UP TO HEAVEN TO MAKE WAR

he slammed the door of a hotel
where I'd lived, without dying
he died, now I live with the dying
daily I smash a flower freeze-dried
to his terrible memory, to swim in his grief
to remember when he slouched in my bedroom
I took the desk chair, let him sleep
he took the cherry of death, I waited
in the lobby expanding while he swallowed
dreamless bullets where dark nimbus weighed
down around his head, please dream,
dream after dreaming hope is over
dream harder dream in sync that he is alive

I am a friend to the dead and do them no good
dreaming, I am a wreck of dreams
painting he joined my father
in the studio of death sculpting
the clay of death to give this material
sad brain I'll be old in your tracks
the mathematics of self-deceased become
the language of the living,
tongues in the footprints of, who can enjoy a pizza,
who has wrapped up the waters in a melancholy,
who has gathered up a corpse wrapped in fun
who has gone up to heaven to make war on a neighbor

if I could regenerate a corpse with my mouth,
to suck at the belly of a dead one
with living fangs thriving, to slam
with every direction into the walls
of mortal things and crash dazzled
into the sky holds no escape, he slouched
on my dirt pink vaseline bed stunned
with canadian whiskey, I dreamed faltering
his live cock into my mouth, a small soothing thickened
to the heat of music pushing silver eyes
through all bodies of the shrinking survived,

I miss notes played in life's hilarity,
in my engine gleaming to no longer move
he has buried his wrench, he is a fragile nerve
mechanic of all death his mouth is pursed on a spine
of the grey moth, in his coffin
rectum is a butterfly, eyes are pods
to birth a fresh sight of extinction
we kill the ground under our feet to move
toward him, dreaming life
skims the water wall of unnumbered,
the living take the dead into their minds
to make the ground come alive