The curving forms of emptiness
have flattened out.
High windows soak in the black night.
Nobody sings to the unsupported air.
I am holding a jock strap stuffed with milk
carefully to guard its fountain drain.
Chairs and tables spread their legs
in each other's crossfire.
Pianos muffled at the end forks
of lengthening halls.
Keys that clang the backs of wrists
and do not deposit the spine.

I am charging through the careful wreck
of a blanked-out library,
peeling a live receiver
from the buttons that nudge my spirit
on a declining wall.
And the cloudburst of glittered feathers
coming from a shot-out loudspeaker
is just for me.

The ones who marked me hate me,
their forms are tangling the fence
I've made on a high border,
foot soles slapping long subway steps,
eyes inked into a cracked foundation,
hat bands feathered low on their understanding kites,
scars laid out in plaster that have mapped their way,
back tattoos that replace a sky's chunk of spine
hook deep in the gelatin that is left
and the celestial weave.

Plastic bullets and glue pistols stored within the genetic cell
lights coming across the pasture of frost-shattered rock
anchored to a limy cup, flashing gold and silver like animals
the magic realm shelf covered with green stream beds
giant clams and water millions
a great pollen blown series to the female sperm
the equatorial convergence with rushing torrents
a sudden pour that roar down the parched canyons
bowl worn rocks and cracked deserts are not complete
cement lake flooring dims the sun; these are the great
edges of its hardness

PILTDOWN LUCY AND THE SOCIETY OF THE ROSY CROSS

The warm climate design and energy philosophies
tick slowly in the silence unto their planned house
the frostbitten folk of great fall dimensions swirl
snow, split-rail pines sag lordly
ermine capes krack hem around the mountain country fart
the sky fills with the grey cotton wipe to feed
and the smell is as palpable as simmerin cattle
whip cream mysteries of ecstatic religious experience
cold blueberry soup
one tablespoon pinch of salt
sugar

Thrill eye
(that's me)
your flung flower
pacing a road you glazed and ran
and fell hard on
bathing in blasted worlds
the dust of scattered men
pine blanket bingo
the blue tar of sacked hills.

Reddening piles of twilight rags
the low gleam of arid stairwells
circling rafters and high beams
hands dash on a balcony railing
overlooking the kingdom
smoking and thinking time
arcs over these hallways
time
demands our hold on one another
increase like leaves.

Ghosts are in my life,
some do more than whisper
and some are falling,
rooms are vacant
with their wired voices,
they are threatening death
with its gripless grasp,

some love my mailbox
and some love my involuntary headset,
some recognize my yielding fade
some see the remaining spasm,
sometimes I use their whole alphabet on me
like a wound being scratched,
sometimes I need their silence
like a worldwide bomb.

Seashores lagging to the tide that feels them
harmonies half sunken in a field of brass knobs
under the net gone flying
in the sky that permed and quilted
their unfolding through metal
clasp on clasp and carbon on irritating carbon
tracks on a fading wheel
braided wheat in the ruts
as it climbs space and tattoos a bleeding dragon;
witless lashing, fiery breath
on the fish man's trash can:
the burning of mystical flesh
from its instrument's mouth.

Green helicopters
lowering netted soil,
layered moss
waves of earth
daffodils trampled in paper;

trunks in lacquered yardsides
pushing corners into painted alleyways
crooked high places
tilted hats and eyes under the wind upended
in delicate shivers of glass
and stubbed-on bottlecaps

foot-treads laced in frozen mud
sky scraping blades
high tops and antennas
all growling at the untouched moon.

The beast of gulls peripheral grazing,
hollow leaves for the genus of flowers
paper-whites; late bloomer, human by my big graflex camera,
I snowshoed to a winderness telephone booth locking antlers far out
(without frightening the majesty of him, turn the lamb around)
light changed the wilds and I
golden eagle diving directly
a fine ram at the rim
these feathered travelers of some hope
a corridor of cottonwoods parklands and prairies
beyond the lake a snow of mallards
a footstool of aspen-covered bluff
from the stubble of wheat
heralding the coming of the female
their first adventure

The great spirits are going,
going with a handshake mirror,
going with an abyss in the heart
or a screaming error,
going with a poisoned collar,
a hanging neck that is
the mark of death,

The great spirits are coming,
coming with a valued remorseful wail,
coming with a punched-up glossolalia,
dropping change and paper to a swift bucket,
with a slithering gown red
that holds the circuitry of origin
in the building of an accident world.

Octaves pouring out of the ground,
symmetry in motion,
destabilized text spilling
from the top of a smashed head:
acres of rot in the core
of a baby plum tree's trunk,
shivering and seeming near,
fogged in a thicket of alphabets
hugging my boots
and their precious mud to my chest,

fully out-maneuvered
by an unmoving thing,
both inside and outside of me:
engulfed by islands,
their breakage and surf and invitations,
boat landings for an infamous
and naked ass,
the flat and ragged stone
under the water
singing to familiar feet.

Fetching the long path
from the thaw
scampering blood vessel
lumpen poet returning
from the aching woods
holding a wishbone twig
and a pants-sized thatch of moss
having stumbled to glory,
having heaved and won a grey goatee,
a staff for dowsing
and declaring spaces named,
his fondest error

Horns make a hollow trunk
burrowed halls and paint spaces
belts bright and dim operators
tilling borrowed soil; his teeth
a mask of time and tobacco
only the wit's eye
that looks from the clouds
glinting sight
he said he would be with moisture

Taking out the stick to mark
a cornered goal, a blue chalk
mark above each eyebrow,
sorting mushroom tops and stems
you sit in sweatpants and jersey smoking
the lichens of an old stone wall.

TO HYDE ARGON AND HELIUM PARK

Muskoxen and lemmings
cherry bombs and roman candles
in the arms of spiral galaxies
the bricks and ivy of the ruined church twilight
ivory blossoms tipped with brown body of women

our sex is so deplorable that it is our duty to break the government
the blues of a sky shades of grey technologists
dark foliage greens, dark tones; same way the loom follows its weaving
gamblers, pollsters and atoms from these skylights their power reversed,
a small aperture and large f-number very solar in clotheslines,

numerals for numbers; designs in the studio where gentle breezes
are converted to depth depth depth of field, letters for unknown numbers;
the buckshot patterns on royal road to geometry
that astronaut mathematics should carry crackers
their organs of sense and perception throughout the universe, however different
the springboard for a pinhead dry in a few short hours.

Long skinny windows
like gills in the halls
of the big time art building
parasitic whales
inking like darkfish
wall to wall swilling
bouncing eyes and hips
struggling to the reflective wheels
and being churned under
for suds that bear their name
furious shanks and railway tracks
slicked and loaded
with a reeling heart
where the icicles drip
dark brown rock walls
and the headphones rasp
and the mind falls out
of its fast circuit
dripping current and lashing hard
against the lips of a balcony
where our saviorette sits
drinking a cigarette.

Over smashed clusters
vagrant families, rootless trunks
lying by the girders of a fallen system;
hollow rods with faint flowers
packed into the travels of the breastbone
building steam in my long legs
to walk over wires
and oily dishes' thumb-sized swirling;
cat's paw split in a bent-over eye
quick heaps of falling water
at the ends of huddled halls
sun in the cracks of a grated wall
piercing the poet's vest
with a varied keyhole.

Skies on tap with falling dials
snowbank sprayed with black steam
bamboo trunks through the ribs
of a singing man
blonde days in the blade fan
wagging an entire body like a tail
stacked cushions of appearance
on a sagging house
foundation sounding grit in teeth
a smoldering wilderness in one good eye
the belly and the collar
each a dish scrubbed once too much
fins of a weapon face sprouting
feathered jewels
on the carpet of the beard's rug.

Doors in the backhand slap
lid's inertia of white motion
yellow dipped supermoon
over the dome of death
yanking highways
out of the obnoxious sky
planting dagger seeds
in a sea of soil
flag's metaphysical flesh
ain't worth shit.

Posts on the way to ascending cloud
with a love of violent spirits,
and they with me dancing
and raving fake light,
and the evil of them beauty,
and my own evil beautiful as a jewel,
and the water pulsing in the middle planet,
and the others pulling.

Dead sea deserts bloom
somber grey rock that makes the vast drying forms
churning up fallen retreats for men and women
the earth with a layer of child-birth beds
the post of lady-in-waiting police
were drawn up on two rainy seasons
ridges over their eyes blossom
and frozen flowers of every shape
and gardens of stone parasols
their bones claim that a swimmer is safe
as long as he stays under the ancient tales
the animals, small, burrowing creatures
may go through life without drinking water;
the wind-harsh, soilless terrain shaped by lack of rain
the land of the sun bare lands
sequinned are innumerable stars.

My malevolent insignia
crowds the baby borders
brights lichens to paint posts
boffing stumps with mushroom hollows
bicycle wheels on long-throated roads
humming past pots burst in soil and roots
pillars of sensation, big tails of slim-led
boring regulated traffic, sun bursts's digital slime
and the platform aftermath:
vines on the porch steps
calling to brine and steaming mornings;
licking hailstones tiny as text
from a pocket gravestone.

Arms and armor gorge
sweet-water lakes and streams, the springs and underground hunger-strike
water tables layer on layer who thereupon picked me
the soil into rock curiosity
the frail leaf mouldered to anchor in the outer harbor
our women went forth to war to the god of property
I refused to go with the men police
we steamed the white star tender
one woman from a food driven into lungs
the enforcing of the infamous law
two huge grey warships transformed into furies
two women, spray drenched dashed across speechless
conveying me, the general public.

Fielded by mitts of thieves
in a golden tallboy:
tossed by the rain
heavy into bowing trees, a painter
crusty fingertips clutching dugout steps
listening to a heated shower;
the stripes of a visionary
experience in the emergency light;
stem on fire for a rose canvas
bleeding vacant air.

Stillness in the belly of the noon
like a knife in water.
She swan hands,
tugging apron canvas
stretched across a dim wall
back-plated in fake flower wires
snagging the undergrowth of mildew rugs
ripping and breathing.

Hot scythes lassoed by weaving waves

roads in the winding sea

drifting like buried logs,

halls and red lights jutting out

from collapsed immensities

in a bulb of universal semen;

liquids cracking at the whip of tongues

flickering over the fire-drowned biosphere

tying knots in a sheet's wide sail

that has glued the continents

to spines bent, and currents of death

that live in the living blood

with notepad finger,

an eye's split brush,

a fever in sliming paths,

a seated lightyear,

and a god-shaped toad.

I have buried men like gods
dressed in the rags of the state,
my fiery way
in the throat of things to come,
beautiful women robbed
of beauty and sense,

and cried eternal things
from their bouncing parlors
and burnt kitchens
gave my blood and inner workings
to their bliss and their brooding,
the corners of daylight
meshed with magma on a drifting floor

my body all, my friendly circuits
lashing lacquered wounds,
I stand in my shop of all people moving
color's vapor to part acid,
and I stand unwillingly
with the despised poor,
with those mercurial
who pills sent over the mountains
to beg bread,

sweeping my wings like arms
with the emptiness of spiritual power
I drag down your weary hearts
from peaks of lovelessness
bring you close to the floods of earth
and crush you in.

Brass fountains in silver rain
grooves that glint through an arrow's path
strings of unreachable daylight
shared from eye to eye
hollow antler to blood antler
the wax hand of falling bark
imprinted on steam dirt
a cylinder of smoking leaves
the baby button finger
creases numbered in tabs.

Golden age on the work of wind split
white wicker graces abandoned, the crumbling house has a pink cup
springs back to a gentle touch who is at the head of all the hospitals
who said putty, purple, red, the tin of stuff very simply
light cast by her cloak grown into a huge red mushroom
the fog parcels of the station lamp
carefully unmold, let cool on a cake
and be double-flowered

Landscape of long wings
flexing in broken soil;
cloth stretched over hot rocks
in the yawn of a blown-up sun
square teeth of graveyards
dripping with fat and mottled beer
gums of rooted brine
the mated peckers of fallen trunks
grooves in the curving claw
stream's wrath of broken land plates
chutes of glued leaves
hands of healing fire
in a breezy chair.

Light prison treatment of Plato
on the forest floor of the moon
the search for planet X on celluloid depth
the shadows of the system move in stately bodies
treading a carpet of gold...
68 women, lying in order decked out
a rubber leaf of star formation
an indirect number of planets.

Eight worlds
in one head's
aching seven;
cascades of tumult
and tumult of cascades,
brother after brother fresh
out of the diametric waterfall
slugging me, alerting me to my blood,
my fight with his path,
his need to heal me,
across sawed-off trunks
and marks of searing wall
tongues of fire that dash glossolalia
with hot pepper,
secret freestyles by a fire camp,
mystique resolved in outer essence,
after eons of inner tug,
still a smooth pig devil
with bisected eye,
a flailing translator and hot help
from a kicked basket
of shotgun leaves
across a tomb's mouth
and a southern tee vee
pussahasee calling
eight worlds resolved
in the aching seven
with or without a head
stirring the sun of suns
with a sanctified wooden spoon.

Figures in salted haze
abandoning fingernails and eyelashes
skulls and ruddy jewels
on the water of forgetfulness and shrimp;
eyes dazzled on their painted oars
rowing home to the city of high glass
in a furry cabinet;
taking the curtain's breath
in the smite of a blackberry mouth
fences opening goblets and eels,
blank paper peppered on a dangling rock arm
signed in pounding fists
through the galley of a ship's death polka deck
toilet paper feet and its wounded kitchenette
gushing action-movie red
into the mouth of the shark husband
and his head wrap of fresh leaves
cracking an ember gavel
of her notched spine
and her ceiling knife gambit
and her wife's handkerchief.

Deep and bland seas
full of floating machines
and mousy haircut heads;
drifting on a screen of electronic error
that has taken grip of the sun
the shrinking heart of things
glued to a shattered window
blood map trickling the cracks
unbowed by the bucking genius of death
body of a faint ship controlled by a feeling stick
the peacock in a glass hour
strutting the pendulum.

Expanded pebbles
a town spilling out of each one.

A pilot of grandeur he does not believe
soon his haircut will fall into his brains
oceans come to his hands
slippery mounds of heaving nothing
canvasses wet with the crash
wire baskets at the edge of a lengthy room
pouring their knowledge of blood stripes
into his skull cracked air.

Golden tips of
dead clouds that
will not fall
hands that claw in sleep
long windows
viewed from a bucket of steam
over many fallen suns
and many empty milk bottles
porch boards pine needles
and a wig of leaves
eyes lit by the promise of the past
in the darkness mushroomed and wavering
another coffee roll
another banana peel
another day another act that
will not be nailed down
another defeat walking in sorrow's body
another stacked shelf that
gives weight to the angles
golden tips of dead clouds that will not fall.

Tasted by the breaking planet,
a skull of pebbles spilled on watery fire,
bed springs in each ear,
tongue slimmed and forking,
paper hands stuck to wet stone,
stomach weighted with sodden feathers,
lungs to butterfly wings
singed and puffing cloudy glass
blood velvet glued to a time piece
sunny metals on an aching hand.

Bodies crammed into my head
with hyphenated tags,
split gazes
and leveled guns
in their frozen hands,
the G.I. of a sexual counter-assault,
mermaid cells with poison bristles
and weaponized soap,
microbe tap-dancing princesses
under my fingernails,
carts of steaming water
that slap the waves.

Propped up on a long grave rock
my face in my eyes,
bristles in my beak
that the sun has dried and whitened,
long tubes of sight
going into the moss green ground,
long clouds fingering over
that pierced territory
where wolf babies glisten and
lick paws to face inside a snail shell.

Rolled across straw slats
naked and painted,
pools of water from the seventh heel,
strands of wire glue from a writing torch,
circle of birch around a bird's nest,
cinnamon haze peeled from the naked eye
for a frame of knuckles
geyser from the pond rim's center
glory of the slime heart.

Anointed with a cave's drip,
wet radiant stone
tapped by tiny fibers of laser shot
cracked seams of the planetary forehead
dripping with ships
beetle-backs and twitching antennae
ditches folding berries and eyes
the juice of the soil
filling jaws and teeth with brain
surging hands on the curved plank's belly
the lunar pocket with a photo sun
blade melting insignia
slit claws in a cat's eye
stalactite arm
fists punishing the ceiling for the floor.

Highways fired through the meteor field
bouncing good looking people fighting
on the ripped slipstream of time
in clothes that can't be cut
for the helpless in laughter.

The twistedness of flesh
walking faint projections
high hills with electronic towers
the naked bodies of millions
crawl up and down
smearing each other's senses
with precision blindness
oiled lengths of ladder rungs
scratched by poison eyelids
and fire-mapped fingertips
printed on the theory of the body.

Fingers tipped in blue
teeth pink crested violet worms
girders of rock sprayed snow
long rubber worlds to anti-gravity in
bitch pussy perched in the hallway's glove bottom
bone castles sleeping on hidden mats
dreams fanging out like holy spirit flame
from infant heads gone white
high floors they steam with spinning discs
on desiccated sticks
mouth grey with fog
and the forked tongue's eyes.

Under the shrink wrapped dawn,
among the totems of racist love,
trying for an untainted coil,
over snow trod alien by chains
long leaves in the view screen of the planet earth
tendrils cross her eyepiece and her sweet cavern talking
drawers stacked on meat and flaming cannot
take from the stream of capacious love over her errors
rhythms and unrhyming life
strutting seas on stilts that bag land
and her fearless hands in an aisle of shocked shacks
pine scented thumbs and positioned rocks twined together
in goat beard ropes and egg belts
in the neighborhood of landed stars and parched earths
being god of zones and laser light trafficking
curlicues of revolutionary meaning
in the spokes of a pizza shelf
or the slicer's sleeping wound
selling butt to the iron-hard moon.

My furnace is clean
with wallpaper of baby prints
square brick tunnels in my item head
ready for runway spilloff
and the lips broken from stasis
barriers of human trinkets have
bars of glass running vacant script
smoking forefront of a magazine stand
grates shined and lipstick chalked
a murder turned to symphony of sex
turned backward time
in a slurry of orbits.

Blood molecules whipped
through the tunnel of space
flecks on my mask
brighter than eyes from dispatched lives
long ships inhabiting the skin stretched over bright miles
planets in cloaks of hunters
game projecting gorgeous rays of death
over the hot breathing hills
heaving streams in steaming emission
bath melting time that has brought them there
lives gripped like the hilt of a sword
by histories that have assigned victims and executioners
with the strength of fading roles
whose empty future is their power
the speed a murdered landscape offers
the beauty of speed and passion for power without love
perfection of power to hide its need
in manners that scrape green away for grey
in clothing that assaults the cleanliness of the void
through the ridges of trees
and the power of water to swerve
the countenance of satisfaction
held up upon a severed head.

Sword the width of torso
already passed through
the rectum above frog legs,
bent ribs stabbing popped eyes
blade splitting throat and shoulders
senses flicked away like beetle shells
antennae on metal's reflected wire
bone clunking blade
heart's a burst berry
slipping its peel
lungs little flappers
smashed colors that leak long stems
into the uncaring earth.

Long lanes of blood eggs
for rubber hands and eyes
serrated light in webs gleaming cut ribs
slick floors spraying rainbow teeth
wheels punching earth with a thread
spoke fingers and split nail pussies
office equipment of the spine
tapping buttons with blades
lenses the skull taps cars with
speeding death in a hand's grip
pools of slime that were his sight
frying on the rooftops of empire.

A molten fist wrapped in wings of glue
brick tracers and skin poking arms
reaching over a hill's spine in a willow loop
brambles on fences of knives
armchairs of foam fists
eyes scanning from a stuck window
knuckles through the earth
pout lips from the crack of a rock
the hinge in lava
pulleys on a fire wheel
a featherless acre.

THE SLOWPOKE WINGS OVER THE MOUNTAIN

My stick floats autumn with golden horns
jaws low to the ground and an opaque center, the opposite of herds
red fruit glacial debris along intersecting networks of chasm luck
positions of elongated shape around the crater Copernicus
tablespoon meteorites would have struck the moon quadrant of the garden; onions grow

Cubes cracking at the corners
give leaking light to fiber optic engines
that curve breath, move bloodless flesh
to a multi-sided dome,
tap glue into the nostrils
of a dancing corpse,
and reassemble when
their width has met
their blades with molten congruence
through the hanging dark,
through the stone fence
shorn wool blows up against
and all the split rivers
of the heart that's torn
by the land it has become.

At boiling pinnacle
what happens to everyone
effects me,
like a cancer going,
like an empty laugh
and I keep the noise
to a normal level,
shrinking the parameters
I was meant to shatter
with a wince inside
that builds a hollow cage
where a bird is
swinging without a swing
and without a snare
singing guess what

Shackles of sand invisibly held
glint and bulb
on the hot lava pool
where the eyes bend
and pores open to the flip
of a paintbrush.

Salty ass beaver by the sweetened shore
punks along smoking pill after pill
wires cross the wooden belly
paint drains the esophagus
wheat stabs a club limb open
light after light leaves the closed fist
a brick is a pair of hearts.

I scalpel the hilltops touched
by my spirit octopus,
lipstick gun shaped twigs in shopping carts
beards and panties gathered together by kerchiefs
on the waffle wires where we roll and clutch
down the hillside shadowed by dancing fortresses
mutually negating kisses that bodies freeze to stick on
high torsos gripped by legs and sex lashed chrome
the buttocks of fame the wooden flask of the unmapped wood
the wonder of fifteen to seven
lobsters fucking in harness
while money honey sculpts in signs and lacking water
the gathering and lawgiving evolved
with their little water pistols set on stun
I part the clouds and put the clouds back
my magnet leash does not deny the waterglass;
I lay my blade on wrapped butter
and lap bread like a dog.

Dim set eyes in a long corridor of light
blanked by wide looks
they don't dare glance back at
frames that wink at oncoming cars
the gilt-edged sword of the tongue
moving and moving
clumps of labial clouds
over the sparkling trailer park
where I run in from broken woods
for handmade structures that glint to my limbs
seething sinews of invisible strength
the heartache of gains in blood
sternly deposited
and the howling inside that
history does not express
failing to wander.

Sky's a bright dangler
blood bird on a thick wire
frigid eyes in an empty hangar
chains painted daisy heart yellow
the ribcage squeeze of a compacted train
doors shooting open like lice
the torch on such a pretty brain
strips of history in color slashed and slapped side by side
edges agitating to slip through the last cracks of a sealed world
noisily sculpted beauties sneaking looks at the drain
to be sent under valleys in the piss of the enemy
and arrive in the blanket of their own tongue
friends of dust and stone on a raging shore,
speed-needle wiping the sun
with a ship of long branches.

A long thin jawbone filled with nails
white boards stained by the sap of the sun
wide black lenses on wet cement
thick trunks forked and rooted in the earth
a dragon of erasers with paintbrush fins
rolling like a tumbleweed to a Persian rug eye
the thrum of a happy cat
in a world of falling water and bright beams

IDEAL

The sky remains alive with June
the rose-pink sun dips for a little while
in the valley of concrete kisses I am
child of the sphincter that showed me out
doused with chemical lights and dancing wet
coming over the high roads with a skeletal friend
filled with all the voices that have left me bored
smitten in the high forehead
by the incomprehensible woods
run through the oval between glowing hills
over the tar tongues licking steel rails
over the rubbing alcohol porches'
launchpad of the potato gun
circuits in sleep under blood red sheets
swerving and looping river faces
bodies down the mind drain
signed by grey pens in growing ink.

Filed down to a bone heart
on which the little molecules of glass
keep dancing.

Eyes in a hood of sculpted steel
peering to the comma of a cave's mouth.

Walls of hard earned life that are
slats in a collapsing mansion
explosions touching rubber limbs
the roots of prosthetics scorched
by the lungs of the larger financial animal.

Two sticks of wincing brain
fizzling embers with unmeant kisses.

And a shit-hog wallowing
in his destabilized crucifix
lashing the magnet to his necktie
whose pull recites the numbers of death
from a tower of mouths flung down,

the dissected ancestor
in a field of forced bellies
gleaming.

Milk on a sun dial
trickling a broken circle
palm-lines imprinted in sand
coins with nicked edges
turning in chipped eyes.

Wheelbarrow fire crashing on tumbled grass.
Fern-tops and wasp bodies
sharp ovals linked by faint flesh
rumps on turning leather
skeleton leaves blown from the gemstone
frozen to the water of life
winged slave of the air.

The tilted doorway of a sea cave
belches oars in and out
on obscured blood.
Foam dyed by essence
painting rock with spoiled DNA.

Runway off the end of a tongue
tracks multiplying tracks
to the bulb's wall of prisoner sky
a pill brain shoots out of the skull's multitudes
many floors of glass where half-eaten eggs burn
through the plates
pipes crammed with bundled meat
filling pans with blood jelly and white styrofoam light

Sister rain with her gum drops painted on cans
headphones flower-born from barb wire
toilet paper hearts of unreached hands
aching for the worm of the galaxy
harm's lips with a snipped lactaid
the children of a bandaged bone.

Graphs of teeth and pink flesh,
glimpses through a great wheel of pure disorder,
swords on marble floors for the caged hands,
sidewalks salted with wishbones,
trees billowing like water salad,
trenches of the dirty sea
buried in a licorice twist,
peaks of snow capped with the blood
of a king child,
sprouts from the outer dimension
tapping remixed I'm.

The brush's handle
broken between fallen walls,
a mind still painting.
Bricks soft at the corners
like the teeth of a beaten god.
In and out of porous borders
to retrieve the handle,
scratch the duct of the forebrow's eye,
popping in the grasp
of a dissatisfied priestess.
Oil blossoming on sharpened stone
in the dusk-beaten womb
of the last hour.  Frightened eyes
learning their enemies
adding dances
to the battle in a dusty mirror.
Frenzies from the core of the earth
making the pipes sing
to their broken apex.
Languishing weapons of sex
in the furnace of abandoned loves.
Countertops swivelling
on lands of wheat stock
and fertilized tar.
Bamboo shoots
sanding sockets of turning skulls
that have seen their ecstasy
plop to earth from the arse
of a disenchanted giant
whose ribs are the slaves
of biologic hate--
a fan of knives
leaking belts of blood
on the shackles of an empty covenant.

Broken-backed stoopers
painting the bridge's undergrowth
with the spit from their mouths
that flows with many shades
from behind the gums,
from the deep beneath the jaw
dig these color capsules
out with their blood,
to artfully smear the river
of concrete death and blockage
crushing past their path.

Dog food hills
doused in fire water
big green out of the hot blue earth
blades of dinosaur tongue slabs
neck-gap flossed by veins that are flying bats
barb wire teeth in cocoa butter
sunsets frilled with poisonous gills
a card signed by a severed arm on lingerie pulleys
coat hangers of frozen dust
roses of glass on the furnace gun
the hand grip of godlike forces
descending limply in water.

Pills of sealed pine
nudging lunar eyes over the ski slope
lodges packed in wind and gobbling tar
huge cans of what the field gave sealed in tin
the lingering of a hand on the ax
pathways furrowed with limp receipts
temples sculpted in craft of shadow
coins tugging strings shot through their muted faces
high roofs for the bare feet of prostituted prophets
grass mats in an oil slick
sweating from the warfare of their dim ideas
hills bulging with ice cream cannons
mated tassels struggling loose from a heap of seed pods
long lines of wire smoking on the fertilized mountains
satellite towers thatched with abrupt branches.

WHEEL, BICYCLE, AND AIRPLANE GAIA

Panties, stockings, bras--globes of Earthlike worlds
the rings that circle a gas giant a curving crescent of light
labyrinths that looked like branching antlers of the stag-horns
the vivid green band of palms and the metal was crumbly with rust
beneath polar ice and large mouths lined with a goddess hominid
a popular disc-jockey soars, groans, swings, sings, solos
in beards, babies, and beehive hairdos
on the fence between the mechanical and
nothing but a dead-black rectangle.

THE BUILDING OF AUTUMN MOUNTAINS IN THE BEGINNING GOLD

Folded hills that mist over as dough hits tables
gloved to roll day's flour and bamboo
I remember all my lost bitches fondly
log cabins wild in the dawning of high new england
caves crackling open to the hang glider's mind
fingers bobbing over cups of moss
earthen boulders burying a shopfront
thumbprint nickels that identify the sun
floors of aching vagrant music
blanket wrapped ribs and dim eyes
pool's hurricane of leaves and apples
swirling fiber optic forehead's brush
twinkling on ancient photos
seeds in the net that holds untapped
the scum of an untouched hand.

Stillborn beauties
heat-slapped
on the hearth of a radiant fire
speaker wire wrapped around the mustache slab
yelping hollow and tall
losing limbs in bags of blood
losing face in the bellowing air
stitched on granite eye-cubes
talking to a crooked letter
billowing streamside bushes that track the air
with plant knowledge and overcome the trees
the buckwild servant of laughter
slapped on the ass and running naked far;
stones on the lids that have passed
rivers through the eons under rivers
whip curling around the lips that kiss death.

Falling paths that scrape the canyon without claws
streamers of bent wheat tempting the wind
rivers of ruinous poisoned concrete
swallowing rabbits and goldenrod
steam in the vents of a broken godhead
swirling pots of alchemical death
chewing up the chainlink
graffiti hands pinched under a bridge
that emits a bubble gum smell
given by hot torches that spray
the black onto grey,
and the eyes out of the current
that have seen their prey in the mirror
and lay down their arms
on unbroken glass.

The ledge stabbed with chairs
cracking in glued air
planks drifting in mud eyes
the diamond of the anus
on the third forehead
rubber wheels drummed
by the bumping of severed arms
in their inner circuit,
cliff pouring with crawling bodies
that have tasted the filth
of an incomplete death,
split cedars grinning with hate
from a monkey crack.

The arch stretched by a bubble's mask
the universal gate turned to a doghouse
the cosmic turd lowered into a brain pain
that grinds its paint for blade-filled brushes
cutting dances into walls for rhythmic falls
that move dust like light
from the vacant mouth's
tongue of crushed eyes.

Through the escaping nets of trees
the unhinged doors turn like screws
to deposit eyes where the blind body sat
on rock wall's moss ridges of mineral rising
like weed through bones
the linked fingers of hooked hands
pulling magnet's taffy of blood
down to roots for the pine climbers
always ascending and falling veins
waves of pattern'd air over a cracked hive
elevators hiss through crumbling soil
a kiss opens two halves of wheat
and the sky dumps light.

Grey tips of incandescent surging,
a continent of sponge purging its underbelly
with planetary light,
roots from broken shafts
of hologrammed soil,
ring rain of the exploded earth
painting dirt in hot ribbons--

revved-up water boiling and eating,
highways mushrooming into volcanic deserts,
signposts stuck through the farting belly of man,
flowers of penile skin meeting the all-american cheese grater,
dripping onto the steel belly of a belted woman
follicles of the sky's torn birth
firing the oil of crushed nerves
through her shitted hair.

The panes of the waning staircase
fading in a far field
fog and brambles
bloody cushion the fallen body
the longest branch
eats hands and mouths
glass holds the body
and sends through its transparencies
a shot-up apple
long linoleum floors where a water cup has fallen
and viscera flows
hampers of folded rye
and the food of reptiles
languishing on the end of a sword
to store up a frockless dancer
and spill pants on the runway
she has slashed and planted.

In the burning lands,
cradling the failure of the body,
plumes dancing on the oiled horizon,
wood standing that the hands of death haven't reached,
maggots coiled in the footprints that have filled with cowardly blood,
rotten eyes slit by falling bark,
angles of ripped hair exploding from a mountain peak
at the end of a field's length
rolled by steel and steam
mating with dark water,
green stalks shivering through
the stigmata of a dead hand.

The blazing insights that cleave
one from another, could they be made
to unite?

No.

Slopes pushing lips of mud
the river pursues its canyon.
Boat's tail snipped without blood,
houses whirling on the tips of fingers,
a cricket on the nose of every witness,
a crackling in the sex and vortex
that is insectoid, troubling the oars--
rivulet after rivulet of android brains
clotting the pipeline with
reptilian thought's traction--
handhold on the suction cup,
stadium size upside down.
The eyes of a hanging dummy
shot with eternal recognition.

Pastures glazed with the honey of blood.
Screens stuck to bush branches
wobbling in a light bath.
Roads from the eagle's head
cascading in helmets and ferns
invisibly with black tar.

Dumpsters hosed by propeller hands
sunshine rust made fit for living.
Lampshade eyes hovering to scan
the nude favorites.
Trees crumpled like paper
salt packets on a wide grey
cafeteria table.

Severed legs bumping
like special effect snakes
on the aisle's water.
And the blinking numbers and quotes
that no longer mean anything but the unanswerable
question of all that once did.

Shafts of pathway breaking the night.
Human toys lost in the woods glowing.
Logging roads blocked by dead machines and live bodies.
Plows passing that have scraped bone.
The weaponry in rolled-up eyes
increasing its gushing glue
minute by second.

Even for the thrill of safety,
I don't want to live under a man-made sky.
These skating apparitions and slanting trees
will join me in the highways of the whirlpool
trading flesh for my impact crater's child,
wild of luxuries that have left their mark.

Goat body in yarn
eyes fringed with hooks
shorelines painted with animal heat,
seagull's belly held in the hand like a banana,
nets of wind holding back a universal tongue,
trapped in the mutating sneer
of a form submerged too long in its bath of birth,
acids of vitamin-drenched juice
in the buds of a flaring reptilian ear,
he listens to the sirens he will eat
when their peach figs capture him.

Woman of long cloth and hidden archways,
smiting my walk with eyes,
torching the bridges sadness brought
to this bright veiled island,
swimming the sky with untangled wires,
pulling the drum skins tight and resonant
before leaving the partial exit
of my sorry head, with a tongue
tied tight to the roof of my mouth
and a wound no longer gaping
sewn up in arabesque.

My mouth turned
into a blood ukulele.
Streets of country beauty
strafed by metals
of a fallen city.
Materials climbing the air
that had yet to taste
a human lung.
And the fettered kisses
of a crashed cab
in a twilight of black red wine
and pebbles crushed by thumbs.

Ladyslippers
turning the vagrant's forehead
pink and eyelike
stems and bulbs that
tremble to catapult
in the hot earth cold
needles on the rib's vein
that rainbows between
broke-down houses
engine torn on a stone walk
the smoking ears of
a body-walked head
whose thoughts are shot through
frame beautifully used
tagged pirate silk
pouring through the gates alone
with the shadows of dead
used friends all around him.

The slugs come up to the sugarbowl
to see if there's anything left.
I'm sleeping in a rancid hallway
frowning at the flicker over a blanket
when the nubile crackers roll in.
They remove the vacuums
and electric cords, chattering
like disrupted birds.
Their bulbs are all over
the eyelids I keep down.
The see through ceilings lower the sun
on to the greased napkins
and paper lids, our naked limbs.
And all the lights turn to paper reps.

The key unlocked from the wood,
courts of sand and cig-stamped pottery,
inkwells near the drowned pages
clicking with frogs and bird limbs.

Carts of soaped cords, hallways
so long and bare they dissolve context,
and this America, and that America,
and the next, and the last.

Pine bristles lining the doorway's light,
waterslides tagged to concrete valleys,
empty rocking chairs on bush-grown basketball courts,
hands scarred from the rusting rim
inhabiting a sainthood of cruel filth
helmet tomahawk'd in a puddle
melted aircraft saddled on a bronze horse
clear gloved hands and penny eyes
vacuum soul for days.

Wand in wand
restlessly parading these pilloried streets,
hands on all doorknobs,
something jazzy, with flavor,
that got into an unpainted room
whirling with a can and a brush,
flat hands, poking tongue,
rebuked knuckles
stone flinting eye,
tubs of water
numbered like stars.

THRUSH CORE

Up on the wooden hilt
touching the sky's tin borders
with long antennae,
wilting toward the powerful chest
of the onlooker.

Pushed on a hurricane bed
over oceans of light
the buried blade deep in magenta caves
floors puffing dust plumes
eyes lined with gilt tape
fingers growing longer and longer
over the arms of the throne
breeding lightning bolts
for the walks of the onlooker.

Sight's paste chinning from the throats
of the onlooker who joins the flesh
the power of throttled cycles in churning leaves
he machine waves from a drifting frame.

One can only wait for him in rapid motion
the fullness of rhythm selfishly dancing,
to fall back on his frame is a rain of spikes.
He punishes a king with his mind.

Spikes of bone
stapled to a cliff's wound
schools smashed in a closing canyon
bleeding retrace the mouth
of the rock face,
climb long oars
on the paths light swept wide,
for the dawning teeth
trickling silt of brain
to the pile of tongues bitten off
belt rotating above gassy concrete,
figure eights painting eyes
vast as the cemetary's claw.

Iced off in my big chair.
Goddesses dancing in the street.
Sliced wool tumbling down a blue cape.
Feet banded together with rubber.
Their clothes coming off like cotton belts.
My necktie holding the tongue of my stabbed throat.
Closets bursting with wheat in swelling plastic.
Bitches sitting in hampers with crossed legs
tapped by the sky's milk.
Thick lenses that eat magnetic waves,
long hallways of tarp rustling toward the exit.

Nomads do not live an easy life.

Explorer found half-naked topped by hipped, shingled roofs
out of the sun's orange tint the mainlock door to the soil of a dead world
the entry of energy into the lobes that was blocked, predators and meat animals: my other self
Frey was the god of darkness and showers
and Freya light

Tresses of notville
who never ate the salad
sat in a room with high glass
thick ounces and a bounced computer
complaining her headgear
monocle on a screen
that blinks time through water
basement doors breaking
in the tug of webs
a projector crank
on the fangs of the old animal
a tank that won't blurt
while it drinks lead and butter
a bridge to the afterworld
paved in golden dirt.

The landscape where I frolicked is fading
into stone walls and fern hair
long blueberry ditches and stinkbug leaves
smarting on the buds of a tongue
long crooked waters that peek back
through the blade of a skate flash
or the rim of time transported sunglasses
droplets dangling at the whited-out bottom
of an inching frame.

Bodies dappled with rain bank
clashing in sunlight under the tin moon
mushroom ears and hair
stacked lenses of big screen eyes
and I'll be the janitor last to leave
when the lights and their voices go out
meanwhile the armchairs fight
in the streets where I used to chase females
drunk as paint, quite pleased
with the options available, and fuck
all you important people,
I'll stand over your graves while you jack off,
in a chorus of sickened flesh
pledging fruits to nowhere.

The human mask
still moves up and down
on my burned face
the voices of trees
occasionally speaking through it
the shoreline flickering on my mouth
corners turned and wrapping around me
but the cliff walls between mine and other minds
have steepened, are leaking hail
kitchenettes popping out of the sea
where we walked together on our broken lenses
across a linoleum sun
tossing eggs on leaves and laughing

ALC

A rolling head and a glass
a fallen shelf of stars.

CLOUDBERRY PICKER

Toxin are in the skin, liver, and ovaries, dazed at the wheel of the Dingman
there rose up his neuronic whip, stiffly elastic for the present plaza
robots caring for my home underground, as I support the vast platform
the synagogue of the emperor
this soft, happy rivalry

Supple curfews caress the flesh
these warming chains
berserk monopolies leaping cell to cell
having their fun with the beauty machine
parchment scattering desk after desk
with dust demands,
the sinew of a fragrant curtain,
lime after lime in jagged sodium,
spines of glue climbing a numb socket,
the engine's hood returned to the mouthpiece
a sputtering tree revealed to be a sagging sock
floor after floor soaked with ancient blood and shampoo
spiked linoleum of faces leering back through boiling water;
two eyes on a spit: a match of clouds whispering
their gust's last echo
firm as rain.

AND THE PHOTOGRAPH IS NOT A MACHINE

The computer says there's no atmosphere, luminous and bare
human fragment by artificial insemination from outer space
psychohistory of the galactic empire with a giant satellite
myths of humanity physically through emptiness a wrinkled teenager recalls
the sun about which the forbidden world revolves the powerful mosaic

by the new mechanical environment
this older environment was elevated

Nerves blown up by thought
feet scribbling on the sidewalk
heaps at the roadside that drip
with a light they can't catch
parties cashed out that have
left my body breathless
hands slapping acoustic wood
and dancing
slowly to the scorned outskirts
looks melting in the fire
of our engine-hitched existences,
strutting past grotesque panes of glass
revelers and their nostrils
broken pretzels to tie my shoes
long docks I walked that are
fished and faded
friends I've freaked out and fled on
because the vertigo in my veins
or the vast scene unmanageable
I'm not tired of the clouds
the unset stone or the pushing air
only in the kitchen-lit night
I smoke alone on one elbow
and wonder
why the wide net can't catch.

Flew from a bike to split my body
other half peeled off the pine
left me here with this sap face
short cloth on my stems
gears caught in a tear duct vat
got up from rubber with an ax
long clouds darkening heat
marble courtyards in mop soap
wheels sputtering spin in the dome's stomach
chains levitate centrifugal kisses that
long to hang on to chimney socket satellite
irises penciling screened-in torsos with magnets
veins of the eyes sticking like hair pasta
to a matchless glove.

Blood bones and skin repainted
brick prints in the palms of burnt hands
alleys of glass the gloss of wet bootprints
traces of hair on slab concrete
churning velvety rocks and deep reptile eyes
at the bulb of a forest bouquet'd
cut stalks drinking in a planetary vase
axis spinning bright burning dye
sprayed from the quake grown hands
rattling wrists on a barrow
dousing their silly string of light
with the pepper of flaking bark
umbrella shaped patches
of tree base shade
ferrets in cobweb and old paper feet
clamoring for quieter leaves.

THE CENTER OF THE MOSS WORLDS AWAY FROM THE DEAD PLANET

And so the world computer had been programmed with my own nudity
in the time of the mule galactic
to inscribe in the arc a factual magic for seizing a
behind, the whole rectangle of the portal itself, crowds or
fists, bellies, heads appeared in that order; it was all a speckled blur
featureless, lightless, unrelieved heap of rust technologies
that had once been water mains and power lines of bulldog opacity that
we have only meaningless figures but--we just have to find
the softly glowing keys of the computer the steady trend
his hands on the handmarks embracing woman
a large angle view of the Milky Way, a heap of powder.

ROBOTS ON LAUNCH ALERT

The furry alien rapped his new hand sank its claws across
seven hundred huge dishes, spaced condensers with strips of black cloth
the incomparable silver egg touch of the human skin
wrapped his hands around a thick sunflower a plastic patch on his neck
the sunflowers were taking convoluted shores and peaks
the woman seeing his blood on her mouth, wireheads grow warmer
rather than air they were inside a huge building.

Nights and weeks and summers
worshiping the female
watching bricks melting into the path
on the way to see them
power lines twitching with heat
on the way to see them
blood pumping with blood
respondency of life to life tonguing eating
these streamers of sense that
bind us together for awhile
while the pines lose branches
and the sheets under my cracked head
are lapped at more and more
slowly by water

In a high dome the frail life
burns its limbs off to be alone.
An egg in a tub, sending orders
through buried electrodes,
pulsing underlight
through the solitary water.
Body of car doors
drawn to a gummy center.
Blazing diamond eyes
in a  cartoon vortex,
beaming naked cells
into the worldwide
face of the enemy.
Satellites filling with pebbles
and female condoms.
Arrows that gravity returned
splattering bodies of floating paint.
Airways flung to the heart
of dying towns, the sheaths
of sliding missiles decorated
with ghetto graffiti,
an eyeless multitude cheering
to the sound of splintering bone.
Solitudes lost to man' sun in its casing,
histories melted down to hate's coherence,
print manufactured by blood
time's curtain split
by a doctored heel.

Blood spills from my books
to the mouth of a raccoon
by the water that spreads its words
he drinks and speaks like chemical man
scrubby chin touches my eye
from a dumpster heart
my language eats his mouth
he keeps speaking it
rises to take my shape
stretching and clothing himself
with my thrift and baggage
stoking himself with the night moon
eating thin-wrapped fruits
from a bronze basket,
running and gleaming
with drums and sour drink around the fire
turning to fling reflections
for the ribbon onlookers
turning to eat roads instead of conscious time
then trapped in an armchair screaming
ten tons of microwaved eyes.

A broken honeyjar
some ladies used to like
stuck on the same avenue
fumbling painted gloves
reborn from the woods and a fallen bicycle
reborn from a moss crotch in the rain
thinking under a large leaf
about the relation of skull to sun
long metal on wheels, smoking past
him stuck to his taped and gummed subway line
clawing an amp
figuring torn time into the cracked stone
under his rhythmic feet
that drum to his stunned column
from where a fire breaks out
and finds his forked heart,
the fangs that shape his silk
and the tumult of unwanted souls
in his backyard mind
breaking out in purple stains
that they assembled from
and bones of wheat that shake
beans of the eyes
down into this busted glass
to settle dust with scripts lashing
like tongues til they pick it up
lay down stick to the breathing current
poised by rum to stand front of the woods
then jump the stalks that stab the belly
the lid the gods liked
gone.

Phallic towers of huge refineries attaching the interior sill

SILK THISTLE PANSY DUCK WOOL

A bright, shiny roof shoots out the north stairway
produces a breakfast room to oyster tongues
cracked corn scratched down by the blue winter

fire opals robed in redbud
her brushy tail is thick with moments of frozen beauty
the mountains of Maryland are meant to be sipped

the flat iron that sits on the back eye of peanuts
at the top of the finest fool ever invented for cracking black
under the spell of the locust leaves
through stained glass
are poor people

They've trapped me in an identity I don't want.
I must tear my flesh in front of them
to show how much I hate it.
Until the cash machines come out of the woodwork
and chirp like marionettes.
Before the moon of blood makes its ninth circuit.
Shitting from my ears to the sides of a plastic mouth.
Convincing them I want it, a glorious and heated social being,
A cock-bitch with no leash on his soul,
another superior product.
An important messenger from self-inflicted hells,
his own naked secretary.
Until the mirrors shrink to mica flakes
and turn on long delicate wires.
Before they've lashed onto me
with their eyes that claw shapeliness.
Shitting from my pores
on the sheen of an enemy's front deck,
stunned in front of the townsfolk
with a killer's visage.
Showing them I need it, this net of empty sights,
this caged atlas wheeling aisles covered in bubble wrap.
In defiance of my own life and happiness,
in the hope they'll let me borrow their tools
to chisel away this face
their hands in the dark have helped me to see.

Torso my subject
I watch bodyguards bleed into pans
the green leaves painted silver
descending to the pale grey floor
of faked and clotted earth
hammered to a level beneath them.

Muscular foreheads emerge
from the bodiless
part of the body.
Torn veins surface on the eyes
that bleed there.
Jawbones stapled to the knees,
spine wrapped
around the punctured heart
feathers in clotted hair.

Chest split open like a cracked claw.

The voice of man is puke in an aluminum alley.
The works of man dribble with stupidity in complex ways.
Banish him, and he resurfaces
in your sacred places
with a wolfsmile.

Bubbling taint, he ravishes his own expertise.
In the presence of others
he is a duckling doll.
Around the edges of the bath
he plants  nuclear femurs.

Man demon machine
feel them scrubbing
metallic sides with skin grafts
the early alarm system torn loose
from the fabric of the body
shields made of clay,
an ornithologist's gaze
tightened over rice paper graph
the elegant deceptions of silk
a blade in the oiled guts
coming forth in straps and a valentine gun
grinning sheaths of plastic teeth
black as tar gum
snuffing out the stars
that land of them

Once you've walked to the door of the earth
and the streets say through your feet
you can't walk here anymore,
scurrying over a mechanistic void
still you make your way
a beat-down shrimp,
a fucking square loser,
one crimson dot,
a pullover,
a sheet to stack over death,
sets of swings on step after step of earth
sun gashed on the prominent path
works of machine engineering
thundering over tenement steps
like the work of shadows with signs and tents
mussel shells in black and silver blats packed over the eyes
a bowler hat on each foot
sweating.

Rivers of bedsheets
washing up on a stone roof
galaxies in the chest bone
bursting past the mirrors
raw paint on scab wound garden
rust tank in a tear drop
on the animal lawn--
shades ripped on the sloping driveway
pretzel'd forms anointed by blue electricity
twigs turning on the windowsill
wasp's hook in the ring of flesh
digging and spring-bouncing
lewd rocks and tan hillsides
flanked in rolling fire of decay
are calling the trickle of ice
over radiated whispers.

Meat sticks kiosk'd
on a long concrete courtyard
walls licked by the ocean tide
frost touching fringes of rock
longitudes forsaken to the umbilical
boxes turning air
marble fenced chairs
and the wetness of bathing suits
the world drunk and the world whipped sane
weeping like madmen
the plastic alto sax on the soaked antenna
bicycle body stapled to a piano top
chains melting into maple
keys on a long stretched rope
clanging to nowhere
gowns in a taffy room
the pulp to a clenched fist closing

My spinderella, young animal
with doll hair fetched from the breeze,
water lapping the full soft pubis,
feet poised on shells in the mud,
tits scorched by the edge of the sun,
shoreline reflected in a crease
on the churning forehead--

salt ears, waistline pierced with a cross,
a fiber of vaginal metal, priestess killer
who bewitches the burning piles,
bleeder on hills that rivulet to the valleys
with prompt ink, caves breaking and pouring,
her sainted hand bound in moccasin laces
soaked in fever dreams on my winding chest,
where she lies down to muffle action words
and observe her drippings on my bearded
chins lapping back from the wax of cracked mirrors
and bent fans in a razor's eyelash

Burlesque of trees
stone walls hide blood of wolves and sheep
lattice of birds and ears
the flexing of their slender and vacant bones
question marks in the soil
from boiling magnetic answers
two faces turned to a kiss
who will be burnt away
apple halves who feast on dainty clouds
paste that answers to a skeleton
straps on the spreadeagled conqueror
tight as the teeth impact of the continents
wires in the window of the eye
bouquets of dark space in chutes
blooming against cruel light
trusting their helmets to a hammer
their tunneling has made
from the break in a swinging chain

Every planet had its own odor of flashing lights
with his hands in the air, he watched her touch the cloth of the wrong controls
that thrilling contralto, that lovely woman
a sea of wet concrete, links of green-and-yellow-striped sausage
vertical sunlight reflected back at the trunks of flowering trees

the file of animals and humans made its way out blissfully
they were beyond the main worlds of the planetary system,
the sea beds bulged strongly; the map was carved
the vehicle, having reached cruising speed, moved with absolute, smooth
computerized equivalent faster than any human in history--and
fifty forbidden worlds luminous and unrecorded on the galactic titanite lattice
honeybees growing in clumps were able to sting the distance

The factions tore me apart.
My mental home burned down.
Flowers crawl up among the edgeworks.
Vines curl around the cans
that carry our cast-offs.
Blooming and cracking earth
peers through the tar like flesh.
Tabled insincerity leaks
into the leaky pipes.
Milk cans of rainwater
jiggling on rows
of wood like wheat
Rooms sliding against
each other's emptiness.
Body-printed furniture
tumbling from picture windows
into the vast water.

A path I started cuts
through my guts on its way
to the altar of fire.
What are words in the woods,
what are limbs in the sea
of thought?

Hallowed blood surrounds me.
I am faked by the fundamental
thrust of the universe.
Urged to lose my vessel
to the immortality of others
finally I take my words out
of the clown's ears
and tumble down the stairs
out of the world's apartment house
and onto a green brown back street
singing for love of expecting none
walking in a stalemate's heart
with doorless hands
unstuck from the time of blood
by an embarassed price
crop of eyelids
orbs basking in a syrup of blindness
a weaponized void with cheers and whistles

push over a dawn's cracked wood
mushroom eyes on bent legs
crutch feet carrying a chair
the smiles and bellies and herbs on shelves
all going hurt to the remanufacture
relived by minerals and vitamin salt
to the root of the time-socked nostrils
and leaking pap.

A tadpole sun
in its silver slime of clouds
fog drilling tar through rubber afternoon
while steps of shadow selves
collide all around the torn up shrubs
gravity's hold gone lost glove in a tide pool
ripped roots and soil's water floating up
to slap a sea of helmets on descent
suds on the new wobblers
mesh on tin over shrunken faces
the day our bellies slapped together
and sent lunar through a small tunnel
an anvil's tongue
the arm of an ax
big aching web
boiled down to a stuck dot.

Imitated by the shadow, twilight limbs laid out
carpet to the cliff, bright lens tapped by charcoal
to the napkin's inner eye, long legless table
drifting past the brokenness of line-walkers,
suicide attempters and signpost smokers
the world of civilization folding up like a document
carefully prepared for some time.

Rugged in the surf, parched on land
ridding spandex of all vines, reaching like an oil,
patching the sun with captured water
hellish underbellies of ships turned up to face
it's let loose, the undulating eye
at the center of the planet that never sleeps
rending our obnoxious oxygen.

Knuckles scraping on the forests they've parched
naked through the woods, rediscovering stone
in the midst of reaching fibers, long tuberous faces
that reach out of a mossy cleft
and put a hex on daylight.

Claims that eat the speaker's face
and the ears of the sightless listeners,
bronze torpedo beltbuckle cute
the violence of capable people
an eggpole and none
the zilch tone
of animated blood.

When even solitude fails to comfort,
and the sky is stripped bare by human terror,
my fever walks on many paths,
looking for an accidental light,
intrigued by melting branches in the net of a bridge's fence,
staring at dark water, all my vacancies humming,
hooked by a swooping machine that knows no location,
taking me to amplified heights, abandoned corners,
seats where the damp wind has worn the ground thin and weird,
planes of beaten soil that fit the curve of the body,
hillsides streaming with plastic numerals in a thick soup,
hospitals with sheathed and hacked-up parking lots,
my ankles carrying wounded blood, and the tree-tunnels
that I stalk hungering with moss, with white cucumber root,
for the sinking of my knees in mud, arms like dragonfly wings,
as the pine's fallen things crackle under my wordless wail,
and I bang on the lack of hope with my tin pan head
til it gives way to green fury.

The marching trees color over me
skinned canoes carve brown water
rubber ruts put latex to the rolling berries
dragonflies don't pick on their winged,
invincible cool, princely glass of eyes
bullshit detector burning out
at the equatorial checkpoint.

The bottom of the frame seeps light, is uncut.
Fronds at the edge of a pizza park speak to me.
Picnic blankets fly up into the sky like parachutes.
The crowned warrior of nothingness' nimbus
at the river's edge, perched on a rain couch
skin stuck to yellow leaves
rolled in a goldenrod gutter
hair frosted with mud
an uprooted overcoat.

Skull empty as the egg he crawled into
mirror thick for eyes bitten by fireworks
hands on a stone fence
ass in the air for the weather messiah.

Elms attacked have knots
where the sun shouldn't be,
powerlines run through branch hearts,
whole cores crackling and absorbing
half-rotted metals of totally rotted men,
rust tangled into the rust-colored leaves
in a barricade tide, the fabric's edge
of planetary wings, bittersweet mortar of
space between space, tar-eaten molecules,
tan shoulders severed on the rim of a hat,
rivulets in sand whose paths matter like fire.

I reach like a mechanical baby
in the insanity of reason,
stitched into time
by the fangs of these humans,
drawn to the sky by a bolt,
my cranium a chimney
for all that has been hurt here,
tired of stalking signs, and missing
directions, tired of the silk
of mammal words.

Tongue bandit on a steel girder
falling with lunch through the grand scaffold
last cigarette in hand, last posture
for the talkative strangers,
face distorted in the skunk's tallest bathroom,
torn smile of earth
and the miseries of desks relieved
by a cinematic tide.

Canyons of golden flowers
eating mitts that are fond of the chemical
crawling fingers down to the bone
boosting fingertip rockets
long stalks and cones dripping with beetles
from the earth of the upturned face
smog twilight eyes
fondling snuggling sightless death's future
as it falls to greater twilight within
lampless calling, quarters naked to the deck
that awaits them.

Masks carved into the hills
clouds brushing the globe
gardens pouring out of the ears of a dead man;

pools in the foot printed ditch
a blueberry burst on the palm of a marble hand;
an arrowhead driveway

stumps of crouched and smashed bodies
watching through eyeglasses
that time has gouged into their skin--

and the glimpse of innocence is strange,
it dims and drags like rag dolls
all man's weary agendas,
and takes flight into a helpless ascent.

Dancing through the flicker street
little broken librarians
smarm unraveled in the smashed limbs
of immortal trees
big square mailboxes filling up with rain
driftwood porches and hazelwood eyes
the gentle who are punished
and the cruel who get to carry their pride
footrests in moss
cushion for loins and headrest of water
spirit on a hang glider of blue silk
open to the forests of fallen eggs that it falls on
in the quiet of country dreams

Warblers who made a net of noise for one another
throats cut, nobody calling

A raft of leaves
against the sun
a path of film expanding
feet bare to stone and glass
vague guitars landing
blood puddles all around
the ice on the conscious mind
skeleton blades gash the river bottom
canoes come pouring out of the mud trees
fully formed crowns of twigs
sky-depth hum of water landing hard
on the shattered bridges of a whale's body
stump hollowed by a lunar shaft
left dry in electrified daylight
roads staked out by the trash can
bus-beaten travelers to a frosted kiosk
wind workers searching their shins
the refrigerated tops of easy burdens
mountainous backsides moving
caves of my torn clothes
rooms of torn-out pipe
sharp shattered tile
the blaring stereo stacked on rags
the lonely room flown through
the trees and branches
armchair kicked and taped
the zone's unpainted walls

Skin ripped off and stretched
across the globe, vast trees
and shards of continental plates
pushing through pores,
disheveling the expensive angles,
painting the broken skeleton
with magma, twisted fauna
and muddy depths, that hold
the scale of a blade
whose penetration will never cease,
whose handle is a shadow
and whose edge was filed sharp
by the movement of one
looking for a womb
whose stone wheel
was faced backwards.

Spotless vacuum taking higher
the orbit of the empty
cracking wooden mouths
to run tapestries down
rings of heat in the mid-air slump
encircling bone-broken wrists
straightening hands to reach abyss quicker
light scanning the ripped face
jaw drumming bone
throat cracking in searchlight haze
ears plugged with infant fingers
the face a cabinet door
swinging open on empty bottles
closet's backless cracks

Rudderless traffic,
smashing into a soul
that does not want it.

Eyes peeled to the intractable perversion
of truth and beauty, clutching a mirthless butterfly.
Claws indoctrinated to the cliff.
Forests chopped and piled
in the space of a painted letter.

Ruts of tar holding the core's adjustment,
center breaking its masks
to vomit on the earth.

Ocean belly to spindle eyes
a pathway of cages
walked with skull balloon
bumping hovering metal sky.

Strings in the blood that crumple
on contact with the outside shields of air
ancient barriers scarring dark material.

Steeples cloaked in wax paper
plastic wrap needled by the hour hand
cornerstone smashed in the earth that moves.

Running light that pillages
empty canyons of quiet
to a bone gazebo
the children of one's death
gnashing their yarns of spittle
on a drifting bench.

Haze of droplets on the skeletons that walk
bursting into a strewn alphabet
panels against the sun
stirring the cloud laughter
paths winding out of the sky with stuck shoes
arms on a departed harp
stones in the satisfied light
puked hand in hand
vent's maze in the necks
shoreline's moving razor loosened by leaves
little spines uncurl above stems
drip mother sap to father floorless bundles.

Parties broken up over the long hills
whose voice whips through the hairs of my ears
from the jag of ridges
to winding patterns honking and honking
ropes sunk to the floor of the sea
flag's staff drowned naked in the thick of the woods
attics prickling, organ and harpsichord chords
fake flowers in greening water
where the lightning bolts flow in heaps
crane-size ants eat rubber piles
triangulated scum pops outlet mouths
worlds of melted sugar
and a tooth of soil high
in the wave falling.

Roads torn through the human form
accessories abandoned, aisles colored
with smog and vegetable light,
frame shined in its unmultiplied self,
ready for the bulb scan,
that goes into the bicycle
criss-crossed garden.

Chewed sky and thrown-up clouds
constellations dripping with smashed scaffolding
fronds longer than the continental mouth
blossoming over the head lamp
shadowing shields of glass and after-party kissers
meters ticking in deep and shallow lots.

Shutters whacked by released rain,
eyes harnessed to the horizon rip,
rudder taped to the unseeing stem
that runs and makes his many opponents.

The buttressed walls of the pint of milk
add a panache to this spot of industrial earth
finer than face powder in a freeway of spaghetti.

Slates of bitter stone
foot soles glued to the cranium's
nonsensical aperture
narrow tongues in the ripped
tubes of destroyed ears
flicking fiber optic tendrils
that peel from a steam roll
caricatures of blood
in mineral veins,
that inhabit an advertised body with ruffled eyes,
punctured heels and concrete lashes
storming a pebbled run with scraped ribs
and machete hacked chest, the wheel in the belly
split like a folded rag
and a thimble smashed.

The head full of snakes
traces the birdbrain fragment
in its skull to a harbor.
Decks wobble in the undertaking.
Ropes kiss the flesh
that pushed their vessels off.
The body's recorder brushes hooks
and eases up like wind.
Many lassos pull the legs
of a fresh dinner.
Monuments of proven clay
clamoring into skin.
Windows clenched in their hulls
like the sheaths of infinite eyes.

Apart from all this for a moment
wondering if it is possible to live life at all
without playing the fool.
Seeking wide, solitary windows,
the company of sightless leaves,
then silent branches.
And a pal said, if you're going down,
take a notebook with you, I want to read it.
That's what it is anyway, she said.
A magnet seeking locks to untangle.
Days on the china pony that won't move.
Stuffed animals paid for with tickets of metal.
The sky claw dropping drinks and meaty favors.

The idol eats until he is transformed.
Until the space he traverses becomes
a frame that's aimed at him.
Others are transformed
by his consumption.
They are the mouths
that open to be eaten.
He consumes more and more of them
to change outfits and be posed
on the surface of their things.
Full of their mouths, their emptiness
and openness, he is paid
to lose control.
His love and hate is their excretion.
They live to harm one another
and celebrate his success.

Maples tap to tap
send stone messages in blood

Sleet on the high peaks' canyon'd rock,
duels with mossy sticks and leafy gun-shapes,
features sanded with salt, glass cut to fit
the edge of the fire-pit,
a melted slide on the ribs
made crooked to smile a trash can mouth
down technicolor taste buds a long wood's shine
scorched by glove-handled wells
the snowbank gut rot catcher
rhythms with long tracers
and plastered streamers
from the mountain's blood.

BARNACLES GROW TALL AND TEARING DOWN WALLS CAVE IN TO LIFE ON EARTH

And the observant tree dweller so cruelly besieged or so torn in adobe dust

contrite but ankle-deep in blood, up the hill of winged heaven

astride the dismantlement of the main dominant Babylon religion

mid-June until fall frost on her African violets to kill aphids and skinny frame garage

coiled green rubber globe, the cities contain stately lakes--

elms, small well-kept yards, the birdbath grape arbor,

golden horses on the roof, the great dome restaurants, muffler shops,

and some stopped by in loose white blouses and leaned down, holding their hair back

the brave little skyscraper of my stucco bungalow

the loneliness of blocks of furniture under majestic archways

Laced with purple rock floor after floor
sliding like a deck of cards into quiet dens
the tool shed arms rise in speech defending
the chestnut chest, the numb lips, the botched teeth,
the threatened headdress torn curtains on dawn
he dancing an air conditioner
he gone on spittle
he eating a radish of paper
stewing at the library of sounds
milking a vegetable Sunday
ice booth around the holy body garland
long rods to hold the leaves of books
petulantly in place.

Broken light at my back
bridges jumping arcs
flights popping at the neon orphanage
on the scratched mattress
and eating in the flash
a groundhog, a high unit
of fog.

Broken light at my back
pushing cars aside
dumping libraries into the sea
that I dive after,
coming up kissing the plow
for no reason.

Time was reeling after us,
we caught it sniggering,
we beat it into submission.

Big ceilings drip with animal heat.
Our stimulants are stirring their deliveries.
The burned-off tips of swift tongues coming back.
Posterior vibrato on the lap of a sandman.
Solar system's parking lot sighing from the cushions of dogs.
My spunk on her hot white teeth
we lie down thighbone to thighbone
and resuscitate the webbed manacles.
Tinfoil chimneys wheeze cursive avenues.
Potted pines gulp water and breathe mint curtains.
Waffle irons pattern the painted lips
and decorate the septum.

The drifting solid stream
the muscling green surrounds
huge upside down pyramid clouds
eyes in bronze lidless gaze
the taste of ten thousand year old honey
eyes in the sides of a rib less worm
tunneling landfill for heroic comics
building the frenzied networks higher
corners and girders a flicker with sounds of light
which is heat which is the sound of our breaking
our ears cast aside and our wrecked maybe
water picks up fallen eyelash
among other sweet debris
hills roll toward the ice cream parlor
nicked and bravely bleeding dancers
glass caged inside the telegenic brigade
the stream separates and separates
water keeps carving and
the observing life is tied to an aching monitor
bells twitch in the sea it goes to.

Her halo ropes the night close to my hurt ribs
brings the starved light closer to the vessels of the face in gear
wraps tape around the knuckles that might have fought for her
but hit wall after wall toweling the clay while still wet
with gashes and gills I make my way down to meet her
like a minister of rain, a hermit exploding in laughter,
she douses a fossil with her hair it erupts into a lawn chair
and dispenses the currency of the day
freely in the haze of smoke and doctored water.

Bushels of yanked veins
long concrete walks
geese radiant as smeared scars
padding along the earth.

Graffiti heart
whipped by curved winds
on the water tanks.
Paths carving plastic wheels
broken shells and seeds to tar
branches from the silent moon
scouring downward.

Fields glow at the edges of tarred earth.
Groupings of eyes burn from trunk to trunk,
stalk to stalk through the heights of multitude.
Broken trail ways encountering water.
Enchanted moss the light trickles through.
Stubs of smashed branches poking through the barrier.
Torn cloth at the soil's edge
for the root to trace emptiness.

Milk washed sun
sand washed mask
fingers over the map of stone
reading the plan of man
flickering off in rivulets
and volcanic circles.

Frozen crossroads pursued
by a tent dweller.
Wires to unbalanced ears
muffler cracking across reptile eyes
from three-pointed landings
windows whirling laundry and bang radiance
a park bench long as an aircraft carrier.

Hogchoker working and loafing, and the mountains somnolent green ice
looking down on rice terraces the swamps are drowsy the days wash away like dogsled beauty
our summers pass curtains of northern lights that dance and perpetual snow
the white rhinoceros lives along the tomb of the cliffs of an unknown cave
folk find shade where ornamental chain-link leant on my knees
aquatic ecosystems: the two main divisions broke up off the coast like dish soap

Land pierced by fallen bones
tables rising out of mud from scattered banquets
bronze flowers losing light in the stabbed sky.
Cracked tar in the eyes of a whipped runner.
Flopping flesh shedding sweat on the sand of ancestors
machines coasting out of their crushed heads
ripping the breeze.

Long tubes on pebble-covered roofs
thrumming with cataloged mystery.
Canyons of aluminum smearing coils of birth
with the assistance of the moon.
Weary of blood and sad work
the deserts and their scarecrows of water
come channeling soaked cities
to bury us clean and crack open hurt brains
singing to the broken blade

In this borrowed height
the view of shattered runways
traps the blood's wings.

Alleys of glass on bathed trees
that breathe sunbeams and ragged weather
sucking the green cushions of soil
with a strand prowling
denting the glow
cut through the stone apostles of thought
toward a gurgling river.

Combs float up to printed sand
settling in broken shells,
their raking empty
salt scoured and ornamental.

Leaf's underside eyelid
lakes blinking
body finger searching the soil
every pore on a thread
painted creases and steel black trash cans
pouring out of a mouth in the dunes
a window of sand woven into a thumb nail
a bouquet of signposts and smashed lights
clenched in the rolling rubber of a magnetic hand
flies smashed on webbed bright glass
wings frozen to the stem of a growing goblet
steel lids spinning where steam bursts and paints brick
with moldy water and the form mud
alleyways melt fingertips for knives
silk's arabesque caresses
milk humming between rocks
and oceanic holds
the rippled cells awoken.

Galaxy-wide blue walls marked by green doorways
slide show in the veins of hand
long legs concrete and sliding suds eyes
rooms pop in liquid buildings
neck gashes and cheek chewed give way to mouth
tremble to the scream of buckling restraints
in the faint tree top's smoking fingernails
daylight throttled by wheat's overabundance
shores tripled in light
well hung shadows walking
into the darkness of weed-filled water
a box of doors breaking open.

EAGLES GROW TO RAIN THE MECHANICS OF KINDLY STRANGERS

In air-conditioned cars, we wonder truly aroused,
lawlessness above and opposite fields and fishponds
scattered by the glorious particles
hybridized by the house of floribunda
glossy, bronze-green blooms, measuring bedding
coral-peach, double bloomer borne in tight clusters
the dimension of the panels on long perpendicular walls.

Baby bitten nipples that spring
to my nudge of tongue,
female hills and fences for me
to box and ass under,
ferns quickening around
the coil of blankets,
branches that drop
needles to leaves
and the wrecked car's eyes
broadcasting across
the great desk of the sea,
tie adjusted to the thought and speech
bubbles that make up
the day like ice.

Glitch in roses
twitching fibers to the sun spot
pipe limbs
aluminum-faced smoking stoic
current cold on open teeth
flowing rock and sticky stem
herb crushed to the path
glue gun pump dented bumper
pine harvest tops crawling leaves
ice connecting over printed flowers
tipped carts pouring cubes and cushions
kerchief tongue mugged and bumped
by slinky heat
sap for nipples to stick to fingertips
lizard glass in the air
off the road with swerving paint
into the elephant darkness
and the bunching sand.

The eye grows larger than space--it burns clothes.
There is no escape from its unsearching seeing.
The planet may burn, but consciousness--wants more consciousness.
This is how the body joins the eye.
This is how emptiness uses knowledge to eat.

When I became a stranger,
I saw the way those I'd loved look at one
whose mind has become troubled.
Void will disarm these gazes--
vein find bodiless places, and take heart.