Under bridge paths concrete
sabbath breeze curdling rafters
of cinnamon and salt falling
from grace's caution that the deer speaks
behind hedge growth walls
next to moss rivers
near mailboxes that're never checked
anymore
fogs and tags of a gone era
dissipated into blades
tracks and tan pock marks
green seen from lush
helicopters.

It was my 200th poem of the year
bells were ringing in the deep sky
hurdles of meat froze hard
near the aching water
duck feathers stuck like light
to the eyes of my eyes.

Towers roads to universe axis
sand pebbles and piles of rubble
lips fork to fork tongues
long path to the tent scum lit
where my water tank hides
the bone brush of teeth
and the gift of a fallen man.

Slates on a load of brick
glinting back at a golden moon.
Woofers aspeak through pipes
concrete where leather lounges
cones of melody ice
that tickle the foreplane's tongue.

Clotted rope on fence post land
winding round the worms that crawl it
glinting stones on metal floor of earth
mirror for the sky that finds
suds of otherworldly paint
lapping up on the early shore

The lord of hills is in my eyes
strength of hereafter bloom
levitating in the broken present.

Green infinity calling over a ragged space.
Hustled multitudes spinning chairs
over the strobed floor.

Long diamond sashes
hiding the cracks in the wall.
Scimitar clouds in the
viewpoint of pines,
lonely manchild on a branch
reaching.

The king will be fucked to death.
His perimeter will give way
to black sunshine.

Potatoes whacked apart
like meek logs
broadcasting his nostrils
to the worm farm.

Reeds with trigger hearts
pricking pillows of dull sky
fire of stars above the rented cities.

Culmination of sea's froth
on the sainted upper lip
of a garden walking.

Slipping through the sky in a suit of armor
flashing credentials at the galaxy's fire
hung dancers stomping past
long-handled leaves,
river washing nude
man and woman
together.

Hyperspace sunglasses blink on the dashboard
daylight groans on the septuagenarian
cigarette smoke curls around the dials of the radio.

Flapping skies fall off the planet like a tarp and fade.
Booming systems compromise the telefarm.
Strawberry places guarding illusions of water.

Fences stacked into a palace threaded with black hair
mirror windows bouncing beams
off the eyes that watch them.

Grown gods on the pavement light
pipe veins, knit hats
garbage bag carrier selves
whom I march in my personal repertoire
from chimney to stairwell in cut gloves
chasing authorities over the roofs gashing
long shiny eye horns on an imploded sofa
gazing past a skylight to their bleeding run
cushion wishing for nothing
crawling through the golden catalog I am
pushed into stardom by steam mop of janitor heat
ax buried halfway into the forehead, pale
and screaming in stolen languages
more beautifully than any other.

A WHITE PLAGUE OF STONES FROM THE ROCK SKY

Pumps and channels generate membrane like Stonehenge
earthwork on a knoll open bowl where the bear has just gone over
sunken halls tidal action and orange appear in the trees
a computer programmed  with the path that American tornadoes have
from wing tip to wing tip marked from head to toe with scars Today is my birthday
microscopic nematode worms do all the dirty work I think he's trying to be a tiger
the window becomes a space of both fog nozzles and economic fluids
technologizing the body as a mirror in a theatrical setting

Sweethearts of dill
perched on the tongue-tip
of an erupting syllable
charring rims of gold
with pink flame
nibbling with pen-tips
the edges submerged
of the sacred order
bicycling melted on corners
to break kissingly into orbit
packages boot in the early mail
sailing fire from a plunger's bulge
in the late days of the ocean
when froth fizzled to a touch
rounded shoulder to the womb
rebounding on a sad wheel
to be recycled as heat.

Yards of bled-on salt
crying out for new purpose,
vocals dying against stone.
Numerals of popped rice
flaring oiled light on
a sensitive mask.
Tunnels lit by corpses
of the sun's sisters.
Blown-out ceilings of chrome
writing cursive with heat.
Split yams offering wheat
to the boxed-in mouths.
Crane lifts stripping the lids
from honed orbs.
Body breaking open
into rainbow light.
Fevered acceptance gulps up
the panting warrior of garbage collection.
And a street slams all their brawn
ejaculating cycles under the earth skin
treehouses on unclimbed boughs
forecasting the mute governments of man.

Plaque's got its hold on the blood
minnows of frost fly into the living spark
high-railed trees streaming gelatin
steamed eyes through the socket of planet nest
nets of fallen branch yellowjackets
fast-moving sky on the bones of the back
funkadelic docks in boat-nudging motion
wave on wave rolling poles of the earth
benched bodies rippling with secret strength
strobe light whipping all over the world
salt islands in glazed water whimpering dirt flesh
shining the knob of the sun as it unfurls its signal
plunging it deep in the self that shimmies into the mirror.

Metallic vomit on the windscreen.
Vertebrates bouquet'd in a waterglass.
Wombs pierced by lead.
Horror in the cities, sun's blanket.
Headdress of humanity in flames,
foaming at the pursed mouth.
Hollowed cubbyholes
where sharpened teeth inhabit cute kitchens.
Refrigerated make-outs where a frosty couch
emits moths and speedy smells.
Zooming artillery that blooms in bitter eyes.
Nuts that crack in wooden jaws
while the fibers of a favorite sweater
are melted into the bones.

Cruelties of oak and winter
long beds on tap through silence
working world in a glazed circuit
dribbling this maze unlit upon us
street's fur ripples soft on the flesh of earth
circus disharmony tickling froth of ocean
feet pounding on the tape recorded
reeled out from a drinking fountain's spout
in blood and gum and coins
chalked eyes in a ballpark-size mirror
looming over the curve of water
ton bridged by plaited hair in gel
shining forth from her gassed country
belching glad blue fire over the rail track

Chopped-off corners of air
leaking shadow burn on rock underwear
to eclectic horizon ungrasped
storehouses peppered with weight of stars
shells closed at midnight in electrical orbit
clacking around the tin sun
slathered with oil of a hike's effort
jumping paths of coal contending
for nude feet, cuboid mouths
lady roundness on fire
bunghole man on tarps and descending planes
long ice runs with lipstick prints
sprinting beam that outruns the canyons
horse of twilight tools that uncork the moon
floorboards streaked with blade passes
and a dose of acid wash in a train car
quickening the dim glade for skeletal fibers
passing the eye of a shrew and eating the wreck
for flavor.

Light's journey on a slick path
comes calling me to the garden of ether.
I follow like a dog.

Gored-out days
dripping strings of ugly hearts
into the skunk they pay for.

Tables floored by dead talk
a shine that bounces once
and then lies still as paint.

Famished ways that dance like younglings
grain of dulled eyes
cutting paper flesh.

Diamond of impacted shit
shining like an excavated molar
in a tented cave.

As a tasered eye,
a whacked dragon, moves
out of the one to be with us
zones of controlled water
break out like fingerprints.

Launched neon kissed by dust.
Poised fragments in the shape of a vine's lips.
Snakeskin thorax under a sunken head.
And the torment of clinging to the east
like a flea in vaseline.
And the weight of deliberate errors
on a bolt of electricity.
Static verbals in a knuckle-raked
hallscape, fur combed for death
or further weddings.

Ribs dragged in the honey
of a cup's edge.
Vision thrust to the eyeglass wanting air
tugged freight of somnolent journeys
in a historical garment.
Drummer's vast trunk on a maze
of declining ceremony,
smashed glass-stalks
competing for blood.

Courtyards of smirking plastic
destined for ragged outskirts vein
where the fire of blood keeps everything warm
decks on a cold card table silent hands
the jet-still mouths of harvest
snuggling with an animal tooth.

Long path slides scalped golf balls
to the burnt saucers landing beam slash
furnishing new wounds out of the air,
and feeding paint for masks from them steaming
lard bargains with paper war
aisles of money goods smooched by
a series of smashed heads
bruises on the carver's wrists as usual salt.

Bush stalk burnt low like teeth
retreat from their vegetable
composting orange light in the caged
and rancid autumn whiffleball eyes
mailing bleacher flame paint belts
and rickety monks pulling quiet freight
over the overcast convenience groceries
battery-lit and lurching like
a forged burglar.