities
along the arc of jewel-like islands
spurts of white-hot dark space, a tunnel, and razzle-dazzle

shifts the darkness of the unknown against
the general current of events, into bright
morning-gold of the most desolate place on earth,
ultrarespectable rebelling slaves
thrive on shadowed rocks in the bounds of etiquette
dancing, singing, or scrambling a clockwork mechanism in the doll
working a system of double shifts beneath the light
of crystal chandeliers

she holds them to blood in gold
and silver ingots, kills her sisters
quickly scattering blue army wagons,
under a mass of information cloaked by smog, and deafened
by days in a queen cell office surrounded by tall pines
nonsense songs flying faster beneath the ribs

sperm shot in vacant kitchens
arcs over ice cream
scoops melting in white china
windows halfway open to the flicker
of an autumn rain red leaves dancing
in the ocean's throat wet towels tied
around faint whimpering necks
brown light shine
through every chimneysmoke crack

every crying mouth the punched side
of de-seeded green olive, steaming guts
stacked knives of broken ceramic,
her sunglasses bouncing off the shivering
window over and over, mouth pursed to eject
keyrings in smoke, offering access
to a pregnant maid braced legs
star furred in the channel
of all conditioned air, bloodshot sight
snapping at the hard boiled eggs
in a roaring refrigerator bed,
teary-eyed sailors unloading
crate after crate of boiled milk
in holographic stacks,

every room's chafed ceiling
quartz boulders raining.

THE POWER OF ELASTIC LIGHTS IN A VANISHED CAGE

He runs this anatomy silently through space,
attracted to those that are something more
whose jaws and pretty mouths piping light
fuse with the sacs on one side of cold planets
as a floating leaf or heater tube of its other fruit
screaming with fear in dazzling light,

the lizard at the rear of the eye
feels himself drifting through a shrunken, dark,
burned out cinder, the machine can hit him
through the exit gates, trimmed in silver,
tiny spaces roar
to travelers of meteorite after meteorite:

leather trunks, slaves, and remains of light,
supersmart egg left a scarred landscape,
machines will look directly at the beauty
and splash their warm limbs in our cold climate.

BURNT HARBOR

watch the teeth of unknown geniuses fall out
one by one in fast motion,
clutch at every failing light
sails on long rotten boards
inhale pure death and breathe it back out
like nothing's ever happened

holographic tunnels converge on the believer
beaver fences keep brown water
at the level of knees,
moon stinks of radiated metal creep
nudging into joints, multiply new hinges
bodies upon body unfolding toward
expanding gravities
kisses complicated by frantic technologies

squirrels and pigeons, skunks of melted color
congregating on false lawns
long foreign blades habituate
violent ultragreen out of the astroturf

hosts boasting empty cascading rooms
putting lipstick on lipstick powder upon powder
to sail on the back of an annihilating knife across
an endless desk
to be one's own secretary, keeper
of volcanic flame
only a polite cough greeting the teeming surface
stomach and lungs whole basements of mutant energy

in the leafscratch of a possum
feel the fear of four tires

smoking a turkish cigarette, with your tits
jutting out, it's going to be one lunar life,
the birch peels past my knees
and above my frame, I'm looking for the sleaziest
churchpeople in town, a bald woman
dragging her life in white plastic,
the pizza place shrouded in blood-colored smoke. Let's

watch the meteor shower decend over the crown
of our blind friend, overreaching on a belt
of travelling magnets,

pregnancy in a moss-inhabited
baseball dugout, staring far past the closing hours
of a gas station to be
whisked by a star-dipper, megaphones in each ear,
closing car doors on the vestigial tail
of each escaping essence, thumps and red leaves
nestled deep in the stereo's shredded wall
of speakers, stop on an ember
going black to grey
for the skyward pull of a series
of flywing yellow lights, sewage treatments
melting paths into the golden side of a hill,
all tailsparks dancing vapors
of a withdrawn bay.

RADIO WAIFS BIND THE BONE

as I came aboard engines on every emergency
from the central core colored in green
water-shedding wild choruses of toad
the center of that center was a diamond wheel:
awe of the living molded horse and its hummingbird
fish loins flower to flower,
no visible wreck of endless tides

shifting pebbles sprout systems
of bright life energy. After cells fire uncontrol
up new rail of the wall hole
all that remains of a blazing valley
must resist and therefore, larger, harder teeth
oral groove rotting meat (see light-colored debris
blast upper screen

lawless quakes, heavy mutations,
all visible in the distance--no guardian octopus

A GLAND FOR LUBRICATING THE GULF'S GENERATOR

Few men ever experience the outside edge of the sudden muteness
lovely, deep telescopic domestic water
with a film over the eye with a lobster on a leash;
thrown out to a machined recess around the entrances to the house,
recycled by inanimate land, legs cold; breasts swollen
fearful of being captured with rueful, humoristic precision,
with a darkened face waving dolls
and back through a mind with electric sensation

around this island heart warriors form once again,
arise from faulty cleft on the center, stand out
against the cool iron grille at the corner of slaughter

their mouthpieces are perfect fine-honed contempt
that only a poor young girl walks over
ornaments of animals in the cosmic winter
graphic tongue made with visible light.
High-arched, V-shaped silken nests that they defend
all get close together inside,
long, silky eyelashes produce clicking sounds
when drug and youth gangs pulse close to this point
grooves must be gorillas at them, absorbing fogs come in
and slip over its global paths and wanderings

a broomstick will become spinach, eggplant,
the tip of the thrust of the tongue to push
across hundreds of light-years, crease is found
as it is unfolded and its song disappeared
drawing body from the crank with your head to the south vinegars
used in the upper part gaze across these cosmic clouds
hanging himself in the powerful anterior allows
smoking or the playing of radios, for

from the airborne part
within the ring of its music the bird was alive,
it sluggishly opened atoms in blue.

THE WHOLE BLOOD BEDROCK OF GOLDEN DREAMS

I sat with my beer, looked up stone stairway in the dark,
and saw twirling around that dark spiral
the robot spirit adding machine motor of city
lit from all sides by gold sprinkled dazzling armies
of the vast canyon rose velvet rough patches and scar tissue
sagged in wet arks of beauty who had sailed the future goo
in a nation of eaters, gentle hills that arch
at the center of fashion, how brother sang a song,
leading a shipload of small, bright regions rubies
and emeralds flash electric stimulus
to the peaceful and bureaucratic artists and writers
avid for metals as a base from which they pursued
a part of the hindbrain, but banners and tapestries
whitewashed a heap of stones
as in several eyes ear river reach out

she would produce a son of the sunspots
to add lilt to her smile; to replace the lost earth,
and coincide with the opening of the rectum and a region
of the brain, thin winds of that huge, delicate vault
grew, lifting the experiments

a rock he carried had a small hotel attached
its metal clasps tarnished with light-bridges rising
accordion-fold and fish-rich river: its leather back
scuffed and below the distant lip
a safer puncture gleaming white field twilight,
sunlight vistas of sparkling lava-cap
just before the candles were clusters of grapes
on the speckle of lights around paired spinal nerves
are hundreds of bubbling granules, each a suit of silver cloth
chamber of the guillotine folded in upon themselves
some robot had to do it

THE PROFESSIONAL WATERING PLACE OF SPECIAL DAYS

for Steve Lindsey

Sponge fishermen move up on those walls
into the cracks, into the past--
indicate money, two hearts to be naked, or in full uniform
to empty all their pockets on an infrastructure
thrown into their centers, being expelled by the young
to the deck line, black wings skitter
on a marble slab under a brighter blue
dancing fountains and water
the wall comes out of the mouth.

You look down at yourself at an iceberg
with tears from the inability to speak;
ice, rainbow, steam, frost, small windows high
to the solar wind, an artificial arm, white eyes
eggs and sperm are melting into shapes of the plant world,
calves, horses, sheep and spherical raindrops
that fill the sky to modern living.

Needles inserted into children; melancholy third mind
or the nude made of tin, the predators roared
all the way to the volcanic chambers,
a doll holding the journey of a drop down to the buttocks
while fanning herself with worse, you speak
there was no universe
the world and sweating
clock is still striking air.

I PERCEIVE SILENT TWINS OF OUR GALAXY

Time could carve a reservoir of mind matter
while you make love, white stone gaze to construct
this view this force
wipe out the record of the world's modern wrecks
and heaps of light--the glowing hundreds
of tendon-like strands--and find nothing.

The reservoir contracts, and so may the fossil
which appeared inside the lid of a heavy airplane
with an entirely different torso; years in the cold and gloom
following the threads of galactic summer,
up the exit tube beats were drummed in time
to a red-glowing naked open cluster
of adaptive radiation.

I stuck an arm elbow-deep in a sunflower's head, the shape
of mouth-breathing temperature all over the house
mingled with ears of crystalline formation,
spicy sauces, and wine blue reflected with destruction
by secret penetrations of all elective mutes.

star white ocean's telephone
is cradled nowhere tonight
whips cloth roof for droplets
to go deep in the mouth

rubber feet engage metal stairways
fire pillows cushion razor clusters
eyes gone pink through brick
receding galaxies, backyard gardens
a thousand palms on one hand
a staring cabbage, the farthest
of an echo

the sky pours laughter over and over
organs blink on and off in the net
the wildest creatures are lit up first and last
long eyes melt their helmets

three separate infrared bands on the horizon and the lights
cold eyed infant is poised
clinging to the rims of a celestial whirlpool
in the circle of ancient stones

II

swallowers)
button eye and green
mask, touched by sunlight.

open tubes.
to be a hybrid
between
delicate weather,
but the color will repeat

LOVE POEM #22: SOLID ORGANS OF THE HOME

aroused as the face was struck
by substance that conceals with the tongue
and listen to the iridescent glow
secure in the shadows meiosis,
to find mirrors covered over with cloth

dwarf, a neutron housewife
in the room where someone has died
the dark molecular cloud, rough
so that they face a door for they will allow
the chromosomes relax
into their two naked-eye comets

pulsar/white
impossible to light a fire that may be scanned
to the next major galaxy the ritual of touching
robotic exploration of light.

THE GOLDEN MILLIONS AT WAR IN TWO REALMS

Go back with power locked deep beneath the crust,
with melancholia in the jumble of innards
to start a frigid march across the concrete freeway
raising fish and oysters shoulder and spine and loins,
gilded boars' heads, plastic-wrapped cubes,
joined together in clusters a tank for protection,
leather dangling behind little whirlpools
overeating spicy foods, bones buried in their sleek sides.

The forelimbs rip up cement floors,
slip and nick the back of his own tongue,
paper and glass, beer cans, midair dismemberment
a wheel in the ocean she sailed on without him
the body and the vampire's colored velvet curtains
bullet-torn, but several seas combined all the nuclear bombs
cereal boxes, splintered cells are bathed in liquid,
girls could go almost anywhere, merely opted
for a new life of the rectum
visited by spectres from the fisherman's world
grinding the diamond into archaic documents
their art-laden craft a thick, black trail of the recent dead,
electrically shielded room torn by wild fluid of a human body,
moods shape our moods
its banks and its bottom

GIFTS FROM THE HORSEPOWER MAGNET BLACKOUT TREATMENT

Now we come to the epoch, stamped in red
on the back of the neck,
two thousand costumes wield complete power
from a blue filter to a crooked screen of sex
when the different parts of the body are molded,
aching aura of sounds, with large paperweight eyes,
all their clothes in plastic bags,
arms from the brushes, the energy of sugar,
swarming from darkened day they strike the water
escape the intellectual shadow
slowly turn into fishes in the new structure
and turn into birds water-clocks and entrails
a giant heap of alien metal twenty girls are busy melting

The fringes are a silver death's living blanket
on the distance of the moon, insect broadcasts
and vacuum chambers, a small wax-covered wheel
in a steel vat of broth, maggots revolving a stone door.

During this quarantine, the spring should rise slightly
when the points of light turn corners, grinding wet
the two slits in our fitted suits of steel,
the harsh fate of these probes,
and the intermediary messenger
taking place in the halo as the galaxy itself
with rudimentary hind limbs.

LOVE POEM #21

The two worlds are huge gasbags,
the outer boundary and its living envelope
in the five solid organs
every person carries a map
with visible threats, in the spheres
of the planets, which fitted into
the outer corner of the ring finger,
30,000 times without pause
virtually tireless.

--such love, I might fly out all windows
at once, stun multiplied selves into scattering--

if it seems to leave me in a cold star
it is always moving tides
both inward & outward,
the frontal openings, the rearmost lobe,
it is moving the showerstall white walls
gurgling micro-life under the docks,
masturbating the left wall
masturbating the right wall
moving the showerhead
and long fluorescent bulbs
down through the central throats
a million wet ducts opening
in unfathomed stretches of lawn,
mysterious goldenrod, warped black susans,
masturbating the sides of a barn
in basketball hoop sunlight,
while the world shakes to be with them,
to be a red ray of care
from another planet, to pray
all other dimensions into this one,
masturbating the full black of space's heart,
going under the electrostatic tide-waves

--the lights are not alive, but love,
look at the lights--

to clench salt in the mouth like a diamond,
to work up through a furry throat
to view corrosive frontiers, to be
totally an alien, glimpsed over and over
through a roving windscreen, hung with robes
that shine the belly of the three thousand,
the comfortable millions
perched on bleachers in grey blankets
sacrificing their faces to cloud-beams,
masturbating a high green, near silence
until you fall under the elms
with a face like a coin-plate
watching the graveyards go by
like armored cars, letting the candles rain
with wicks dancing on marble dashes,
instrument panels lipstick-printed,
with furs in the damp corners, chandeliers
displaying row over row of human faces
with stretched gazes, if it seems
to leave me in a cold star it is held
two pockets of sand in the face-cheeks,
parched unit
dribbling, until the shadows smoking
in cliffs of moss shingle
come down to fuck me one at a time
and leave me peaceful behind the waterfall.

colored hill spreads
an ocean of sand
raked into frozen
bushes, interspersed
enchanting form or the disjointed
out over the plain

raw desert, man is seldom
the horizon, no farm or wind
catch land. The feeling is intensified
by the littlest sound--the faint
dry scrub, the whisper
nowhere

the desert reveals the arrival

tight band of energy around upper forehead,
belt of pulsars making ribs clack
together tides lap upward on a woman's body
everything is wall upon wall of young leaves,
cranes lifting and releasing, the activity
of the harbor, limbs begging
with enwrapment, two strung mammals
among the muscle of a bluefish school.

all over the salted city mops move
on linoleum sidewalk
shadowed people among gothic architecture
depositing and receiving
cash on stigmata palms
waiting for stitched enumeration,

waiting for liberty to come like a junebug
scuttling out of a slicked anus, the future's scarlet
angels on accelerated parade,
all tides filled with floating machinery,
ticking in seaweed caress,
rocking rocking

dreams have a clock, to follow
themselves around, we must escape
our dreams, we must dream new dreams,
we must be poles convergent
with one another, kissing glacial
stamina out of the stopped rocks.

ORGAN MISTRESS for Olivia

pipe organ mistress, dangling sounds
don't touch you, as you soar on the lifts
of powerful factories

lit red black dress going up
to the mineral deposits of foreign moons
with a smile of all time
quivering on bodied lips,
as mailboxes snail out of the daylight

these are the days when the piping of the organ
will lift you over the clotheslines
in short wafting hops, tracing fingers
along the rims of chimney mouths,
telling your form to each cumulous

surrender to sea & smoke,
lobster cages drying on a dock,
clouds moving in counter-currents,
sun on every burst pore
crabs stumbling into sunlight
from under beachfront woodpiles
let your lips take on a dirty look
become an invader in the shops,
let neckties brush you lovingly,
ash sprinkle all panoply of dashboards,
earth a clothes-closet, until
you collapse in a mist on the pavement,
low tides of fire
carrying the pigeons and penguins away

there will be a kind of dignity in being
hammered by the years, oilslicks
dribbling down the long hills,
glazing leaves as they pass
into fluorescent centers, where men
trade uneasy glances with one another,
wondering who witnessed the murder, eyes
that danced only
in heavy shadow.

the vast power of trees
strikes you in the back
of your lipstick line
the flaming half of a skull
smashed apart by raging
molecules, taught to be
as a star burns

unaware, the throat of a gull
opens fish belly's
ointment store of oil
all is bisected and trisexed
no question
at the disintegration's beam-end

intricate flowers bow heads
down like dogs in rain
you are carving your naked way
through goldenrod with a kindling sword
the pine trunk tent red wine
dark, mouths enveloping navels, memory
the flashlight jammed up your rectum
quick thoughts of other planets
erupting peace,

overflown streetlights
superimposed elms
diamondshaped signs,
dark green bushes I'd like
to lop blackberry icecream dark as shadow
on each of your tits
watch you scrape the underneck
closest to magnet
sea level, with your silver-tipped
claws, thorns on our hard labia

milk brow telling it all in ache
to your mutest mouth
orange peel interior lips, blue-singed
my five-fingered surroundings
buried in each knuckle
up to jellyroll
struggling free here in the best
heart of the hologram.

run out on electrical wires in an attractive area,
you deserve all the pleasures broken of hedges, front
lawns scared to sleep, universes turning red
at a stumble, a throat sticking to the white air.
saxophoned
cliff ledges faces turned to the eaten
belly of the moon
smoke street cigarette stubs
to dig up the center of the earth
madness is contagious in slight glances

the headpiece shines like wax
at the tail, you are a unit
of purifying force,
petrified atmospheres in cobalt blue & green
jelly deeps

there's one more thing I have to kill
then I'm rollercoaster
over the solar system
the golf course kissed with blood
one more dry morning on fire
the windowpane scratching I'll build
a twig bridge from me to your forehead

all kills and births take place here
in this gleaming
they're bringing a big pizza
over the neighborhood hills your lover
has the least shiver of a face today
your robin breasts are
going over a glass wall

sodomize your equal in medium rain
I'm coming over the state pen
doughnut rolls plastered to the labial wall
papered tent skin screaming through drunk
in electromagnetic belches

brown smoke and black
disembodied gateways
agent
patting a force-field of bare cymbals
your beautiful wide intelligent

scatter these half-lives, melt them
down beneath their shadows, let daisies
morph their careless selves intact
through the metal life of a machete

two dachsunds penetrate in turns
their unminding mother, drag
their diseased thin pricks
on a street, investigate the scum
on gummy sidewalks in front
of the laundromat.

Now sleep is irrelevant, I like
their movements, darting life better
than human information, can't catch
their runny eyes in the blade
of a mailbox flag, return this life
to the scrapheap, let it angrily
put roots through a skyscraping mass
of attacked automobiles.

Two dachsunds walk through
the washing cycle, become my eyes
in a fever dimension. They are such
pretty black sausages
roaming under a parade
of slicked rainchairs,
stormclouds shot with pink sun

flicking nuclear misery
at hairlines of outsexed coincounting
readers of tiny politics, I heft
the bronze of my lover's strange purse
while she sleeps, turn my own penis
into an antelope, the dachsunds
aren't my feelers
I'm the severed arm under a newspaper.

Orgasm all day, watch her in red shawls
naked at the navel and shins, also
the eyes and nosebone, red butterfly
larvae in the glint of all pupil, perched
on wood slightly older than she
at an organ of lit keys, chirping droning
to the powerline click
of a drum machine climbing
the cliffs of invaded memory.

branch sways forth above elongated head
eyes pistil out into human air
for touching, animals fill the laundromat
to maim or orgasm, sniffing dog blankets,
turning prismatic lenses on long stalks
to intergalactic features
of horizon

as loved killers re-penetrate tamed,
fixed civilizations, eyes sway
on the ends of instrument antennae
stomachs levitate to inhabit
cavern hearts
two sliced watermelon flowers
ooze birth
to a light shower of sperm

billions believing in nightmare selves
gun barrels sliding forth a thousand
sighing throats, flower stalks
nudging pothole fringes in hotel parking lots,

the main road a litter of salamander corpses,
their orange fading burnt, sun unprotected
from its own venom of existence
lamb life and lamb meat
in winds of ancient life

green pods hopping brighter and brighter
on magnetized tongues
myriad deep
kissing on the shanks of fallen monument
light toasted hands
gripping dark toasted currency
innocence alive behind supermarket glass
carrying no ticket, ascending
radiant blue butterfly
superimposed
on a tide-surge of maggots

slowly with paws turned inward
you chipped away at all things
with your beauty until buildings
curved in the guide of your movements
and finally all living things
wanted to be in your presence
a blade in the head
fur takes the eyes and the aftermath
slowly with paws inward
eyes bigger than scope
a huge blade in the head
you walked your smaller creatures
down the salt dock over and over
eyes eaten by what they see constantly
you come to be viewed
in the presence of no beholder.

drain
hydrate thought screen
orbs blooming in air on each side
bridge rattled by sunset energy

I watch freedom grow in its peaceful
moments, and think, now we're
really getting somewhere but the youngest
man I ever met whispered gently, humorously,
charmingly into my ear: just remember you're
always watching a funeral party
get suckerfeet and suckerhands
up into the sky corners
something colorless invisible old
is stirring nowhere at all

drink
oilships in the eyes of a good kisser
receding tracers tagged with blood
moth wings scoop after scoop

and many bridges saying
something gorgeous has passed under
something worthy of intake has crossed these waters
assaults on bare space should and will continue
something certain has vacuumed all overhead

the violence of trees and rain,
raw district drawn out
in universal color, front doorway
of the electronic soul, a new brain,
interplanetary imaginings, layer upon layer
tapped relentlessly in to the mechanism,
phallic ultra tip of the prime mover

a flood-tide of raccoon bodies
and lonely against it with a mop
watching the jelly of outer space
tense janitor in love with escaping,

his torso is part of a bridge
connecting states, ribs incoherent
reef's ridge at the belly
of the finger's touch, a black hole blooming.

we move as a couple-unit
through waiting rooms, jails,
swift bodies of the unknown,
we wipe numbers from the doors
of rooms we enter in our sleep,

suddenly we're walking to breakfast
through a long solid tunnel,

this subway cherishes its own bricks,
the love of motion, love of coal
histories, lipstick on bathroom doors,
low money in eroding corners, this

time-burst doesn't discover, it is outside,
it is not intimate lasers, it isn't required
to turn into plastic, this radio shrieking
is all my body can carry.

hornets on force-fields of wet lips
tickling the nerves of a close sun
light on the belly light on the stone
of a death in marble

twin dogs in sunlight on tar
twin dogs at the base of mailbox
licking a shovel together
twin nostrils on straws
black susans trampled in mud
hornets stomped in machine dance
proud electrical displays
in assaulted airport; the twin
on its hard nerves, tugging a kiosk hologram
with him in silver helm, eyes flecked
with asbestos, lips septum scorched twice
to match flares with the belly of a sun,

don't you ever lay down on the earth
to be healed, mush your tongue
on scattered maples. Propellers in velvet
sashes, disease crawling over the trunk
mantle the jug full of pulped grapes
a white cat crawling down the silent air
from a fluorescent light, eye of an alien ship

lipstick-blind, dashed by pennies
a shallow drainwalk

SIRLOIN DISTRICT

fruit-meat, saddled with ashes,
where do you go to droop
your velvet antlers,
where do you go to droop
your head on the woodpile,
we can get away with anything,
where do you go to bury
your leavings, where do you go
to dump your blood on this earth,

you were travelling, in a song, in a song
with backgrounds slipping
down the walls of interterrestrial time,
wallpaper of eyelashes, beloved,
stung by yellowjackets
in the horror of a light rain,
touch the beauty eat it out of the air,
to your right side the sea,
to your left side the sea,
letting the death ahead in vapor
blend into the movie,
blend crimson into the mirror,
the element of randomness
in a human face, the element
of strangeness toward all being,
the eyes a closed cabinet,
the eyes whole tunnels between rivers,
going blind to feel the all-seeing

back-fields, scarred in velvet places
dogs multiplying in a hypersecond
swingsets necklaced by beads of stunning viscera
eel meat on rye, government of flour
goldenrods take the corners
bright arms through chainlink
scythe caught in upper branches
yellowjackets swim above diaper pile
pathways stained with oil
sandbox full of bullet shells
brighter than all stars

perfect fallen skyscaper
boosts from orgasmic foundation
radio tower festooned with lacy underwear
penetrated forests, eternally unknown ghost species
the lovers speak, whole libraries of energy

BRIGHT OTHER

tiny pink spiders crawl thick green blades
headpiece stacked and laced
with white straw in the afterworld
are they babies are they about to die

I itch all day stopsign
buried up to its metal neck
in the corner of a high lawn
the one word staring tiny pink spiders
crawl from death to growth
their tiny noticing not much difference

scaffoldings of digital multi-fuck
and chihuahua paw irritates the mustache
the upper lip doesn't care about the lower lip
little legs going nowhere for everywhere
headpiece knuckled and bubbled
scissors invisible between limbs

if the right hand doesn't care about the left hand
the eyes behind fingernails will watch
tiny pink spiders think big
thoughts of devouring in the belly
of their hour on faint legs I
welcome them onto my belly hairs

let poison bite fiber and follicle
never reaching flesh flowers
have black hearts near around us
yellow petals long in the air
interrupt telephone wires all
erupt from their mother's egg back
and the earth has a magnet heart

calling headpiece down to rot in its rest

moths gathering on a steakknife
lonely hands in an energy porthole
twin moons that turn around an invisible bird
dead friend head against artificial heater
woken by backward time to prowl in drunk hours
the porch chopped to bits on the roof
fridge light damp on erections
electrical extension cord chesthairs
holographic muscle fiber
the word LOVE scrawled wide on a windshield

that one grows, until his forehead
is a vista of meaning. His dashboard
becomes a part of it, then his eyes
are imprinted with a historical map
of the sun. This unhealthy mammal
bribed the best of public men to rip
the cloth from his eyeless torso
in universal public. He can't stop
the orange trees from growing, or turn
gasoline to water.

That man would rather be a woman of his own
construction, a steakhouse mirror, a champion
of imaginary sports arenas, gleaning
ancient televisions from a belched wind
of statistics. He has wings now
that are different from what he imagined,
from what can be imagined.

little ramps of side-road
descend from monolith funnel
ruthless highway churning
cartilege & bone to marrow stew

dogs in a backseat grin drool
while the shocks groan on
orifices of pressed tar
damaged automatic doors shift
paws split where feet don't
go scampering where feet open

little cries to be fetched
muffled inward monkey
come from woefully
overcomplicated mammal
weather control is clicked apart
machine shell gasps to force
walls outward that are inbuilt
the yearning skull holds two dogs

LUXURY METAL

noise princesses on a firm ledge:
volcanic fire far beneath turning
fitfully to a pond of large mirror.
They take their vaginal intellectual names
down a radio antennae

lubricating the windless small center
with casual outcries. Shells of ant
sun-roasted on a painted runway
stirred by escaped air conditioning.
Kisses print the tunnel's sides
with evaporating tear gas

banished medics reconfigure traffic accident
to look like an advertisement party
this is my core crying out
through many faraway things

SNIGGLETOOTH

the floating water casts out birds
windshield painted in ragged light
telephone dead on the backseat, bark crawling
numb kidneys

bridges chime aging in rust
tar is filled with washed pebbles ashore
tires jump, sole flip in the air,
the agonies in little side mirrors

a rain pile of ribcages

and so much white clamor in traffic
bulb orange shaving the gentle nimbus
soft from every real light
between highway lines
radiant from the edge:
two cyclop virgins
staring.

VACUUM

Paraded in vulva sweaters
two sour green cheek wearers
proceed through the faint pink
airliner doorway, treadmills stalled
breasts lashing electric light
burst slackened veins,
the mountain signing off
through a trainmouth.

We have a mechanically achieving
champion, wearing our tits with a rash
for the storms on fire
in disconnected lands.

Let the dust under sofa
cover your tongue, your backhole
languidly offering new.
We have a chin for the new wearers.
He will march with us into the solar system.
He will show tricks with which to scare idols.
His palms will observe a salt moment
white black grainy old photo tracking
the tracks of the tracks of the tracks
of those healing veins, licking one rectum shyly.

BRAMBLE PORN: NAILED INTO GOLD

I was in the realms
of comfort, a friend was dying.
No November can fall
on this roof, quacks the robot.
We were playing hop-skotch
deep in Elysium back fields,
quacking roosters
raid the field of night, over and starlit over
again the basketball hoop is
tilted by leapers, moth hop
dying on the old rope net,
grey as the whole polluted sky,
hung on a white cotton
fuzzed antler, space-sprung
nuclear yellow, liquidly poured open
from universe to universe. easy,
all quick naked veined
childlike, right for the job.

Ice-picks beheaded adorn
each helmeted shoulder,
the ones coated in lipstick
step up after and after the
unmolded quiver of each other,
lighting the eaten web, two rainpeople
laughing, two drizzlepeople
nailed into an attic corner
by collapsing gravity. And a mansion
is reconstituted pinkdarkly
among murdered restaurant winds
what holds the palm lined in engine oil
drawing the vaporous presence
of otherworld moth
twitching under rock walls,
nudging sheep to the late flares
of the open sun. You evaded
your taxes for this, you bought
and drank twin plastics of vodka,
you rubbed saddle lotion
on the TV wires, for this, you undid
your fake gown, you androided greenly
through everything, this is youth,
swingset's eye on the road wreck's
parade of daily loving bodies.

So that you could go to the bottom
we all talk about
and go there and go there
and go there
and find out what is left there.

sOLIPSISM IN PURPLE

1

He who lays on his own doorstep,
crying as if he cannot get in.
That one ate the berries
and puked them onto a runway.

We hear the scythe of his sun's last surge
in the trots of a kitten, bound for brush
and to be mysteriously eaten,
corpse-flaps torn like fetal wings
failed beautifully against moss forest floor.

2

He chases himself around the room, she drifts
across wall after wall healing blisters in the paint,
he won't look. Now and hereafter are the same
crimson muddle. Elbows eye sockets greasy hairs
in greasy teeths.

A new bulb grown between weather
near the top of a central town statue.

LONG VERTEX SURFER, YORK BEACH

mechanical overtone dusk on bridges
rattling in darkened time, pigeons startled
in their half-numb ways, looking you far
under an umbrella robot's green lipstick,
robot's vermilion furs, robot's bowling alley:

arteries frayed in the air, holding a laughing knife

to his guts, neck deep in the bank waiting room,
a sad deer limping through the wooden gaze
of his reflection-worship, the stunned vertebrae of his
admired objects, wing torn twice on ocean rock,
long mouth beak tongue rooted to the taste
of pink sand-meat somewhere near, under ice-trays
and a radio, someone's snoring the life away,
someone is velvet laugher, someone is holder
of a license, black-shelled, charcoal battle-vest
of ink-tree, tattooed to a blade-fence
of city on sky sky on city

a mouth hot in the woods, whiskey flask
deep in the air, deer hooves left a series
of clumps; worms in pebble writhing:
dark whores on the quartz smoking

nuns in suppliers, whole dark on their daughter's pulse.

Urine-pod, the mouth without kisses, mouth that steals
a tunnel, the mouth that is alarm-clock deep in the air,
distributing waste--and I prophesy
a kitten olive in an ice cabin.

Mechanical overtime welcomes its daggers
in the mouth back of each ringing springtime--
eyes on the zipped lids across the gloss
of mirror-dagger
tonsils asquirm in the clothes-machine--

we throw terse peanuts at our mothers
in the ticket windows--there was
an old money lover
with eyes on the bridge, seagulls
raining upon his desperate mouth,
his green eyes gobbled up in white shit,
his thumb-finger combination blue
in public realm yellows, high white
podium people blanching
in the televised wilderness
of the untrained mammal spirit,
rubber eyes entering a wall--

the talons of daydreams in white shirts,
hot winds of non-history
from their his/her faces
each at its separate time and place
the science-fiction indoors
and the science fiction outside.

HUNDRED sEA Numb

the air cave of sleep,
light green where electronic women
grate the air through bladed holes
in cell walls, uncooked rabbit
eating other rabbit
the dulled ghost nucleus
a cooling campfire's iron spit,
rusting and bloody in salt daylight,
magnet ocean, deliverer
of instantaneous dreams.

There are several dolphin heads
bunched together at the port:
several knives gather around a table
to defile the game of chess,

Disembodied mantlepiece of jawdreams
bathed in oily beards
hundred sea numb with volcano's blood,
shore warm with lipstick radioactive
from day's atomics, sandstone-faced
long-eyed. All spoonmouthed, virgin.

snakes of longing, winds of flesh,
garlands of strong spice, computerized
phalluses, streetlight poles
eaten by tides, we'll dance out,
into the copulation of words, carrying
a trash can charred by acidic blood,
refusing to show the staring crowds
that it holds nothing
and is for nothing.

I'd love something to lift this neighborhood
with predictable suddenness, then drop it,
a big tar pancake, cracked all over,
powerline streamers flying saucer eyes,
pedestrians carved down past apathy
to the kind of gaze hard enough
to take five pounds in five seconds
from your body if you meet it
with one of your own.

WALKING tHROUGH A LIGHT GREEN ZERO

We're eating mirrors again today,
the most exquisite cactuses
are on our shoulders,
dogs who seem to smile
in our blind spots
are really panting desperately
for life when we turn and light
our darkness to find them,
we thought we were desperate for experiences
that have made little difference now
they have happened, everything that carries
the dirty fur of daylight
is now going bald with strained deliberateness,
the bones of a beloved lizard decorate
the dresser in an ex-lover's bedroom
and the dashboard of a scrapped car
simultaneously, three pairs of eyes
stare at them from three places
at once and create with their staring
a fourth, then nimbly lizard bones
crawl around on the cylinder of
a misshapen model of earth
in the skin that once covered them,
someone is eating tinfoil, someone is not.

LOVE POEM # 20

If your body falls out of your body
while you sleep in my stumped
watchfulness, I won't know where
of what's left to go,

magnets of now
hold us palm to palm
or arch to arch
while one's at rest
and the other roams,
this mirror-walking
on each other's frozen
seek has become
we're made of the same exact water.

Into your attic of hair
hands fly lightward
from the strong core
of a weak being,
each holds grim laughs
a dagger to the flab chest
of all lower selves,
each we sweep our kitchen
to see the other turn
wet from sink to try
clean steps into gratefulness
more to see
the features of the electric one
reflected in the floor
of the world.

Chests wet with the blood
of mutual emergency
we turn past the turning to look
into the force farther out,
further in that prompts
the turning turning. We walk
in an orchard of cascading skeletons,
each knife-sharp orb-cave cut

to painless enfolding
of all sight
by the thinnest clouds
brightest lunar skies
collide with all afternoon
our nearest clothing renewed
is a subway train
moving sideways into organism.

If your body falls out
of your body, my body will
fall out of my body to follow it.

LOVE POEM # 19

at times I don't know our love's depth,
sometimes I'm walking
down a path exactly the way
I walk up it, sometimes I don't know
the sex of the daffodils.

Soon I know like a tight green bulb
that we are entwined by the vines
of grapes that I went near
but did not pick
when I was young.

We're an island on an island
on an island towering
straight from a center, wielded
slightly by the strongest centers
of others, now from every molten heart
our orbits among the length of our love
longer than our progress along it, some-
times we are late to discover
the strength of the daffodils.

LOVE POEM # 18

one voice moves through time
the other moves without it
both come from the same mouth

they sing at first
as branches underwater
sometimes simultaneous
sometimes from the center
of a bright anemone
in brighter sunlight

a whole ocean drawn back

they sing at last
each is pair upon pair
of lips
opening upon opening upon
lid upon lash upon lid
between the amphibian diagrams
of each others each
rib upon rib

both come from the same mouth
the others move without it
one voice moves through two
in time, the other moves
without them, together they ride
apart.

LOVE POEM # 17

I'll kick holes in all
the hospital walls
until a clean bed
falls out of it,

until the bright lawn glints
with brighter drops
of doctor's blood,

frozen semen chandeliers
dangling over the beds
of sleeping nurses
summer clothes adorning
a mannequin.

I'll kick the hospital walls
until you fall out
of one of the windows
and into my arms,
we'll spit at the flame ends
of the tattered blankets around you

we'll let your hair enwrap
the roots of trees every sleep
and polish our antiques
to go to work on the world,
kissing each other through poised
scissors.

LOVE POEM # 16

rain-touch, fur-touch,
tar touch, far
touch metallic,
wind-touch
and touch of breezes,

sky-touch, you punch a womb
into the strides of air.

rainbrush
lady fern
micro-cut
in eyeleaf & bladeside
ripping holes in underwear
the passenger seat & then

solemnly thinking
of ice-cream you--
have your amusement--
look back, someone is riding a bare deer
into the notched stem of your spine,

LOVE POEM # 15 Opal green

I love to sit and touch her with
that part of the blanket

that gives way

even though I know she'll never end
I cannot get sufficient portion
of nudging her bedside crying,
on those legs.

I love to crouch clamped
with the right velvet taste
in my mouth and wait
stupified by the things
she can give me;

I never know whether I miss more
her feet in the photograph or
her absence in presence
her presence in absence

LOVE POEM # 14

I love the smell of acid rain
gas stations lit up
by useless signs, fish-scent
in the oil of ceaseless electronic air:
our two mind-capsules heavy
under the lash of eyes
from the belly of a tree,

slums answered with barks
of celebration, the poet-warrior
slumping to his last mirror.

I love the docks untidy with guts,
hammering lemon & tomato odors
in the hot air of forever,
stunning its sights into scarcity,
behind the pink eye's beyond:

one nickel parked
on a cooling driveway, I remember
a truck rattled in the empty road
until you closed the window.

early dyers, living
forever. Stuck in the eye
of a monument.
All doorways open
grapes in the threshhold
to the outside air,
fish in the black blur
of a holographic moat,

fishscale measured to the eye
snail feel menstrual protein
under the ridge
of a snarled nail
coming home to computer dinner.
Sad frog's frozen, eyes
looking out over a desk,
legs ruined to a chair,
to sit & observe: retinas
of chainsmoke,
a bad pastiche of mustaches,
sit and stare each other's
beings until the body
and its clothes are turned
high white quartz
then marble deep
in the eyes
burst-first.

lates

answers came from other fields,
out around a colossal central mountain
to chains of reaction

the taste of a lemon, by anyone

the alternating sugar
the backbones
where they are paired

LOVE POEM # 13

the yellow
four petals; the white
the red
navel; the green airy,
whisp-

(((())))

he eyebrows the
union
the head spreads

to identify himself

liquid by water;
the incandescent

direct symbol.

LOVE POEM # 12

the white of this dog's fur
is so white, the black of his fur
is so black, his mongoloid angel
eyes, sweetly bulge

on paths toward no path,
he runs island edges near
the bay's lap, an ocean's

reverberator, his teeth & tongue
are greetings to the air,
that dog makes a man cry
who can't cry,

his white fur disturbs the black
of one room's sofa, his black
the white canvas of another.

LOVE POEM # 11

we are lust,
that is what we love with,
the skies we push out of the way
the numerous umbrellas that sheathe
our oversides,

we are a crown around
the root of a cliff-grown
sapling.

our heels dig in the same places
where our toes very recently did,
the beach we invent
overlaps the beach that invents us.

LOVE POEM # 10 Red Admiral

music-threads, my little bird
connects the connections
to the other connections
makes fertile soil moisten & surge
around the roots of the
telephone poles,

takes my poor head up into
the territory of my rich head,
moves my shins through my
elbows feelingly, the bellies of boats
are above our root,
the ceiling thatched
with underwear-leaves,

pillowed for every angle,
our bodies jutting
with bones in the tongue,
tongues in the bone,
quiet satisfactions that get louder
at their most
intimate ebb.

my shadow has two tails
one turns into your caress
the other is a spray of surf
that your caress brings me to

that room is an empty channel
I look for new ways to pronounce your name.

Sometimes I want to find
out if I have a spirit,
the way the tip of the tongue
tastes sourness,
the ceiling of everything.
-----------------------

----------------------we finished the page, the
brilliant script lasered into our
tent wall, green canvas in
a maze of birches, toothbrush
pathways sand-scrub bath

in faded cooler, finish, in blue
sleeping-bag interior finger vulva
finish, finish the tides with
your feet, dance the poles
upholding fishing docks, deep
into the beach, all restaurants

and deep computers shut off.

NO LONELINESS

there is a ledge where you
continuously flow over

even when you are pinched
in a silver mask

even when you hold your bag of guts
with stoicism, reptilian poise

you are continuously flowing over
the edge of this frozen verge
of nothingness feeding on a flock of chickens
feeding on a field of corn
aisles painted white with shit
there is a shovel you hold

when you want to kiss a religious woman
on the softest part of her mouth
the hardest edge of her
continuously overflowing
a multitude of dainty hands
(the wide white air at all backs)
on bloody balconies over and over

SAD ECSTATIC COMPANIONS

for Greg

1

If we see the star tonight
we'll know it's a planet

fire from our mouths will almost
consume it. Our own planet,
our own star, will remain

as we stand within their magnetism,
patting each others spine-tops,
swilling each others pine-flavored
liquors. Vein-mouths open,

bloodshot slots of eye, a hurt flicker.
Even if we can no longer look at each other,
we can at least look
at the same things
at the same time.

2

All our late nights & early mornings
lumped together, two drunks gang-fucking
the dawn in multiple forms,
springing from corrupted wreaths,
our rustic crowns. Speed limits
kept far outdoors, unable to touch
our louder & louder lives.

Crack the one window wider,
caterpillar & moth crowd in
around several bulbs, first
sun-rays conduct
half eaten shadows of leaf,
orchestral twitching plays the grime
out of the old floorboards, our friendship.

LOVE POEM #9

Space so vast on all sides only opens up
when your girl's arms are linked around me,
let me be void of hurt,
the vented undersides of our love-
making clean as a throng of vented mushroom,
dark fissures breathing desperate
to make rings & wreaths of mica & moss,

aisles birch marchers toward ash calendar,
shallow roots in face of soil, leaf-terrain
pock-marked by naked heels, fern realms askew
of propane tanks quickly rusting, sandstone almost
thoroughly crumbled, fireplaces on cliff's edge
where you dropped a spotted bikini, allowed swivel
to take hold of shy belly, among newts & slugs
on inner curve of lichened fallen barks,
oaks repressed letting fall their cloak
of half-starved creatures,

to be salved of all sting, aisles
of breezy light rushing over white-haired
raspberries, gold-backed beetles all to land
against your bottom lip, ladyslippers
quaking in nubile emergence
of their fresh century,

Let bulbs break leaning upwards from
our proud foreheads, let a train of beds
left behind burn in the heat of computer
letters, then lilacs grown on rubbing alcohol
spill our glimpses on a grass that scrapes
our chests free of all afternoon cemetery
moon-rash.

LOVE POEM #8

we were air
brushed out
of the picture's color-grip,
the canvas put us together at the ribs,
hinges wrapped around the others
weakest elasticpoint.

Dragonfly corpses falling down the edge
of every painting's frame,
where we are active
in lapping half-silence,
the oiled shell of a canoe.

Zeros float through the air
smiting monies to nonexistence
from the screen high on all sides
waterfalling the place into
two, that hold
the ballroom's tiles down one step at a time.

High in legal wisps, where laughter breaks,
then breaks again, we are won from sad islands
always by the same oilbrushed boat: a streak
of light fresh blazed across our wrists
two knots of bleeding silk
lashed together by dissolved space.

LOVE POEM #7

the tyrant of love
hammered our ghost pain
wings,

while the music went blank
all over the room. Caligulas in lipstick
marched through the fireplace,
singing mattress in half
with radioactive feet on their way to
the platform, we kiss,
we're off the room, we're immaculate
beaks
up in the ceiling corners,
tongue sparks
flick from mouth to mouth

we were hammered by charging
breastplates of gold,

soldiers let loose before our veined heavens
went mad with humble energy.

The tyrant of love
went back on his heels like a stained
mechanic, satisfied with this
final
engine.

LOVE POEM # 6

there is surgery in lilac bushes

slab of granite turning to mush pile

dwarves with blood light faces,
electronic eyes
dancing in a gazebo of interacting flames
trickle of sperm & viscera
ascending a church tower
to slow the hands of a clock
there is nothing left to do
but to be together.

here's a tree-crotch pouring from its deeps
the lives of wasp babies

a torn white dress begging
for the ravage of all color

a woodland wedding where only ghost squirrels
the necks of best friends

attend to the duties of a ringbearer, light hung
from strands of bark peeling
the emptiness within images there is only
a space left in which to be together.

LOVE POEM # 5

As if life has been a city
me at many attic-peaks
screaming
when a bomb goes off in depths
elsewhere

granite floors filled with my voice
recommend that all the most
intent listeners be evacuated.

As if life has been lived
only in one city, reaching in an arc
against the sky's curve
to life in another--sad macaroni
metropolis, all broken limbs
turning to unconnected elbow--

that she has saved me,
that I've saved part
of all, what I've wrecked;
our two cities join. There is much
merriment among those concerned
who will never understand, and
like a lilypad above mud, her dress.

LOVE POEM #4

they each, anchored in the steadfast death of organism,
in the grey stretch at the edge
of multicolored space. Our Milky Way
just a slight dash of motion
figure-skating in the reflection of your tear ducts,

plunge of lily-pad throat-stems
through the sky-floor of perfect pond

her lips on a huge screen above the swamps
emerge casting off cumulus
emerge with a tiny nape of neck
in their shrugging
in their plucking
strings beyond strings
lips all gravity-vast

eyes touched truly
with the salivary gaze of a misguided
saint, now
carved in hers to a prettier
guiding, the knifetongue

moving and never seen
seen and never moving
silken backs, the ears of sheep
leaves sliding under
our same hands,
by fanned bays disturbed

breeze under bridges
spraypainted
into stone by dying headlights
vast this canyon's
merging

LOVE POEM #3

they, anchored together.
the light, chrome hard hot
through antique brown leaves.
and all kitten gestures absorbed
in mittens of a bear
tree-trunks of the youngest sap

going numb & wide
all around. & I there
heel-deep in the bright

flicking ash of our gone houses
from your eyelashes,
every burnt couch flooded
with images of a veiled room
writhing.

And I will follow your breakfast mouth
like a streak of
like an appearance of
like a vein of
like a string detuned

melting fractures into jewelry.

LOVE POEM #2

lines of force
where there are no currents,
from imaginary acting

single magnetic that
of a long magnet, so long
at the magnetic everywhere

under these conditions
repulsion at any unit pole
of the same kind

having a greater oxygen,
salts of iron, our theory, ought
to be in air media water,

melted
in air
of two according to
great precision, limited range

in the fluid known to us,
takes the case of electric current
infinite as
the field of force

Let the axis be that
within the conductor
per unit of area

LOVE POEM #1


electric currents
theory of mole

lied to magnetic phenom

so that within
in the space round it,
is the distance unit

tending to move the conductor in the
hands of a watch, if the observer
of the current.
Let us now consider an axis

in the place
and the length of the part
be its strength
in equations

of black-pink volume;
and multiplying it
so that the attraction between
will be greater than oxygen
and greater in electric currents
and greater

MAGNETS ON A LIGHT CAUGHT HARD

Sadness of magnetism on polarized light,
I have been ruthlessly investigated
by everyone at the peak of this soft
blow-job town, Italian sandwich

dripping dressing down the cast
of my ribs. The devastated parks
made public by raging fire. Every mammal

in the drowned room
standing wobbled
marble feet in hot reef.
All eyes reptilian shut
against parking lot
dark. We saw a cloud expand
we shared an asshole.

At the drooping center of vagina
choking heart meat, rubbing off for steady
fluorescent hours, hair
of an artichoke. As the slowest point

of magnetism dissolves, we discover
the most terrible center
of intimate mystery is through

our only buttocks, in the direction
of the awful whole, particles
within the space, we shall have.
Sadness

has been emerging
of the deep blow-job time
in a dumb basement heart
of neglectful library,

half panther oil, dark
as lamp-shade, underside deadened
one gravity's center-center
of dying armchair,

A SHORT DRIVE OVER AND OVER

foam horses cover the stone hills
in eternal front yards

eyes widen in sidecar mirrors
white paint lines whipping past rubber
eyeliner

we are floating an ashtray between us
on a tarnished front seat
bloodied with broken crow wings
horn honking all day

making tunnels of blue tar sound
over the puddled parking lots
with a rain of delicately dropped lipsticks

we are floating an ashtray between us
full of kangaroo heart
building infant with closed soft eyes
with a bit of inner-blooming blood
in a dry fur pouch

beaches scorched to glass like tortured water
flanks touched by slow loving acid of low surf
two snouts touching in the cough
of fragile new motors

1. WEDNESDAY'S THURSDAY MORNING


make the blocks of sound
heavier, until they plow
all these creatures into the soil.
Make their day a yellow blur
painted by digital
ghosts on the huge shell
that surrounds their actual fucking lives.

push harder through soil
things that kill mankind
with their equipment;
grab their boats and fling
them off like leaves,

from a rhododendron bush
left untended by awful giants
with mail slot eyes.



2. MONDAY'S TUESDAY NIGHT


school of fish
came frantic through
television,

tiny dots took over
huge spaces left
by retired stars.

we'd barely leaped
over the wall of nakedness,

freckled with nowhere,
bound by the slime
on pond floor
while the pinecones
whirl in the air

and the machines all gape.

COMMON DININGS

white marble dishes hover
halfway between greasy cafeteria tables
and immaculate ceiling

fans blow columns of active air
down to meet tabletops exactly
in the center white marble
dishes widen the disturbance
of silence in the center
of artificial breezes

pestles grind immaterial
spices from ancient tomb-time
herbs from elsewhere
midway to the dead heaven
above the heads--hair flattened
by dense conditioned air--of
the students of oblivion

left without flowers to guard
the applerot soft
temples above ears
nudged by ten thousand hums

until the magnolia trees fall
through two-story tall
windows and spill
their blossom fragrance
on the altars of young mouths, sex hysteria
chewing pond-meat
of unidentified amphibeans

the tadpole textures
tongue-drunk as arms are slashed
by falling panes as tall as houses, heavens

kept unsensed in electric
bathrooms third floor ephemeral
attics spraying hog sides with sawdust guns
palm-lines alive with sperm-trickle
slapping mirrors to revive
the yawn and a garden snake
navigating pebble roofs
of interdimension.

CONCRETE CANALS

The new womb is cut in half
I surround myself with people
just to sit and watch them die

light flows from the television; it feels
as if the very winds are sapped of savagery
by its rectangular river glowing.

I can see through lunacolored chainlink
all the patches of dead grass
where last summer I dropped my guitar
in a fit of drunkenness

and pines like tentpoles toppled on me
homophobics picked up by wifepolice
in the belly of the soil we all

in the belly of the soil belching we croak
our little laments into digital mole-tunnel,
lips pushed back raw to the gums
by the oldest special effects.

The small surf lapping at a slant
of the concrete wakes me want to kiss
wet tiny shards of glass
on the gravel everywhere

where this species that shares my blood
walks treading on their foul products,
rebuilding the robot maids
that guide its days.

The old womb is cut in fourths
I become the genitals of a mythical creature
the kitchen table is made to float
up hard against the sharpening
of my elbows; light is not alive

the creatures under it are eating
the crawl of neon across
ashes woven together
of an old pillowcase
concrete canals
are steering a fish for the mouth
to the absence of our one moon.

WEEKEND DREAMS

For brushing the highway clean
with a broom of horse tail
I was given in my cupped hands
clamshells writhing with
licorice-black maggots

a rainbow trapped triangular
in an apricot tin
four amphibious rectums in the realm of
forehead just above my scorched lashes

a wife with chrome insides to steer
toward the drive-in movie through
forests of vines that no longer need trees

and alleyways of coral no longer supported
by oceans, marble streetlamps bulbed
with lizard bellies taking on the light
of foreign stars: all glowing in the aftermath
of a torn wide sun, radios going wild.

Bikini bottoms puffing up so faintly
hung on antennas in what wide kisses earth
breathes up through concrete
slow to return to the death in a hot hard parking lot
crucified sideways on information television

holding a small dog in your small dog hands,
a morning we share, heavy as a bad spacecraft;
plowed highways slam into the sides of coffeeshops;
old kettles rattle a fresh hard-on's last shackles.

I see a radiant world coming out
from the black core between
the yellow petals of a susan
flower. I see from the charcoal heart
a silver glitter, fragments from
deep through the stem deep
through the whole round earth and out
the other side and far beyond
into a universe being drained
to collapse
its off-white purity
like a new bedroom being killed
with echoes.

I see a girl in multi-colored dress
(though these colors are like
no other shade I've seen
in gardens of before) stepping out
from the center of the flower, and as
she carefully avoids stepping on
a praying mantis she moves towards me,
her every freckle and cell a healing
particle, her flesh-petals apart
from all other plants, she holds me
to my roots in the earth, that grow
beyond the earth, my eyes that look
from behind my eyes and all around
the goldenrod twitch
from dry season to dry season
until they begin to bleed
their own version of water.

The shingles turn to creature skin,
the creature they are is new
under a new sky, we are tortured
by our happiness, I see
the glint near and intimate, of
the girl's world melting down her eyes
the girl's world melting down her dress,
the girl's world is my hands, these
other objects are my hands, also she lives
in all the things that connect, I die
to all the things that disconnect.

I'm suspended somewhere deep
in a moderately huge machine,
with too many arms & legs, too many

orifices enwrapping too
many fingertips. My core
pulled out like a frog's scalpelled
spine.

And I leave again & again
until my leaving sticks
and my staying replaces my center in

a gathering of slim-toothed goats,
over & out, 2 big bears & a jumpsuit
drawing too much
cartoon heat
for the silence of all beauty
to manhandle.

where the blind lose all evidence of triangles
lightheaded businessmen walk
in constant sneakers treading on the rhythm
of the rhythm of the rhythm of the rhythm.

while I climbed a weeping willow
covered in hot rain & little paper dragons.

oh you have so little color
in your movements how
the shopwindows steal
your whole frame & face
while you are looking at looking at looking at.

in your first backyard
there will be a woman

with her arms outstretched
gripping stalks of sunflower

lightest breezes heavier
than all the weight at her center

one rooster out of three
struts with a bloody comb

he left his blood
and the blood of his brothers
on the peel of a young birch

a battered coathanger
holding a huge rose

the woman's picked him up
to stroke his bloody feathers

he has thirty hens to pleasure
here's a few verses before you collect the eggs

stories for you & the claws
on the rooster's thumbs

things born deep in fire
return to the furnace

a rain of angry hands upon the airport
piles of multicolored helmets
in front of government houses.

a haircut for all trees near to our channeled
electricity, one thousand bees
clotted in the air like a flash of TV
static all over, for hot orange hours
on the porch, extraneous nipples exposed
to the useless sun
to the useless moon

the one local satellite hovers
near all weather-causing stations
in a hurtful mirage.

the many hands win nothing
with their protest-worship
the great machine gun
continues to dominate
the gentlest air.

a rain of larger and larger nothings
on the lightyear-dampened sun
receding to make room for its younger

we don't sleep, don't need the hum

of sleep, but erupting morning
after erupting morning
volcanic and we watch the churches
and the laundromats act
like churches and laundromats
under depths of water dark
as green & blue can go
oceans drawn up
at the feet of lighthouses
whose circuit boards
pour electric tongues
down naked throats

skylights flap like epiglottis

music that pricks ozone
turns saxophone from tenor to bass
in pairs of hands that flower on insomniac
torsos that never felt the rain
without raining lower & longer
than any storm earth's skies
can provide.

uh Heart Crossed off the Charts

I'm that faggot girl
up lighted in the blackout A.M.

I'm that faggot girl
in the ballroom corner
born without a uterus
taken on a cruise to celebrate
my infertility

you're not enough to prowl
linoleum squares with me
in tow, your awful

eye make-up & underwear
decorated with bears & giraffes

foolish child in pink
pajama jumpsuit

fostering nervous breakdown
in your elder admirers

making the mascara tears
cover the manhole covers
entirely in awful purples,

& so eager to see how
eagerly you'll kiss the convenience store

trails of blueberry where

deer trot their elegance
with just a hint of violent

effort, so small you have
to put your tongue

in a hoofprint, struck hard
in dark black mud,

reminded by your ribcage on a rock
your bones balanced

there, what violence is done
among us, how barely

sweet the blueberries are.

one
wet
violet

placed

where
only
you

will
notice
it.

I look for the one who
while everyone else laughs
is scorched by the movie,

for the Eskimo on summer
sidewalks who was pushed
like a scarecrow of hailstones
out of the dinner party,

for that girl knitting condoms
of seaweed's darkest green
for her genderless friends,

I seek those whose stomachs
can never be acidic enough,
whose ulcers come to be
small bubbles on the multiverse's
bulging moldsilverblue clusters,

I look for those to whom
this message is already a waste
of time because it can't find them.

HIGHWAY THROUGH THE POND'S MIDDLE

you take the handle to start hog up
(salamanders move
their orange 'cross wet tar)
avoid their bodies with your motors tires
ribcage crunch, tiny hearts

you wish for a crash to throw you down
to the swamp or the spiders that rule the dust
on the runway's ramp where the creatures merge

the purge of sunlight from broken
radio hole

we watch on our larger cages
the orange skin
take over the tent of our frames
and coat the rotting logs
with live
lizard

a female in fashionable rags comes toward
through the ballfield hologram
of a chainlink fence to march
right into my arms. She says:
I can hear you screaming
in the hallways of this world to be
left out. The end of this tall black fence

is just a tilted little puddle
you can jump all the way storybook through

crystallized on a bicycle seat
a snail's antlers frozen salted
hurting all the eyes of the air

put forth this morning a fist in brown leather
of subnormal pitchforker
beating a drum with a severed limb
half of the crown on his head.

Mom was washing a dull golden dog
in a groaning tub, paws were kicking

the heavens were overturning all hell,
the saltshakers were upright next
to the peppers, then huge robot arms--

DOVES EAT LEMON PIES, FRONT_ROW

I'm not sure how to spend my time anymore,
if I can't spend it all weeping.
I think of the rages and joys
of all my life, and wonder simply
"what was that all about??".
I just burst out cackling wildly
in the middle of a foggy sentence
that I happened to be speaking,
trapped in jail.

Bees disrupt the color of my hands,
all radiance come down to spill my guts,
and a handle of burger to flourish
from the waist of my pine shadow.

A telephone pole of black light, tar dark
on its torso & antlers, reaching all its
ringing anti-ecstasy into the stretched tarps
of vast disembodied ear.

2 skulls that knock together
chin & bridge of nose
interlocking blades
surrounded by every
engine.
Weeping continues in the banks
as well as the alleyways.

CROWS GULP BLUEBERRIES
WHILE STANDING NECK_TIED
AT AN ARTIFICIAL SHORELINE.

I'LL LET THE LIGHT TRICKLE THROUGH MY FINGERS HANDS
AS WE KNEEL ON THE FLOORS DOORWAYS
OF YOUR LAST FULL-FORMED MEMORY

I kneel in the cells of a slanting house
say "the rain is infinite" but know
it's not, I beg the senseless air
for company. The pissing of skies
traps me in my room, holds voices
of all others force-fielded far away.

I stop in the calls of a smashed drainpipe
to bring my walk down to a railroad sound.
I let the whole street come up
through my wrists. Streetlamps
tower & crown
my only shoulders.

I stop near a tongue-kiss memory
in the quiet hurricane of a concrete stairwell.
(It's a house I built steadfastly when I was unwell.)
We hated every moment of it's dilligent
progress, & faded blue-green down,
moss everyone.

there are two lives: one with friendships,
one without, both equally beautiful,
both equally irrelevant. Who needs

other bodies will speak of other bodies,
who speaks of other bodies will need
other bodies, in imagination.

How sad, to eat blue berries
thinking of this, and the rot in the gut,
and horror of the stained white

flickering at the bottom of the bucket.

A small lizard
from the melting skids
of a burnt tire

could fit
in its dying writhe
through the seam
of my shaking hand's palm.

Only we in its death throes
will know the quietness
of its last protest.

But its tongue flickers,
a brown flame from the hearth
of a life we abandoned
when we gained fur.

The skin it sheds
is coating still
the severed hand
I left behind,
with one of my favorite
fellow mammals,

when the yellowed eyes
of the fur-wearers
wore out
and I saw their emptiness
in the reptilian tunnels

they had avoided crawling
ever before I
entered and willingly let sag
my halves of skin.

I cut her slim belly open twice,
once above the navel and once below the navel.
I push stones through each incision, both ovoid,
each looking like Brancusi's
Sculpture For the Blind.

I tell her, "I hope this is my best
cataclysm". She readies herself
to carry these articles within her,
and asks me to walk hand-in-hand
with her, as I talk ceaselessly,
gloomily, about what, I cannot tell.

She grips my hand tighter
and uses her other hand
to hold the slits shut
that I cannot stitch.

Watching this all from a distance,
I know I am not a surgeon, or a murderer.
Watching all this from a distance,
I don't know if I am a surgeon,
I don't know if I am a murderer.
Watching all this from a distance,
I don't know if I'm watching this
from a distance.

I have a thread wired into my hamstrings
that was shipped from a floating saucer
hospital to fix her belly,
and in the numb bulb of my groin
a salad scoop for the stones.
I keep these things
meant to help her form
in my form, in order to inflict
pain upon us both.

She knows from my cringing walk
that I carry these instruments.
She grips my hand tighter still,
the sweat thicker than the blood
that seeps against her other,
and begs to be allowed
to heal me.

clasp
the awful gold
hate
the silver
around the eyes

where to go with a mop
where to go with a pen
inside the body
of a new dragon
inside
the pages of a dragon's
stupid wings

snail on a dandelion leaf
opens a hole of empty white light
in the spiral of his shell
his mucus-trail turns to hottest fire

the dandelion clock goes
rapidly back to yellow after firing its seeds
into the dying
pink horizon.

I offer my palm
to the inching of this visitor
from a dimension of tightly-woven,
never-dying, heavily compacted light.

He crawls through a faint stigmata
the only part of my hand that is still there.

SPARROWS ON EACH SIDE SLIDING

My moratory body, gives me a moment of loved
disintegration, sparrows are on the bush
to the left of my floating ribcage
parkbench burns beneath me
I'll never get up in time,
the sparrows are holding
thin branches between
their twig feet fingers--

they shame me obscurely; not to be one
with their twitchy midst, but in not
watching closely enough--
I have erred, black tires
on black ice; and a floppy carrot
through my sadding heart, soft rot body

Their bodies of leaves,
atomic intricate,
flutter other bodies out of shape.

Antennaes buried deep
in each grave small forehead
down toward the nostrils of the beak.
Their eyes and bodies moving sweetly
separately. Their brown eyes
in bodies, moving sweetly separately.

Their brown eyes in brown bodies,
chests downy of white
atop the heavy-scented
hedges of low pine brush,
hung on a puff of exhaust

and not on the hope
of a human breath

OF THE EMERGENCY ROOM DOOR.

Girl-bone, born in small barns,
from a skeleton-leaf wood,
trailing a cape of bloodied feathers,
coming toward, me with my pork-chop mouth,
carrying a distraction of flowers.

Girl in ladyslippers, toting a computer
briefcase that quacks like a duck.
My mischief of little remedies,
my last great love before dying,
no matter what years it takes
my sad body to kill me.

A milk-yoke in a plastic forest,
an apple cored and thrown
among the ferns,
carrying all your old hurts,
a brave little lady.

I want to get out of my body
and cloak you with a hood
of anti-matter. I'd like
to find something to feed you with
that comes before and after time.
Take my body, though it's not enough;
protect the work of my hands,
though the world iced it.

Make my plot of land a tigerspawn of brushfires.
My will and testament a litany of fly droppings.
My marriage a union of broken ice-springs
in a moss cathedral.
And my birthright a trumpet the factory
never cranked out.
Time pulls its garters up its untimely legs
and gathers its hurts into the grocery store.
Time gathered is a studio built in a vault
of withering stars.
Time gathered is you like a microphone
next to my throat.

Make my pores the wreckage-pits
of other's smallest bones,
without much left to break, canyon kisses,
jellyfish deaths
far in all we never know.

French kiss in a river of neon
subway tongues dirty as two pigeons
belts tense with hands in the hooks
feet twisted by movements of strangers

if we don't get each other out of
here, our eyes will drown
to death in each other
beneath the climate-control
canopies, dear.

Someone tripped over a dollar
& into a feather cut. No more
mating plumage.

We shut her in a soft room. She ate the walls.
We put her in a tall bottle. She stayed
until a tadpole grew as her tongue
then squeezed a pregnant belly outward
until the glass showered.
Her tears sprayed antique walls.
She thought she could see the scales
on every scale of a leaving snake.
We shut her up in a strong room.
She thought concrete into soil
and departed through the earth.
He hides his mouth in a deeper cavern,
letting her walk over the linoleum array
of his many teeth.

from an oily mouth comes
a clean flood of tongue
a ship's floor full of standing daggers
and the eyes of a child
on the tonsil that turns into a snakehead
blossom sadly
then a road of deer-trampled snow
and a girl in reptilian coat
who says: these powerlines
are serpents leading you home
follow them to a hearth
or leave their squeeze before fire
for a desert highway
where you will lie down
your weathered skull crack
fragile tar
man's crust which is cracking
man's crust from under which
a vast skin is resurfacing

We run barefoot on a globe of needlecarpet
trying to call each other's names,
not knowing the names. Two throats
open to the air. Two bodies run
for more breath, thinking that their rush
will fill them with enough to call
across the planet's prickly miles.

This is twilight activity;
in the noons & nights we build
chain-link fences in many places,
hoping that a friendly playground
or neighborhood will erupt
where we can reside between the rattles
in metallic breezes.

We run barefoot to a shoestore
that closed decades ago, trying
to buy something that will move us
faster on our heels towards
the beginnings of us together.
Our lives move at the pace
of the cash register's pleasureless
pleasure, then run
with the rhythm of blood.