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.