Ferns of hair come through my grave
seed pods of silk erase my bloody eyes
roof shingles slide to land beneath forked pines and pave the earth
enchant the shade's collapse and cup a deer's turd
in the landfill of an underground forest--
scythe's blade whir and whistle behind the swing set--
branches of broken air that eat, mend and extend
while trees outline the groin of a larger forest
hinted in the ice, burnished on the sea of the sun's face
wrinkled by radio waves--stunted stalactites of spiritual life
building wells in the mid-air of a cracked ribcage
where a prism of language re-filters light that has struck it
like a spermy kiss touched by split wood
and the smell of charcoal clothes

Lean hard on the blood moon hype
dagger man out of the sky for mountain fuck
sending eyes to the height of mold
through a massively annoying hyper dermis
in the bleached field of nerve kisses
where blunt cylinders rise as makers of extra
proud excess fevering out of train caves
knuckleheaded human activity filling the air
with busy neon languages in hot transit
playful fingers tweaking horrified oxygen
so that new orbs can descend
and break in the form of water
hacking the death of what's left
with its sweet non-insistence

Firs of autumn strike the mark
artificial dark of ponds
flaming with an underlight
and gone to the sought after dawn vagina
ages palpitated by madness

fishes in the sleeves of men
who wander in her orb of thoughts
to be forgiven for their torments of the cloth
and making stinks in catacombs of grease
to feed the geese a bit of bread from overhead

and heave its sweet collective gizzards to the breeze
in song of galaxy death
rushing bridges' street with portholes to worm intact
multiverse city to multiverse city
idiot eyes lighting up at the sight of a girl's

thickness through falling veins
and a wrung-out velveteen sidewalk
needle pulling to the center boom
the paint in an apartment room peeling
for a condom'd finger tracing toward broken brush

the song of a thrush trigger's mantle piece eyes

The workmen on a yellow girded roof
are scraping the sky, jack-hammering clouds
upside down, loins and hands throttled with sweet
futility, bricks pouring out of the vapor.
The clash of sky with sky
as a game of marbles shifts them closer
bends horizons deep to blades they held in check
when all our earths were separate, and God was hood.

Buildings that hate their own brick, pets on brain steroids
who have taken over households...ditches dug
by city-assigned workers flowering with colored worms.
Power lines taken down for use as sex toys.
The chilled and crumbling flash-frozen tundra
in a landscape of shadowed drones
where I hope for yogurt.

Fossils of new moons fitting neatly
into excavated canyon sides and valley vagina,
bones melted into flesh and becoming penile.
Years turned to pillars of salt in the position of the body.
The failed urchins of drugged concrete corners
munching wafers of vanilla substitute, eyes
stained charcoal black by an unguarded sun.

Toolboxes snap shut like instrument cases, spit
stains the experienced cement, garages
open robot beds, drills of hardened fauna,
screams of null time.
The muffled babymaking of the new slaves,
wings of the feathers that pay
by falling off
into valley hands.

BODY BLIND LOVE

Love this body down,
love this body under
thunder this body in thy veins

Give me body blind love, landscape
arrayed with secret warriors,
festering with real lightning.

Meekness departs from my being;
the scraping of breakfast cereal
ricochets to the thrill of my forehead.

BUCK

I rush a corncob over my fucked teeth
and think of laughter in hell.
My tall dick in your mouth.
The moving sky and its living
objects on the wing.
The afterbirth of eternity
scouring over our last thoughts.
The bridge top
where you finally tickle my airplane ticket
in an ecstatic moment of destiny
that ends on the cusp of a city-wide sink
and kisses down its canyon sides
in an avalanche of burning glory.

He places a dead moth on top of the live one.
On the motel door, wings under weight,
and for this alone he deserves to die
if one can deserve the inevitable.
The 2 moths separate into numbers.
The door opens, the door is his hand,
the redhead in the corner's bed opens
the eye of her mouth, says he is the only one
who feels, can find her with himself,
the drapes are thick with silver embroideries
and he is a moth man, her prince of dusty hands
who replaced life with a symbol of life, and then
entered.

Archipelago of suffering beauties
invested with diners of gauze
circulating through its waters
the strongest current of dumb love
the sheen of gasoline on a kissing face
the evolution of an interrupted error
an eruption avoided by our sad dispersal
awakenings perverted by madness
a charcoal kiss that removes the rot
fire of the ages built pyre upon pyre
on a human face.

<><><><><>

In the mirror I see fighting itself
woofing what's been given to a torn sky
fish features truck stopped in my loins
coins fountain that scumbag back at me
in godlike reminiscence.

Dig for the deep planetary eye
the gland of universe's birth
behind the prostate.