Rational farming and its circular shape and taillights of flowing traffic
waiting for the right moment to fire the artificial feeling in silver and enamel
this buffoon and babbler with wheels, gears, weights, and warm water to collect
a robot camera, a food factory and manipulator arm,
its pale gold, cream and ivory petals blending to a glorious strobe in hedge roses
highland with ample room in which to build not one but two domes
to the city's future prototype history like a great fried cotton egg
with an eye to house the temple of the cruel sensual gods
and the invisible mountain.

Shrubs on melted quartz
faces pinched in squares
singing brain death
with lemon drips
long wood polished toward the sun
smashes gases breaking highways overhead
a rain of gravel in the lovemaking room
moving glass that reflects a planet's death
time plastic bagged and fish-eaten
balconies of tainted bone
draped in burning fur

The construction stained a grain of salt
with the peeling and coring of windfalls
detailed three-dimensional colleagues
revealing every bump and individual nerve burrow
a radio slab, the back of my head resting in an open plastic box
the new rose was set free in conference
two white doves were declared bright and clear
as the name jabs its forked lance in the stratosphere
a scientist-photographer formed within the bolt
cameras extended a strong ass between two burdens
the vestibule of space
and he saw that rest was good

I dream of your star power,
your ready teeth,
how you could dissect them all
and reassemble them,
how you could touch the lamps
while whispering madness,
turning the sucking lights
towards your own face,
gloating in the momentary,
not knowing the abyss,
yet somehow still above it,
flaunting a pterodactyl flower
toward the unwanted
in order to be allowed to eat.

Recounting his tooth-scrubbed days,
leaves in their embers,
boxes of glass that have eyes,
tendons unbroken by moonlight,
sills turned out to the bright rain,
carpets and cases that speak cotton,
his hand is an echo of timelessness,
limbs drunk with the mystery of tar,
defacing his own statue.

Plastic venom eyes,
lemon-colored tongue,
alarmingly cut leather,
limbs fused to a white wall,
body tucked behind Saturn's belt,
terror plowed into a corner,
the lipstick victor, signing her apple,
dowsing her suspects in candy,
batting with one false leg
to strike the other,
ripping the tent's roof
with a vertical shriek,
dashing down infinite aisles
without a cart or a praying pet,
smacking long-handled
silver pans together
with a leer and
without a murmur.

Marketer of all the worlds,
expert tap-tapping on backs,
I melt my reflections,
paste wet ash to the canyon's throat,
mingle with pepper and raspberries,
drowning my passenger side soprano
in a velvet monotone,
planting ball bearings in the wounded earth,
mopping the corridors of power
with unexpected grace,
standing at the continental bridge smoking,
with a feelings of power in my loins,
my wallet and my chicken bucket,
swearing myself to the high moon,
dangling plastic abysses
from my favorite necklace of wheat chaff,
enumerating on olives of sleek many
in different kinds, smacking oil between
lips and fingertips like an enraged panda
shocking the pink and brown planets firmly awake,
puffing herb on a footrest, a moss descent,
a skullshaped rock or a frozen playpen
tear ducts pasted to some woman's footsteps
drowned hunter of mussels
crawling thatches to the rigged stash
of a tail-smacked hut.

Hammering the fecund world
of grey skies grey trees
letting it bleed its fragments to me
cracked firmament retracting hail
torn daylight pursuing its dawn fracture
days in the rain spent world
watching reptilian fungus
on storm wrecked trunks
wafting rotted woodpeckers
long blueberry ditches dark
plank slapped paths led
to a pool of unformed silver,
stunned sentient gold.

Bridges twine over roads
immense height rises up
only so far in the evening
but man's voice travels by satellite through space
composing and howling
compacting and hacking the data
frenzied tearing his poetry apart
then lip-bitten and putting it back together again
at the iceberg's tip of a desk
plucking and fretting
enunciating into the void
a long time before contact

Broiled quail, candied yams and colored paper
the windrows of fortune, performing his gobble-gobble litany
with dry mount mounting half a dozen red bone, blue tick, or black-and-tan
a good many bones cornets of silver and hounds out for an evening
a little brown jug with rubber cement papers and photographs
the girl and her furry hat with fill-in flash apertures in context
critics tend to divide the rugged face and beard

Mouth of sand at the cave split,
mirrored nucleus shining from two places
underwater, nectar of stars
dripping down the lamp walls
outstretched arms that invite burning,
the sucking sky vacuuming the deep crack
with many elongating snouts,
desktops covered with shavings
from the recent trees, pens sparking,
tassels of meat tapering off at the corners,
risen blocks of frost meeting vacant tongues,
humdingers of coal raining down
on our senseless heads and bedding.

Cracked spine of the universe
stunned milky way without eyes
force-fed error after error in forms of light
vomiting black holes and dead stars
self-terrorized life staring
mirrored in denial by its kind
clawing basement walls to get at the honey.

Branches piled in the realm
of stinging wasps,
back roads made by the ax,
moss tabling a slice of pie
on sponge-worn china.
Sitting goddess calculating
the ticking of sap in the wires.
Bonfires that reject the moon,
shores of broken beer
blanket wrapped comrades
long washed away.

Roads penetrating the great wheel of space.
Cages opening from the body.
The path of the eyes through meat.
Poly rhythms crossing the midsection.
A grand parade of blood cells.
Open mouthed clouds, little fence post sitters.
The silhouette of fire on all our ice cream.

Tagged numerals who put on bodies and rebelled.
Elongated dreams that throw them across their chosen dark.
Churning the womb of heavy metal air
with cranked, skinny limbs,
hovering on hands toward no doorway.
Blooming into the earth when dropped,
and beautifully there.

Ace of white hot fires
this blanket of flesh is still moving.
Tiger flea, long fanged opossum,
canal roots gathered like tangerines
around footprints.
We'll climb birches after each other
til the paper wears off.

Barren tree stalks
clenching and gesturing like fingers.
Drum skin world tapped of liquid rubber,
tubes sticking out in knots.
Steel bridges that twitch like golden rod.
Walks that end in god.
High brambles forecasting the hard wind,
wing's beat on ornately pattern'd nests,
fern limbs on a muscled cloak.
Torsos in drag poking out of the swamp licking steam.
Fangs of a frosted land still hovering over them.
Trunks of martian fiber stacked into the opening.
Milk crates on milk crates on milk crates on cardboard.
Long secret walls with their staircases like hair
in the deep rear of the large saintly market.
Sales that whoop with a frenzy of car crash grandeur
high-fiving all the way
swimming in the keyboards of war
all lost in their private blue light
cubbyholed, subhuman humans.