Saturday, March 31, 2012

BUSKER

Tonight the small city
is filled with broad silver sounds
the older men talk of how
minds failed against other minds,
genius somewhere resounding,

take me to leather corner
gesture toward some minstrel
where'd he come from
tonight the small city is a capstone
at the top of his forehead.

Friday, March 30, 2012

_________________

The machines are shot with a naked lens,
my whores on benches watch
a turnstile of orange crates
and send me reeling to the place
behind flaps of long industrial plastic
where I don't speak

I yell at screens of american cities
and then at all europe--
poison myself luxuriously
at the hotel bar--deep to the side of

the hum of rolling luggage
incinerates personas myriad
to chair the choir,
to whip the violins with boys
who stain the modern air like thieves
and leave piano booths in labyrinth
so powerfully spinning.

The canvas of machines
is still moved by chaos,
but only inches forward
and carries its humps--the ocean
in a siphoned heat washes up
a thousand scoured eyeglasses

we watch each other bought and sold
through bottles melting on pistons--
the warhead's clasp
musicians hold themselves to life with
is teething loose to multiply
among the reeled-up nations.
))))))))))))))))))))

The disguise of a prisoner,
I walk avenue A, this cigarette
doesn't belong in my hand,
small things are crowing
that will always sound
in some form,
silver and brown cross
to an antique ballroom
the town bought back from time
to keep a single dance
from falling into the basement files

Huge, grey eyes thistle over
a twilight room leaves color
a-drip in copper vases draining photosynth
to the shelved touch of petals
stacks of fringe that separate into ashes

Veins in the woodwork, a head nodding
over a rectangle of dust
a napkin from last night folded
in the breast pocket where a pigeon learned math--
planning a waltz
that something flinty in his knees won't learn
though the waist is undulant for salsa
the sidewalk is louder than ever with smokers.
~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

My kingdom is dirty
with ghosts that rattle a bridge
going to the drums, with a heart's core
pierced by telephone poles
the catholic spires in brick
peak insides caked with scentless pigeon shit
where I stopped to read the back of a postage stamp
half-buried in the wall
years stuck to clay no answer from the blood

My kingdom is chirping like a net
with phony seers who make plans onstage
the lego-placid future
of a yellow infrastructure
the sounds of old paint
and another nun dying for sex
laugh at your fellow animals
but the shore that eats closer to their clamor
preys on your achilles, pawns your fingers
to the neck cords
the body is an ancient device

My kingdom is brimming pale with foul-mouthed prophets
whom we all call by their first names
their shattered knowledge stalks us in place
like a factory standing
my kingdom is dirty with girls who lived glory
in the reach of my instruments, and I'll have it
paid by the ferment of strong wood
the planing hands pool shapes
for clean fits
know the future is free from existence
force nails of blacksmithometry
through the cage of arthritis
his kingdom is mine who makes
the things to ease a day past.
)0()0(

Limbs are laid out on the world
the pinpoint shrinks to diamond hard light
as spirit meets air, electronic water
the furies in space, star-turf

Wings are an extension of thought
the engine sends a passport to the spine
there is always a lady waiting at the airport
surrounded by the magazines of another time

Bathrooms open tiled pools
to tape recorded mirrors
the tracks are going soft on changing earth
winding the city's sex of noise
around a single axle

Wireless bulbs open shop glass glint
teeming with dark stained analog faces
heaven's in the murk
stem of burning and savior of burning

If a panther came into the lobby of my life
shook me out of trembling
and sent a hollow gram of beauty
through the shield of a heartattack--

Thursday, March 29, 2012

(0)(0)(0)(0)(0)(0)

Electrical rope binds our dwellings together
our rugs teethed by vac
cleaner sucklings
the dents in a map
flick lights bioluminous

In our headgear we can touch
more forms at once
black lipstick red tape, simultaneity
the cats on the sills
the lizards in glass
can feel vibrato sanctum shriek, our tearing loose
from cornerstones, silent as space weather

As the discovery of dark matter
lifts up a labyrinth of connectivity
our closeness to vastness, no outer
with the harp strings taut of DNA unwound
the desert plain of lightyears
sucks up the narcotic blitz
we took to approach it
and just keeps drinking

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

/////////////////

Back of the war
streaked with embraces
weaving in out of bomb-time,
on a sidewalk busy with
those preparing to be still

I remember the porch chipped red
in younger morning light
past aunt's unicorns and prism cones
and chimes
every front yard tree
a vine on the watching world's face
though they passed indifferent

Fences and soda cans
salt on an iceberg
mother's soup grows wok size on the stove
the cats are dissatisfied with the garden
fresh from turning
until a mole's head at the fringe of the compost
snaps them away
twine and stakes trembling
around the pod plants
sunflower's leaves when seeds are ripe
the sound of something that loves
near stillness,

I fell into a textbook submarine
but the weather was my mother
I melted in snowcraft
grew hot to the core
trying to freeze the volk out
there are things in the ocean that can't sing
and live blind to their brightest grandeur.
[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

Circuits of drained time
toward a basement lovenest
the bottles rattle and the smokewebs
tremble and thin
our mattress is the glove of the gods

This early morning you bleared at me
that you wanted to live
in the fire of life as most live
in the fire of death
or something like that
then you got my blood ready
for the morning's recoil
by threading me through
the diamond that's empty when it's full
when it's empty

The cars of the partiers on the lot
are conch shells where our ears don't swim
we've got a tented canoe
where a radio runs on acid
we walk on impenetrable blueberries
push them with infant hands
onto our nuclear teeth
where the savior of the world
is doing push-ups on a grindstone
fallen side to the floor of a tomb

Runnels of filth green water
from beyond nature into nature
we examine our oars corroded hands
plummet through spaceless gardens
the pods of peas pecking
and latching on our fingers

The lake's lifted like an iceberg
tractor beam sparking high
belly of the ship turned over
the whole lake spills
the oceans show their nervousness
in our looks, we brush the nuke fur away
with twig birch and mentha, tongue-kiss
to melt our expressions
the oceans tilt and lift
in an unfamiliar manner
we break through the living tissue of movies
and master a screen deeper
in the waxworks of rapidly moving things.

Tuesday, March 27, 2012


(+)+(+)+(+)+(+)


Don't go through the woods looking
for a floating house
it's only beeswax and bitters
you'll need, you're not going far this time
though the torn up days in office
entertainment and dregs
have stitched an orchard plan
into the dirt's stem of your skin

The string of your solitude
balloon held in network
crave for the levitating town
dropped a buffet on the boardwalk
tabled for you to stare
and fight over an umbrella
with a lover aging faster than the bridge
linking cities imagined

There's a nest of white plumage
in an alley wedged shut by births
where you'll lie down wrapped
in tiny languages you do not know
to wait for a charcoal spaceship
or a blank man at a corroded podium
calling the name behind your name
when the cinema that opened your landscape
has closed your eyes
and the music that divulged your sex
has rendered you untouchable.

Monday, March 26, 2012

(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)

Lulled by a curious animal
the hunt is going forward with sleepy shots
led and caboosed by men who don't notice
their lack of luck, or mercury leavings
from the measurement of alternate stars

Ledge of a general shop's overhang
light loving the outline unchalked
of a customer who dove deep in the tar
with a spray of glass dulled
in its design to be breakable

Our haloes shelled open
shovel tongues aglow with coal
what we swallow in comrade rounds
is vivid in her torso
prey that learned to hold in stasis
what we venture to disturb
and are born by
||||||||||||||}}}}}}}}}}}

Overwhelmed by the three tides of sadness
one for not having a woman in your bones
one for not enough liquid no matter what liquid
one for the sucking breath that does not create food

Laughter high and often
on the tiles of shattered continents
will be coming to invite you
out from the property of your name,
shortly,
when you are expertly unready
whether in a vault where needles go to die
or a wall of inhabited wood

Arriving wept
in all the usual ways

Sunday, March 25, 2012

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Angels on separate floors
spattered with the movement
of the wound they came through
slide adamantium floors heeled
through sad moppers
watch in headphoned agony
the twitching that eats up
pockets of electricity

Water watch, on stories siphoning
trap of the human body
trap of the bride, watching
from a nylon lobby
doors revolve core of the dying air
parched valentines catch in your mouth
the clockwork of human relations
goes on somewhere far outside

The central office, knocked in its numerals
to the back brain of reptilian feeling,
warming only to lonely women
and the crooked tables
sunk halfway in sand
of the devastated fled
north and south over safe deposit boxes
emptied of the falling sun.

Saturday, March 24, 2012

)|()|()|()|()|()|(
POINT OMEGA POSTPONED

Look a fuckin giant piece a money
says one old bar goat to another
tickets waft out the door
lizards in synthesis with leaves
wind sidewalk portals
local soil pack roots of alien trees
innocents come into their shadows
screened naked by tunnels
new light from old lamps,
waning

Tumults of dark doves
from a cleft in the rock
where a spring stopped
gushing
clear water moss lips
retreating
moccasins weathered on the pointed stones
for the bulls-eye climber: he puts himself in danger
for the excitement of afterlives
afraid of the cops on TV
or catching an axe-slit with his palm, tenderly

Someone is filling my windowsill skull
with sprigs of basil, and clover
Look a fuckin giant piece a money

Friday, March 23, 2012

(|)(|)(|)(|)(|)(|)

Ice cathedral and glass
in expensive Japan
someone is dancing a solitary riot
to a solar wind your being let loose
in its jazz sleep
the sugary corners draw rats
ghostly occurrences start the car
dumpsters hum with electricity
two white and black cats
darting out of the storeroom,

Cardboard hideaways spill satin
the death-note left smoking on the clipboard,
a soul dangling in high racks
of aging plastic, tin siding splits
its rails, and opens up into the apple
orchard; we are always, sub-here,
we have always been here among tanks
of tall emergency water,
even when we danced on pottery
and picked the day out of our hair

With the comb of a gone aunt,
banging a piano in a sun-eaten ward,
the confusion of seasons descended upon us
we were unaware, we were picking apples
from limbs of war, grew used to it
filled wells with salt
that would not birth our world over us.

Thursday, March 22, 2012

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

From the moment you first sensed
the madness of war
or the one time you checked
your body to make sure
the whole machine was still there,
there was trouble standing
in the highest channels,
a whole orchestra stood blackened
for no reason,
stabbing blunt metals
into the twitching atmosphere
proclaiming their superiority to emptiness,
icing the taverns with
pale thought like thieves,
tugging kiosk mid-belly
of burning canoe to sell waffles.
Frost of days, that passed
with every warning

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

||||||||||||||||||||||||||

A switch touches too many lamps
our lonely house can't find the other planets
their gravity draws upon your canopy bed
brings quiet blue fire to the seams
and where I walked your floorboards
naked as a feather now I wear
a suit of armor that can be seen
everywhere people have no need of it
tulips bent from wrestles in public gardens
hang head from green glass rims
pistil and stamen pretzeled
the arch of bridges that never end
even when the river's crossed bank to bank

Black branches half sunk
darkened by water adorned
by snails matched to shade of bark
cousins tread like brothers and sisters in shells
across the knobby parallels
a switch is touched off in the larger trunks
where the homeless slide off their bicycles
and leave them to rust through human ages
to become unused material again

Eyes no longer berserk with fuel or lack
I wonder what foxes might be messengers of
coils from earth like wine
wind around broken limbs lift
body many times born
in a sky-casket
of twigs and rubber
nickels pawed over
raw and ornate to a hotel room
where mirrors of self-sex beam
an image back to places where it can't belong
the foxes pad the doorstep
rubber and coins and cage of twigs snap open
the body falls out like a contact lens
from the moon's beam back in the empty house
the switches ghost pulse
to send you back through all your doorway beds
where I am no longer waiting
for the river to cross nothing.
()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Precariat Dreams (Kali in Old Glory)

Treebuds stainblue cloud
split dust metallic
painted bridges lancing
out all ways strength and wavering
broth of desire births computer work
scaffolds the eating sod
in platform gardens
we find ourselves sitting on state-owned rumps
fall any way we can
out of our bodies bought

The torched parlor
wings through a highway
wide from a flowering branch
the architecture of a silent heart
is vined with grapes of blood
from the wage-slave harvest
servants who've emptied the milk pails
drain cows behind all rolling eyes
and bathe in the doorsteps

We're inside kindling
the fire transcending between antagonists
surfing their weary waves
to the ocean that never falls flat
spine-fingered ballerina
the North American goddess has six arms at last
her big sisters wield
me on a sponge
washing her briny armpits
three by three

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A NEW WALTZ

Dams slide open with the sound of worlds creaking
in ancient wood, dance partners
brush paint currents of breeze
against the arcing walls
they've known to soar up since toddlerhood
the great beyond backwards,
the great below filled up
with rushes of hyacinth and redwood trunks
reel of an old film spooling
faces pressed together in a bulb of owl-eyed light
then into the landscape washed eternal
of images that feel pain and vastly absorb it,
two are twirling twirling
they express the deaths of planets
when they press quietude into round spaces
with their aching heels

Deep in the craftsmanship of richened ages
they met on a long stained bench peeling fruits
the hybrid of which had not yet been ignited,
calling gulls to salt and meat of slender fish
from air's dome of high silver not yet minted
(I know an apartment I entered through money
was once their priceless cave
in the core of a city in wheatgrass
where wood and stone mated
threw open the doors of water stunned
everloving prophecy,
to pierce critics of the ages run down
with movement above time,
swung in the clock's dawn to be caught
before the granite ballroom fades to murk
send your synergy to skies that pinprick skies
and gush us out of history.

Monday, March 19, 2012

~-~-~-~-~-

Jade Comic

You invade funeral processions
your grin an elastic kerchief
on the hair of the turf
senses snapping to charcoal mahogany corners
polished to go into the dirt
and tell your little redhead nieces that
grandma's thorax has already collapsed
then weep on rough roots
take out your guitar to sit curbside
on the public grave
laughing at your family name
and lighting it up

In city hall they know your drag gaze
a whole foot taller in heels
eyeshadowing the mayor
through the infrastructure's silver
of a picture frame, skeleton loaves
and cupcake banjo mouth
of gumless teeth presented
while the pens of every clerk
ooze night-blue ink and dangle wounded
on their dewy chains
damming floods of information
while your gypsy family loots and others starve
sex rains on your torso night and day
but you never unsash your genitals

Belching winds erode
death's face on your sugar cookies
our cousin planets pulse reflected light
down streaming multiform
of your aching curvature
you visit me in my armchair of sand
or the flesh made hammock
of a lazy revolution
I hand you your cum-laced corduroys
send you down to the lake for brown beers
in bottles older than the pharaoh's tombs
you crack them smiling lawless afternoon
and send shards sparking from your molars
your careless being rooted and re-rooted
in the deep indifference of earth.

Sunday, March 18, 2012

~~~~~~~

Around a Siren's Armor

We played in mud togas
black water at the foot of a factory
leaf hands slapping the current
pages for a symphony open wide
the imprint of an upturned mouth
on the plateglass of an ice cream shop
three steps from inch-mapped train tracks
milk churning crystals at work
in a fountain up the left leg to the right hand heart
everything jagged for learned love
to foam over the bridge
and burst the blueprint tunnels
with swollen meter needles in the chemical night
where nobody swears in my language
we rubbed newsprint from our chestbones
with a soft blade's knife
and let the cables exercise
the battered light one last time

before the axe on the switch
and the torch in a huge basement
eating cars while our leather and money
frisked a magnet cone out of dry air
sprayed viscera fine into heaven
and shut ruby light
in the stem's door
of a vagrant blueberry
next to its cousins the cobalt pebbles
skyscraper come to the eagle's foot
where it pins a pair of overalls
once the greased sex of a paid worker
to lie down in torment cardboard
and wake on the dock with a hospital soul
a body fizzed empty for weekdays
split open on calendar ends
when it walks bridges in twos and threes

Where it watches from sky's eaves
parchments of yard cut ragged
low green bright gold
against darkened sections of forest
the pink and violet planets are lining up
all a solar system's heat
and still your lips are frosted
a man with a large bulb lit helmet of head
picks his wife in melted scarves
from an ancient hammock
antique plastic rope tattooed twine
on her body of bodies
he turns to the twilight socket again and again
never carries a kitchen and bedroom glacier
severed horns of ram and wet blacksoil
arteries toward
the vented underlip of a mushroom cloud's
simulacrum fertilized by the doubt of death
and the gripless life we lived
in its mechanized shadow.
___________

WORLD ARCHITECT PRETEND

A crow thatched into the chainlink
dark matter drape and drizzle treetops grey
large numbers twitch the air
to collapse the lonely

Girl buckled onto black landscape
by a silver brace through her strong hair
what she has conjured in presence
she'll climb up to absence
on accumulated wire
from the depths of the world's fair

Deer deer deer deer deer deer deer
turds they leave smoking on the holy path
of enumerated cellphones, quiet as punctuation
lead to the shell ghost of their ribs
where roots mate with plastic
deep under the plans for our graves
all the basements roar with vacuumed sunlight
prophecies bulletined on public time go up in dust
to ask our bodies where they are
and though we move we do not answer
though we speak we can't say
peace built on bones, constitutions in crayon

We take the sled of this world
down a corridor a slope chased
before it shrugged into the ocean
in the depths of no religion and no resistance
follicle on follicle to touch anemone
wet streaming weeds and undergarments
bloodied on a reef
watch sperm of twilight grow
to capsize all transitional being
a drum at the beginning
a sledge and a capsule
a scalpel or an axe swung underwater

Sing
princess of the chopping block
with umbilical fingers
lands have overlapped whole lands
to pull feathers loose from metal
all the things that have been named
unidentify their captors
to fill the dictionaries of their throats
vacant with living matter

Saturday, March 17, 2012

______________

BORNE OUT OF THE NATURAL ARCHIVE

Brick piles pock-painted
by active radio gulls
sea-driven or land-urged
the wings move the same toxicity

skeletons in hollowed elegance
unchanged, our floating relatives
over parking lots and vaster expanses
with the universal death palette
contributed to rain all over

Where the compass is killed they won't move
and where we have flown our machines
may be birdless
but for a few escaped images
chapels of domed digital
where a liquid metal core lofts flowerbed nukes
to teem with galleries of what
in brilliant minority
we ache to keep and have destroyed completely.

Friday, March 16, 2012

+=+=+=+=+=+

Whole storerooms of quiet
are now filled with birdcrash
comfortably the sinews pull away
from ceiling corners
to a latticework of painted milk
phony flowers
are more than beautiful enough

vinyl stems and polyester blossoms
point to an earth piled higher
above, magma of fecundity
roaring to mute

my grandmother cried in these rooms
because potpourri
had not died to scent in her hands
no matter how many thatched wooden boxes

no matter how many icicles are ignored, falling
past the windows drizzling lightspeed
squirrels impaled
to treat the treed and pampered cat
to an extra snack, if it can climb its way down

Thursday, March 15, 2012

_____________

As the hemispheric belt tightens
an inner sickness is tired
of being hurried, sticks
to rooms full of untouchable people

as the dry core melts
our vertebrae climb the air
few layers are left behind, fluttering
coat-hung over the one river

the many rivers, the few we care for
we walked out on life
and forgot to shut the windows
forgot our currents
move

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

~~~~~~~~~~
SCAR CHART


Radiant old men in profile
beards turned to solar interference
hear a deeper whisper from the falling hail
when love finally came it was not a seizure
the fountains ran as ordained and it was a brokenness
the same shiver from root to claw
at sunspots in a thicket, parked
as firmly in their bodies as they can be
the old men don't call to the young men
but let them watch, the wiser ones
to learn the poise
as against a great current

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

--------------
HURRY SADNESS

Hurl me through my own door
like an incantation,
I'll find you sleeping there
in a palace of wires. Goldenrodded
the field poke panoply of eyes
out of an algae'd lake, wide
bristles of silver that are not
our friends from the plant world.
Hurry sadness to save me through
these ecstatic hours,
spreading

fiddle of cattails on rattled breeze,
telepathically I command you
to start the car, then I watch
your pink limbs climb into it
from a grey shadow weather low
in the hood of a parking garage
the lights of Boston like a whole lottery

ox-like intoxication
where oblivion fights with my bones
on riverbeds, parkbench
throughly squirrel-searched,
hands folded on a stack
of thin prophecies.

Monday, March 12, 2012

~~~~~~~~~~~

Let huge plains of rampant color
children run in the becoming of corn rows
sunflowers beaten with the chalk of a popped sun
lines erupt into faces
veins find rivers in the sea
everywhere speech is falling out of fashion
roamers wearing helmets of water
glued to a hotel door where some star
was slingshotted into being
all the numbers fall like weather
we crash into our money with real tears streaming
the moment somebody sings who is not our mother

We're gone from human knowledge
on the lake rocks lapping
up a lunar engine
through the closing eye of the milky way

Sunday, March 11, 2012

Prelude to Impalement Arts

In my half world and your half world
the same street is simmering
we pass racks in dreams
looking over tides of bruising color
to see if the other notices wind
testing the windows
until the frames bend like an organ of time
expect a duck to swallow a whole river
and explode into a pile of oily dominoes.

I wasn't waiting in my infant body
to become a man, anymore
than I would wait in my sternum's rug
for death before we move and move
who cares whether it's a canal or a river,
an ocean or a mirror, a neighborhood quaking
or a barstool spinning like a hubcap
we'll slide down a vast fall of linguini
fresh from water and spice and land
on moss-furred mound of ancient tires,
spelling lives with all the arrows that have missed
until the raw forms shine through
like a shark's head in a basket of biscuits.

Saturday, March 10, 2012

00000000000

Elevated lawns pick up quick stumblers
shafts of channeled rain blow the sod away

to stand there on a plank of hot cement
while daily all the plans for further planning are destroyed

bewildered with milk and coffee, by no war
lost in the presence of beloved bodies
planes for touch lost to touching

lamps under soil, garlic in the sun
stripped of earth-grown paper

each citizen stands on a separate platform
their frenzy so quiet
only those in silence can hear it
from their blood broadcast
the porches teem
with hedgehogs of annospiritual static
roaming chairs and radiant prophylactics
'til someone volunteers an open breastplate
for paws of nonbeing
to be quelled by

to lie down on grass that's never been tasted by fire
and wake up on a cum-wet cinder slab
daydreaming of a chute toward night
where one can see all happenings
freed from motion
}----WATERTORCH----{

Somewhere in the future alone
this tumult will come down
with its powers to greet me
unready

a cabbage in the dark
lips without prayer
how many vents are open
to the heart of present time

where nothingness brings on no disappointment
I'm watching the form of the neighborhood slut
dissolve into every tree trunk as a blessing
the all violet around her
the moment pods touched soil and she was playing soccer
froth of weeks or froth of years in devotion
always the same, a snapshot breaking on the nets.

Friday, March 09, 2012

>>>>>>Saint E<<<<<<

You're on a strong march
that will never end,
I can see it in the set
of your diamond head,
the way that girl said
"he looks so determined"
before dragging you into my bedroom,
while I waited humorously with wine
and gently turned up the stereo.
Body of genius, I understood,
the maker of unknown sciences,
stood in your bewildered hair
as she dragged you across
the whole kitchen floor,
the legendary strength of a girl's legs
that you were too thin to fend off.
Did you really expect me to rescue you
from experience? We gave up on that
long ago, there are no guardians
for those like us, and when in the afternoons
we watched screens and hid from the windows
smoking shit and gulping malt
we knew their spatial swords
would never reach our orbit.

Thursday, March 08, 2012


(((()))))((((()))))((((()))))


Corpuscles that loosen in the spring
will open a garden on tar
roofs paved up to the faint air
runnels snoring of confused waters
winding their way down from the peaks of our babylon
where we collect life's substance in tanks
where no one swims
and send it down on lime, to spray
the faces of those who expected death.

Trim after trim of female feathers
on high drugs or removed to a clean afterlife
watching the passions scatter like ocean clad lights
into emergency rooms
the eyes windshield impaled by violin
and the ribs like chords breaking
we watch on this tanned stoop
our beards growing out through us
from the calendar that was murdered
in an old forest, where the women rested like warheads
and here they wait like switches
to torture the inanimate into perfect being.

Glycoside society mouths on rails of salt
or frozen satin towards
a silence arcing wide
for those who've never halted to listen,
doppelgangers at breakfast, in vests of mercury:
everywhere we sit among them becomes
the location of a religious service
all the ceremonies that have left us dazed are there
pillars bristling into carbide flower
to make a high play for your heart,
that word that's finally killed
the organ and the core
your heart, your heart, your astrophysical heart.

Wednesday, March 07, 2012

Our Lady of the Meantime

Make out of me
a song that sounds like your speaking;
let the heights come in
to these small intersections
hill path take a fuming tree
to a peak bombarded by electronic vapors
and the time-yelps of touches cut short
put movements of kids in lonely corners
tiny boats touched into slow motion
something shrouded that begs
continually to be devoured
while trays of waxy light float past

We could be in Paris, or fucking
with religious figures in the palaces of Chicago
we could be in an afterlife where all one does
is exhale
listening to a student of galactic infrastructure
threaten to bury himself
with a load of railroad stakes
or erupt like green lava
from the local radio station saying:
make out of me
a song that sounds like your
speaking you
who do not.
__________

Time-scythe, sweep further:
only you will not be commanded.
The push of tendrils in the soil
does not ache or listen.

I'll be greatly aged, to greet the body
of a woman who has already suffered.
Hack me down to a burning semi-colon:
a solid sun and one that flares
to paint with radio waves

my small room, where I keep the imprints
of those who died creating blind
those who were wept down to dregs
by their own hysteria; let me be a red priest
tugging all their gravity of manuscripts
over the urgent local hills.

In the blueprint's net
where they suffered and reached
let us make love in the manner of crows
the web of bright-wound things
we've taken offhand from each other.

Tuesday, March 06, 2012

ACCUMULATION BLUES

Eyes across avocado bridge
supermarket's a rustling deadfern
beings too distracted to investigate one another
seek more distraction, select bright things
to place against dull things
make some explosion seed warless air

minutes ago I heaved a car
through a pharmacy window
but I'm still sitting in it.
I'll give birth to a thousand vandal children,
just being here.

Headphones in the bones of my feet
soon so many cameras
will be built into this multicreature
that the world of eyes
will be blind from overlooking

thieves take to public places
crater their privacy deep
through the hungering earth
sleeping bag flower pods
deep in reawakening chaos

Singers in bark, living wood
flickering sapping, running
roots over the edges

shoes of fruit peel, millions gulping coffee
over paths abandoned by pathmakers
the milky way dissolved
down the scorched curve of a potato chip.

Monday, March 05, 2012

/////////

The energy of corroding hills
set batteries humming under our uniforms
dream relatives returned soaked
from imaginary bathrooms
demanding to see the hidden gardens
in butterfly half
mother and daughter, heels punching
between old roots of city forest

webs of path speckled with shattered intoxicants
the spilled life of fish on rocks
aglow with dusk-blue afterlives
viscera in flower on an unmasked apron
the day broken into a jelly around
aging footprints of swamp

You'll pass, in a green cloth
with an unringed hand
a bottle of spice to torch all others
then disappear into a slender pink door
in the repeating jukebox

Fueled by solar winds and the falling of huge pines
we clink frozen apricots together
on an amphibian balcony
marble tarring a single blade from the light
that pins our sources to their handiwork
necklaces of baby scissors floating on plastic handles
in a lost well
familiar brown ready to rot comes
down from the familiar trees

the energy of constructing hills
you'll pass by, drinking what
the engines all through the evening have unthawed
powdering the wings of illegal moths
sending them into the skylight
in little sandwich bags
and all the napkins of money
will not stop their deaths from flying.
TWO FLIGHTS OF CORPSES PLANTED

Seagulls are over the falls
from the chain-link walk it's a rush of bodies
paths found radiating pond-length yellow leaves
trunks in deep-rooted coil
sending stranded radios huge Arctic signals
towns merry-go-rounded by money and dementia
gas pump nozzles left hanging mid-air
from limbs of fluorescent cobweb.

Ice makes out its own territory
in you, in the door, in the salt,
in your rampant destruction of memory
years of garlic in your retired apron
hanging next to the men's thumped grey coats
dry as potpourri in the sprained morning.
Blandness fills up the kettles
the floor and the hallways, fever child
in a bathtub of apples. Don't tell the kid
what's at the windows.

Their wings come lipping over
a full crest clipping of water
skulls that have not read road-signs
except as color shape
in short feathers, with whatever their thoughts
a hole punched through the yellow a hole
punched through the sadness
in the kitchen stereo and a can

from the path veiled in boards
new river boiling in rocks
to flock out among the seagulls
make passage in a series
of delineated clouds, whispering fire-lost
between grandmother stations.

Sunday, March 04, 2012

GILT-EDGED DAYS

Whole mountain ranges of filth
out on a long dripping limb
from a scaffold of naked house
grown men living like gerbils,
old human devices
clutched in their leafy claws,
like dirty totems.

The town is tarnished to the peaks
by dark brushes, a melted blueprint corner
allows two to escape, under a bridge of vapor,
to a cavern that does not belong
to civilization's property.

We have to believe in so much
that has already been done, just to keep walking;
have to pretend in the calamity of roses
when all we see is their outline

scripted on a string layer
of clouds behind messier clouds
outer atmosphere mushrooming in,
we sit here like cannibals
never having been cannibals.

Friday, March 02, 2012

RIVERWALK

She climbs in a huge crucifix of fallen bridges
painting the highway signs entangled there
with watery self-portraits
gathering force far behind
the ice like sperm of manmade mirrors

In sugar town she squeezed
a vinegar sponge for me
on her guardrails sheening
my white blood went
tall pillars of crib enclosing

blues and sepia came
from an earthquake in our favorite city
squatters fell out of a portal
inhabiting the clogged foot of the cross

We fed them raw sausage on wheat
peeled casing away
no condoms inside the body
all realms of angels are
a gathering of toothpicks in a jar of fluff

we lay in forks high above water
where poles for telephone wire
and fallen lives in bark converge to make
a crotch of unthatched houses
society gone cordless at the bases of our spines
where we no longer exchange
shadowed information

The two thieves at our sides
are towns whose cries we can't forgive
brickwork of car batteries
stolen from all their engines
to build a skyscraper of acid

Two masons with clay of banks
harnessed in grape leaves
with the hands melted finger to finger
of broken oars, a shrunken highway's
rubber bands from rotted broccoli
gripping to our wrists
until our zig-zag scaffolding comes down
like an earthless watchtower

dry her who doesn't want to be dry
with whatever garment of leisure floats
out the back door of the thrift
to be clothed in labor.

Thursday, March 01, 2012

**********

The clutching fields

Shelves of tall square houses
rear up on slants like little
San Franciscos, I am kissing
someone away, chickadees tear
daintily into the birches. A blackness
has crept into their skin
of the news' ashes.

Events have fallen away
dreams are dry as torched tobacco
elbows hit diner counters and tables
with a sound of dying blood;
I found my phoenix here
with a lime in her claw
the sugared virgin of her drink
oils flashing from the rails
of a long train.

We discovered
that we could make the junkyards
shiver and reproduce
the many eyes in many kinds of leather.
Bills are no longer paid
by lashes of gold and silver
and money floats, as your dress drapes
there is no tense to put this time in.

Over the April sidewalks
comes your daughter future
with a fogged rain of cymbals
bent in fortune cookie shapes
from heavy metal attics thick in font
where one crept onto the window's mustache
and ate his electricity like a delicacy
to be considered
heavens are one pillar rolling rain

Neighborhoods explode into plastic
chutes where intimacies unimagined
go secretly away, in disorganized murder
we walk through it for coffee cake
laugh deep as ancients on the wired banks
of halflife rivers.