<><><><><>

Slabs of regret kept slab by slab on the cold
that never breaks, the hard vomit of water.
Drones on drones of death for us
served and served by the serving and serving
who serve us death on death droning
they'll study my frantic habits fuck you S government
what will be good for us for our family
idiots of state ministers of all everythingness,
you are the servants of death, you are the lingo
of death, you are the lyric of death complete,
death is all you do, mingling and mingling
          Deep in a fissure of glacier contests
          sorrow's little female hell
          comes twitching and twitching
          servants of love are death
          the tongues ministers of death are transplendent
          the false fire that makes them go out is quite original.

<><><><><>

I want to be shadows, milk, interrupted
                         and uninterrupted territory.
 You want to be a pile of silks
    where I occasionally go stabbing,
             helpless.  But my hardened nature
              will not be anchored;
    in the chemical overpower of huge and passing night
     your cloaked reptile felt speeches
                        are ribs breaking off     into the shattered day.
                   I rise on the anchor's rope
                when the ship drifts into its stature.

<><><><><>

Fling wall-pieces
        mortar to parchment of time
    to the floor of echoes
       to the resounding board
  where we fall our lips are a word void
  they speak it into the fullness
   like a goblet against a wall
  these are the people falling and
   tumbling across the words
  suffering puncture-wounds
      from these words and dying

<><><><><>

Wet with what the library rejected life,
stern in the rapports of a new friendship anti-system,
romanced by a goose from a goddess' middle finger
coarsened in flower undulating pages in the public park
of self in evaporation on curve of drinking fountain metal
face gone to fables in stretching blood on blood blood
eyes and lips and teeth smashed by love of force
dry with what life rejects, they curl up on the edges like birch bark
mate-fucks deepen the gravity pond
sweeten sinlessness with real error
plate-glass splinters on acidic snow
plunged through the dying wall of the party
wet with what the library rejected life

<><><><><>

I want you to tattoo my belly with kisses,
I'll lean back, study your scalp,
touch the soft indicative curve of an ear
as you assimilate the aching tip near your throat
and bathe your tongue's strength
in the warmth of my soldiers.

<><><><><>

Shelved with my other selves,
I look out, and wonder at my predicament:
my pages are voiceless, and nothing has reached
the room of no echoes.
I am dying in dry glue
no wetness to my struggle
found on rectangular deserts,
never branching for the cure of time and space.
What animates me is death:
the disintegration of my binding.

<><><><><>

Coils of unraveled planets
sperming and cooling
a deliberate engagement to ignite
that which brings death to all
humankind the total destroyer
creator of god
the runway of stars like a path of shattered glass
open river bald sky
sand and grass dry
at the crumbling edge, fruit of error
perfected.

<><><><><>

Leaden knockoff humans
tilting their eyes down
at anyone who has fallen
in a fit of weeping
brook side or in a hallway of grey linoleum
where urine drips out of the slammed lockers
leaden their dancing their dreaming
their horror of mercy and hard-lived lives
dying to look nowhere, to be nowhere
anti-souls who took the anti-dote
sitting down, silenced and scraping
the bottom of their insides for some purchase to make
that will vinegar the depths to fruition of mop head face garden
failed rep antiquity unit
galumphing at fossils and driveway maggots
slitting toad wallets to reveal silver all over
the ice planet of dead fuck.