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.