I spring the door of ages with the sinews raging of what I have created
I am crusher of air-cubes where the inhabited live, to be cured of silence
fallen out of their anchored telephones like children starving
patios climbed by fire-escapes where grey thorns match red
the match head burns in a tray of glass where gin splashed my eyelid
crying child's wrath of imagination across magnetic poles of the earth
vision solid as the scales of a reptilian people
the inside of abandoned steeples laced with the poetry of
our few flown outcast brain-saviors, brazen announcers of the night
with a poisonous counter-poison that is alright.

Stadium crater mic to the treetops
long lightning in sensitive shadows
down the trunks on a broken shore
spilling roots to the sand side
where the sky melts the earth
I kneel by a water cooler
spilled ice from a red mouth
grass running over the bounds of the fallen
heights of the civilized speaking with a torn mouth
from the water's line-spill into electricity
and falling wool from the edge of a sled's slip

THE WRATHFUL TREES

The wrathful trees will strangle your death
in their long hands and give you life.

Other forests will join in with their natural poison
to celebrate the tongue of your corpse
speaking the soil of the future.

Man belongs to the infinite.
And the earth does not.

They work out their guilt on you
you're a tin puppet carrying diseased cum
in a vase with robot fingers around its glass neck
flailing with original dances on a microwaved lawn.

Warrior of poetry, pounding fist that smashes the faces
of the complacent with the sun's voice.
Warrior of flow-etry, speak to my speakers
with the air-space of a bossa nova cube.

Murder my false authorities with sadness, murder them
with a knife and with a gun, that I may feel greatness.
Fist me with your wedding ring
that is evidence of your link to a glacier.

TRASH CHAPTER

Phlegm-daughter phlegm brother,
riot for cones of hilltop light
with horns in the belly
marked for colors in the high mind
flung by leather to canvas
of cast-off clothes,
peaking on broken ceilings
where the fingers of water
reach like vacant blood.

Tongue hugger of pink lips
for what leaves life steaming,
pool of ashes and bent leaves
where a battered plate
hangs suspended.

From the wire that becomes its plan
existence is twanging shapely, erect
and forgetting motherfuckers.

Hang plate with a navel on its old lid
glazed drifting eye with its pyramid
of stacked daggers.

They live surrounded by their dead gods
and cannot empty their minds.
Life like blood in the mouth
pouring out of me.
Death like glue
in the nerves of my true system.
A life-attack from light,
that leaves the darkness
unsatisfied.

Chameleons live on the members of the chameleon
sick fishes away jelly on branches overhanging water in foam nests
you need big chunks and disorder
open flames like the bottoms of bottles
an uncovered circle around the valve floating in a silicone blob
grasping feet and prehensile them climb

Spiny oysters and snails live
beads or glitter with hot glue
the copper wire with lengths for each of the lights
you are a beach walker lined with forests of evergreen
rivers are a jar of sea glass
zones of mud crannies along eroded shores
young drift in the water, mimicking fallen gray mullet
the trees above the rising tide over the bead wire
the crab-eating frog lives on a head pin,
plastic with a button inside the earring

Sunset slope of the line absorbs and evaporates sympathetic spirit,
to flex the dinner bell for the right to mate with vibrant shades of metallic khaki

Canyons split open at his foot-reach
lightning trapped on the rafters
where he stepped in from the sky
eating with energy
stamping his fist
upon the beautiful creation
in order to improve it.

2 THOUSAND 5

Nerve-blasted, half dead on his feet shot through the neck
teenage hurt guitars on the cemetery hill
have that stung blueberry pie
on a drum machine highway
never touch the limits
a stinking stung by kisses
understood the forced sun, in its distance
moon in its holding pattern hurt
dog walked into a new silence
the lust of its musical hours sended
the podium it held upright in the woods is melted
its fort is a heap of leaves

Dams of crayon break like salt
on the desk of my brother.

He is scribbling his whole life
crafting his whole life
bringing his whole life
voicing his whole life without mirror
tongue-twisted by fate to make
the call of melody deform into meaning,
dissolved into several.

My brother has a feeling
which will last for ages.
He crouches over it and bashes it
into fern-patterns where the whip landed, on canvas.
He sorts by strike until the colors have faded
into a different weave.

In the temporal arc
tensions that held me together are drifting
chains of the flesh that cloaked
are unlinking time's disorder,
stretching what loves emptiness
to palpitate a fallen sky's hot winking triangle
muff I fall through
while I call to you on this cellular, secular dissonance
that resembles the twitch
of a fallen religion

Passing through dust through water vapor
disposed to dream light from a dazzling occult
women in thrall to the destruction of the human mind
starfish pineapple a charmed pearl in an enormous ark
the light of a blood-red sunset built and stocked on the coming disaster