the orbs lit of life and death
doves and pigeons parked on supermarket walls
numb shoppers are friends missing each other
girl in an orange bright raincoat
goes into her mouth with little blunt scissors
& says: look, a salamander

why sunspots, why edible green

cemeteries openmouthed

automotive angels, nubile tongues
deep in ruby-throated flowers
sidewalks nippled wiith hailstones

why thought, movement, lips
dumb kittens grazing on potted grass

kitchens pouring

I am the angel of death
you can fill in my other categories later
scoop sand onto the precipice
which I inhabit

with 51 pounds of rubber bands
strung around my headdress
my oxygen tank starts
where my eyeliner's attached

I am the angel of death
saucepan poised over the flame
in the cheapest apartment
lysergic eyes roving through
the goods of a dark workplace

newspapers forearm wrapped
the spine of a fish
call me from where you live
I'll trace the line backwards

through a field of wet grass
cemetery bench on a toppling
peak of dead beercans
lichens rub lipstick raw
a dollar melts in my paw
foreseen from the porch
I am the angel of death

consoles stained with blood
within the cemetary forehead,
I'll be waiting, you dress
to find out what force
unlaced my wings, wrap me
in the net of my instruments
droning, remember the costumes
standing between us melt off
in the last stunned light
of vertical starburst, you put forth
your lips on a long tendril
from the blood core to support
my alien insides, help me with hands
and feet to find a bright path
up the bedroom wall
where you'll chandelier to greet me,
circuits strung tight and tender
around the cunt smog in my lungs,
seed catching in the eyelashes
that flicker from a liquid
of fine curved belly, ashen birds
peripheral to my tunnel stare
in flocks of your deathless reach
emerging.

long poles of light spread
on bright water to float small ducks
out of another dimension
breast feathers floating in oils
they break in tight formation past
terror which they do not know
of the bread thrower
in a bashed volkswagon
the owner's slept in
day and night knuckles
fast on the crust to share
with the sky diamond of compact water
slicked
birds not made to lift
him

shave dust from the sides of your soul
until you enter cool hell,
let's cover our twigs in butter
and go out to the garden of the frail girl
we'll beat her and beat her and beat her
together until her stripes become our bodies

watch bark water squirm
around few trees, magnetic storms
turn everyone's bathing suits yellow,
I'll take a vitamin hatchet
to the gates of the ancestor's forehead
and let the zoos spill out
into the air, turn the pipeline criminal

more and more you'll feel
refrigerated vacancies in the crying halls
of all memory, laughing absence of angels
like grandma everyone drowning her face
in the parlor's ultra expensive fishpool

spray non-metal silver on your ribs
until you radiate bicycle, branches nudge
your dream-tanks on bulging sides,
the dream of the sweet totalitarian,
the dream of a fuck with everyone,
the dream of tiny elevators oozing
through a fecal radio station,
dreams that are all bacon and newspaper,
the final dream which will be rung
by a disc mouth on plinking teeth
through the phone line superstore
from the infinite of a foam cup while everyone
falls down

bright owl pages
mailbox up the ass
stone naked in a garden
oysters on clay
copper fingernails, cinema poster
rusted sky, indoor & outdoor pianos,
she's allergic to airports,
left a vaseline cleft stain
on the fabric of the front seat,
we'll throw our pennies together
into the crusty throat
of our old hometown,
where we swallowed a swingset,
where our feet & hands became seafood,
the eyes from pine books
stop turning when the car crashes
the sky turns into a cone

the body's outward form swept rock into the crater
lived between two of the beds at sea level,
waterfalls too high to take cover between her legs,
muted wings flat wetlands near the peak of insect
covered by a layer of others of the black cat
tent show girls, and overlapping plates

milk sugar) the snow; the green of some leaf
large stars and a dustproof room
thunderstones at that single spot of the past. Sometimes,
the morning's long, feathery scales will thrust a needle-like pyramid
when the tide goes to the carcass and magpies
the letting-out of cables sparrows chirping excitedly
on the bottom of the sea,
nests on the cliffs and ledges

meat, fur and blubber of photochemical smog
catgut packed in glass star catalog,
great cleavages in male or female,
fair carrier shells
in the use of trick light worn with teeth
to be a criminal; engine-driven drills
and dogwinkles, hind flippers
fused to their city
with a wet meadow of tall young fruit.

dust on the mountains
sun battery here in this warm hole,
rotting logs birch wind
raspberry hereafter,
swamp child, bruised bodies
lying around your dwellings's entrance,
war paint, paint face,
logging time in the belly
of the great terror

swamp child, beware of the rings
around your breath, keep the small wings
all within range of your hearing,
dashboard aflower with running flame,

swamp child, keen on the weight
of the breath in your shoulders awoken
fireplace to a morning rain

who stole the black triangle
magnet house held you clanging
out of the murk shark hands
and a long pink
slit in the throat breathing
dagger words tumbleweed words
red-faced men haunt the windows
in the kitchen a stereo mole
whimpers quietly to death
tongue squeezed out of its body
in the garden there is only one fatal word
through the fishscale broom
over the speedbump doorway
of a thrift shop, rifling
through skirts to the air
conditioned drone hot to the roof
of Indian music, love the gold skin
of the trumpet love the aural leer
from the flexed stem
of the trumpet's throat,
cries through the belly of a donkey
the tin horns of family gathering
around the signal
from a burst clamshell.

AN APOSTLE OF SHELLS

the heart, when forced
waters screen out ancient times

with scarlet and black, bejewel
bees, as they fly

raw gut is transformed in special patches
cliffs have flowers of dull yellow

the crystals reach a shot-put star
chrysalis cup on the end of an arrow

orbs blinkered over snow
banks dragged by the bellies of the dogs
trash worlds levitating

kitten reach and kitten head
footpaths flicker
over the butchered blueberry bushes,

2 drunk gardeners
listening hard to the radio,
kitchen sinks the backs of heads
slowly drifting into the glacier's
mine
mouth, drone gaze of the non-speaker

drum hole electricities of snake
closed mouth buried in wide mouth

shores breaking open from sound
ears more powerful than earth
lice quick in lines
prettier than hair

guitar repetition of curves
nipples broadcast above a keyboard
pianos many miles deep
in forests are old women's bodies,
nude as nothing else is nude,
outstretched wrists the scars
of rejected blades
wings of old women tightening
to blast the jutting pines
with take-off's breath

sky's a drum hole
all skies are being beaten on