~/~/~/~

Caught in the calendar's scaffolding
there is a brittle light the likes of which
I like to pretend I've never seen before
days without name or place in time
millenia of uncomfortable evolving
done by the pigeon on the sill
the way she shortens her neck to be warm

all that terrible effort to nestle in an ice age, dance
in the ballroom of the aftermath
to know nothing of the bones gone before
then to know it all at once
too heavily and too late
to die trying or for lack of trying
as orange and yellow shades
hostle one another for place
in the kingdom of dying color

in a map of the body
found under a refrigerator
and in hands from sunlit porches
getting ready to wear their parchment
which will take shape
and then take shapes away

~/~/~/~

~--~--~--~

Is it the wind's shape
or a skeleton inside
that won't rest for flesh
aching under archways
or strung on a flame's last flick
a room at the center
a feast for those who can't find their way
the speed of sound waves passing on the shape of the mirror
balanced forces in a drop of the supercold
energy from a purple figment in old buildings, caves, burrows
the wires and the porcelain the ice in a commune pool

~--~--~--~

~`~`~

She smokes in the sanctuary.
She is as lovely as a pebble.
She traded a hatchet for a soft anvil.
She is the same color as October.

In the hot grass, in the lake.
In a summer dripping with quiet.
She is flimsy like a kite on the earth.
She is a hot material, she is a solid.

~`~`~

A HOST OF GADGETS BURSTING OPEN WHITE LIGHT

By linking together in a long opaque chain
molded over and over whatever its beginnning,
looking like a blued and purpled straight steel
with men instead of automatic controls, already doped

We are shaded eyes
the rod of silicon--and an elliptical sunrise
that does not come back
our bodies are preserved in lunar vessels,
far from here, the bride refused to slog through the mud

Man has tasted the solitary power and the door-to-door convenience
within the megalopolis the streets are still locked
chicken tracks and children to ten metal cans, each about the size of a pea
included telephones and stoves--objects drawn--
the skeleton punches floods, plagues, changes in appearance

.`.`.`.`

~.~.~.~

Tea is bitter from the rind of orange
ship taking its last circle around a crater
I am tired of inhabiting worlds
re-made by your form
I want to wander off

For centuries I broke seed open in my hands
I could laugh at the pod's insides
the wet throne of nature

Now I am terrestrial, suspicious
then I am the breach between skies

Stopped me at a small table
in the cafeteria of rushing histories
tea is bitter from the rind of orange
there must be a sphere to lie down in

~.~.~.~

.~.~.~.~.

Matter-smasher
I'll be the beggar under your gaze
blurred world of history-making apron
living on borrowed everything
from thin films from black ridges
my eyes go wet on the world she inhabits
a filmy wall that breathes evening dews
our futuristic dreams suspended over a canyon
master keys to a meeting of the tracks
an age of cloud
the unmeasurable.

.~.~.~.~.

}-------{

That man is pretending to be immortal.
His sunglasses are shitstained mirrors.
A wind strikes his jacket and great denim wings
fold on fold burst out behind him.
He lives in a long rented tunnel
and on both open ends
the world clamors to pin him to his name.
He attempts to luxuriate in the wind
that wears his flesh down
onto the shape of his bones.
Soon he will begin to sing
of all the vastness
that never quite reaches him.

}-------{

{}*{}*{}*{}

A glade opened
as if formerly there was nothing
where a pomegranate gave
its red rotting light
on a carpet of needles

as if formerly there was nothing
the refrigerated world snapped shut
and left
us.

{}*{}*{}*{}

<------>

There is a forest growing in my house
that will not be shared,
mirage stalks that disappear
when the familiar enters.

My thumbs are two fat robins
that will not stop.
Somebody's sweet triangulated thistle
will elude them until they begin
to peck at the foundation.

<------>

.......

Little bloodstreams are run by
clamoring mammals and reptilians
in a race to eternity

creaturely embraces release them
from under fngernails
and between lush lips
galactic dribbles from ducts
behind tears that have not yet opened

scales on fur and fur on flickering tongues
a star's collapse in the back of a throat
veins on fire with branches, a leafless sky-path

.......

THRESHOLD OF THE EYES

In the feathered form which is joy
as it soars stillness of true space
to induce gasps and melt metallic objects
using the pendulum

by making roads without seeing
dry lake or the shadow of a single future

plant life toward the poles pure white bats of the valley
over the inland seas a violet green swallow
opening from the chest wall
into the spinning of the moon

high, lighted buildings
this deep red energy

**

MERCURY AND GEMINI OF BONE

You cannot see the metal strip inside
governing bodies connected with
everything on the earth happening around you

consumption of silver
to trigger off spawning

a free-swinging tone arm; an inside seam

tiny bones, moving deep
from cryogenics to comets
a coiled tube

^^^^^

BLACK LIGHT SIDEWINDER

Bubbles for you entities,
soft-voiced waxwing destroyers,
liquid smoke in the gray matter of the cord,
it burns and speeds through the air from seed to flower,
invisible gun crew to leaf into ridges and horns,
perfect limbs' water-worn contours
for the uplifting of frequencies destroys the golden
to garnish the nations through a dangling sleeve

///.

BUILDING THE SANCTUARY OF NEURAL CIRCUITS

Cells that look like crushed roses
a world that rots at your fingertips in full bloom
disharmonious being lampooned
by a courtyard of orderly stars

there's a molting fern bird on a doorstep waiting
the criminal circuitry of smashed bathrooms
and worlds that should have nothing to do with one another
veins coalescing in garage corners
the imprint of a fish left in my hand by the passing sun
and nobody left to talk to in the busted canyon

exhausted fields sprouting scarecrows of impossible oil
froth sound of cymbals
for a shy one in fevered rooms
cemetery yards overturned
bulbs veining claws into the desperate fertility

a small building's implosion of tongues
business talk on an umbilical phone
outside the sung apocalypse, inside the solitary end

mercy's avocado, pomegranate sting
forked claws of artichoke leaves
gulls croaking on rocks around a compost pile
coffee grounds insomniac mirage
tomorrow's newspaper flame-torn
in a ring of peppered glass
a quartz lily spotted with moons
to fountain past the thud back of the eyes

=*=*=*=

THE SHAPE OF MOVEMENTS AND SENSORY-MOTOR

Sea was there
the bony ring
these beds were lifted up
large beds of the hard rock
surf that cut them

enshrouds and ingests the weary red
beam) the pattern of total number with small mirrors on them
which the body hoards

marrow is the agent of a disaster beyond imagining

with variations, this has happened again and again
to dampen another man's maniacal diameter) in the center of the retina You

"""""""""""