Fawn fall on your yard
like a yardstick going soft in the damp
waitresses cycle through clusters of trees
on a path of risen ice,

flinging bits of money into themselves
while the sun eats the daylight
and the world starves for it.
The windows glazed with breath
square off against the inside/outside
that is killing and preserving us,

lopsidedly dancing the machine of humanity
into a veil of cool black plastic.
And the bodies are taken out by those
who can still move, and frozen
in the river of frozenness
that has overwhelmed and underwhelmed
the real flowing thing.

I'm wild for the sun on the road, the sword in my pants.
He who chooses the highway bare will attract travelers.
The gridworked ribbon winding toward the planet's light,
I watch the trees and houses dip out of shape.
Panoply of grief's music for faces
keys jagged in piano's work of hands
the shadow of the wooden leaf on canyons of strings
parallel singers in the wind of metal
booth mic'd and expressing the clitoral spider
of amplification.  Beaches that unfold in the mind
to lap the readers of sleep awake into its purified
consciousness of water
the desperation it does not reflect.

PHOTOCELL FOR A FIRE LADDER

breasts in half brothers and sisters--both females from a genetic point
meat on a platter with powerful jaws and yard lights
the alpha's den snapping a chalkline of its own genes
pups has rails and switches and whisk rungs
wolf pack is a new year's cycle of subordinate breeding
denning another burrow snug against the sauce
both sides with the marinade muscled into alignment with the mud sill
follow the wall up--siding is lightly sauteed chanterelles

Charcoal sunrise wet with yellow rain
the circles cut a square of sky taffy
barren ships made barren land
for rent of hair the wigged moon slips
for lending ass her lips surround my dick with shifting seas
my babies leap on her belly like birch trees
we murder the anniversaries of our adversaries
with our female ends pointed at the speech of each other
corroded by the sight of white brick
in a wilting landscape floors carry
hearts in a dish and the unlidded eyes that bobble upon them
titled and tilted by the misnomers of silence
the milk stains the linoleum fried shapes
our cum evolves with a lake of fire in each pair of iris
thrust against the tent roof of earth
shaking her titties like a wet nurse driver
gaze to disarm an elephant's panic
a firm foot variable in the pressure of orbit's measureless breeze
dark daughter of matter

Refreshed with ribbons of mint we balance the skewered fish
medallions of veal to delight in those moments when he redeemed himself
with a midafternoon coffee clear of the morass of religious dissent
apocalyptic events refer more or less to a cold soup, but the leaf pattern on paper towels
with a watchful eye can master this fine space for meat and char
a floor polisher with a clean, soft cloth starting the engine
a man's weight on knee and toe boards with a wooden float
in a bowl with the base of the powers of divination smashed to deliver

After the shrimp have cooled through tough hides and thick hair and hang on aspic thickness
juxtaposition of raven windows or a wet basement persecuted by people
the tongue of one in the groove of its neighbor females
the sauce caulking stunt won't work space between sub and finis to spot sleepers
forests for winter, north to the tundra king carcass
a dodging rival built for dining
after the flames have subsided from the grill splash

PLAY

I honor myself, the spark of creation at rest in me
which will overwhelm galaxies.
I dwell in bung hole nirvana,
armpit of the imprisoned colonies.

Tablets and furniture cluster in shaped air
at the glimmer snap of my key ringed fingers.
Engines shuttle out of the walls built up for solitary travel,
the circle of eyes grows to eclipse the moon.

The shadows of city ships totter like lampshades
attacked fleetingly by the drunk of hell.
Love medicated by punctured dreams,
stormed by reality, subway seats and country trees
split open, leaking with sky stuff
and scum basement stuff, the brittle funk of ages
halved shell of spilled grease for brain
from a going omnibus.

WERK

Vents reflect the soft light given of the breeding female's urine,
which had been marinated in several of the frieze boards

I'll scorch you bitches and faggots with hatred,
read you the tangled bicycle of my body
with a relish of stinking oil,
give you my hate with a plate's edge
no handle for your lost soul to dig in with,
run your round numbers of silence
your uneven numbers of the blade's miss,
until I bury the hilt in your heart
and explode on command like a sun-fish

Took extra breaths while I waited without solemnity
scorched earth with the back thrust of my song
climbing the small town's sky-sword of broken ground
simmering panic that does not flow efficiently over
crowned my experts with dunce cap lavish meant
the boom bap core is eternal purple
the stars are fire marshals squawking like geese snarl not
the noise for peace, the whirling paint rose garden blown over
tails of laundered coats sown at the elbows blowing toward the exit way
empty suits pointing like clay

Born in the cave-womb just as a wolf howls
marked with the blood of a sacrificed goat, scourging any woman
naked through the city howling with ritual laughter to seek power
the drums changed their spirit world
his lunge for the gills and whip drops these rocks will break through
the entranced fish out of the water with a depth stop

When the high beams of you both track and lead the traveler
with the front bushings from a horse's bite he never predicted
to pour concrete into the forms and the panels stripped off
tying the building down across the level and the nails the parsnips after
we have killed enough wolves.

Bye GG

All the barriers of sense will disappear.
The imprisoned will have beneficent, total revenge.
The complacent will be raped and murdered
by their mid-gods and demi-goddesses.
Fuck them.  Eat this land and tear it out of your throat.
Fucking die.  Fucking die with the stares of the numb
cackling all over you.

Haggard, toothless, hair fucked:
the man who wouldn't listen to the professionals.

My defiant library sings in its
color on the highest sea;
it's true that my ape's ma
left humanity to attack me
properly from its haunches.

I sow herb towards death.
I dig ground with nimble what's bloody.
The sound and sight of life tell me what to do.

I call you the earth
I dream you and sing you
in your offshoots and remaining fragment.

I sing you the bridge
that hymns my body to yours
across the falsified centuries, a crucifix in salt, a barn standing
yours, mine, ours, eternity.

The circle of the moon
on a dull day it would come hard in the sky
furthest to a center of thought thrust
and a nest in the sex
a relevant bulb of information burst
in a head dreamed dull
slammed shut against a wall of shit froze
no reason for the pendulum's swing.

I am the falling rain, the death of
man.  Who calls me by name
knows me not.

ROOMMATE

His pig with its thick walls, the house's soul.
Chicken and chilies wheat rolls and coffee salt
bawling for its eastern neighbor or torment of fire

drag their rockers onto porches like water lilies
this great pit will be unsealed we sense Maya
tied to a yolk yellow consoling childless Sally

stains the four corners to a crisp tortilla
chockablock with tombs of new life
vulnerable to sheep and soccer
Employing paint