Monday, April 30, 2018

This distorted fink,
this reflected smuggler,
he thinks he won't get cancer
because he's handsome.

This dotted beast,
who sits in upper rooms
abandoned and simultaneous,
waiting for the light to be cut down
to a manageable stream
by some cloud passing.

Keeper of these dusted and
sucked-out chairs,
tumbled through a wind tunnel
antiseptic on the grass.

A shining armor of plastic congregations
to keep the mud.

A fountain side traveler
stapling his bench
to the life raft.

Squares cut into wet cement
by a dancing sword.

Sunday, April 29, 2018

Sun dim sanctuaries in white green grass
long parkways root cracked with standing bicycles
prairies shot with pipes and tomb architecture
dugouts paved with under drawer laces and smashed cans
seats glossed with maps and laundry powder
the changing of small coins in cloth-clapped hands
water-fried faces bearded with rinds of ass and tobacco,
reflecting a cotton tumor through a glass female,
a candle's bloody mouthed crawling fairy
thinking weaponry and fog, a decade's
thumbtack braille of the body,
toad of the airways slimmed down
to fit my tiger torso,
mandolin leaning hard
on a frozen river camp,
with his grimace lurching in coffee,
my sliver twin grabber of windowsills,
greeter of all beaten laws
seated backwards to meet the brush,
prepping fuel-drenched people,
an animal's bright kitchen,
the host of observed galaxies,
coasting on computer,
tugging a copper-toned similacrum
with the freshest juice of eyes,
a time drainer.

Tuesday, April 24, 2018

Silk days open like blowing fire
walkways to the sea on long arms
suds of hair and froth of skin cells
dripping long blades
through the light of the body
the run-off from which
restaurants and cinema lights spring up
tangling with their wires and repairing figures
as they ascend on torn wood and sensitive metal
flinging cones and bent entrances
into puddles of oil
that reflect a tree of suns,
a ring of drums in painted grain
the drive of pink serpents
to a dark and leading curve.

Monday, April 23, 2018

All mouth sky rise
a stem through every bud
rails hammered into soil
eyelids dancing on the pillow case
I try to jolt the electrode heart
make jump the wet pebbles
on the sheen of printed gemini
slide saucepans over the seeing bulb
flickering loaf of bodies
that have answered death
the shell of an underground backyard
pierced and rearing caves
of light that will not be somber
white bulbs of empty space with no beds
the stripped blood replying.

Sunday, April 22, 2018

Talk of hills and brunt of stumps takes me
long shard like paths
fronds of nerve putty dipping in wax
broken-arm nets in elastic flipping little corpses
all pebbled highways and tangled cords
pulled-off doors in off-white paint
rusting to the melody of a fragment's dawn
the shadow's slope wet with saliva
pathway to a pepper garden
crying from headphone eons
to slaps of vagrant water
the salt on her tight trunk
an ear hair tonguing thumb harp
an electrocuted snooze frame
cutting cloth with rope
a dream of sliding the banister
in a torn down house
and breakfast on the cursed lawn
with the lawn-cursed apples
staring fog to a tree of walls.

Friday, April 20, 2018

To the top of the narcoleptic stack
bunions in painted hands
examining the deer path broadcast
in the battered lines of sole
cloud-reflected and dim of heart
revived by primacy of anger,
blossoming in coil,
pouted by the fat squash
of American human forms
waving bones at flickering disconnection
forking the air with their tongues
and watching it flow through bodies
the many wakeful masks
saucer-guided and fiending gladly for slippage
seeping with orbs and rooted sores
saddled with smiling goons
gone bitches and gleaming night grabber
suffering with grapes and crackers
moving with wigs and nippled tubs
surfing regret all hollowing whirlpool
on the way to the kingdom.

Thursday, April 19, 2018

Dotted with antiseptic bulbs,
body-masks of cruel and twisted velvet,
gashed knees with pepper
and an empty cock-shaped mouth,
slim clouds of a descending plane
framing lips and green backgrounds
windows marked by electricity and salt
drums of rust on the charcoal's rest
palm lines climbing a concrete wall's cheek
monkey bar eyes in a curving suit
a face of clit and car crash humor
fuming at the steering oil
growing dark eyeglasses
from the stalk of a tender head
parroting cash machines
with the orgasmic sheen of real love
signing freckles with fire ink tendons
bitch schemes to get their blood repainted
the gliding of petroleum curtains
seated in the puncture wound
of all earth.

Wednesday, April 18, 2018

It's not a fading bloom
that strikes the bad bad
hillsides, prayer circles drunk
entangled in the sobs
that limb the bridges,
dozens parked in transparent shelf-tanks,
limbless volunteers keeping waterless offices lit,
high and hitting with expressive foam,
the death march of named images,
a ringway in the paint-struck perimeter
excreting a chain of demons,
a hallowed picnic impaled
on hellraiser's strings
and flung to the attic's gape
where the moon rolls sheets
the headstone flips
like a candy pellet
to crush your feet
and the far ground soils.

Tuesday, April 17, 2018

Chasm of unopened streets
hard blossoms cased in tiny stones
pursed clouds gleaming raw tit
lidded laundry hooking cuffs and laces
body-fictions of past days
with the toothpick tiny sidewalks
drawn into a fishbowl
and given a smack of snuffed fire
that has figured dawn.

A rag fetcher walking it face first
speed cones and rippling infinity
shine planks and the stretching metal of a tank's belly
rainbow forehead of a flying whale
a torn perfection of foil
revealing pink atmosphere
edges of a frayed room
nudging buds of twisted wire.

Sunday, April 15, 2018

Framed numeral stations
and radiant railroad track images
teeming with petroleum daffodils,
pitching potato juice dance moves
to an empty black sky.

The sex-broken back
of rich blood let loose
on the underground,
the fury of taste
beckoned by disintegration,

a mask in curd of day
the diamond skin
of battery's acid blood,
the glad conniver of wheat germ,
eating salad in honey,
an egg charmer.

Thursday, April 12, 2018

Mug's decorated farms of divided skin,
all eaten up by light and microbes,
staring pock marked glass
in a tunneled future.

Fissures steaming clay colors
find rooms inhabited
by walking file cabinets,
digitized top hats
and ancient carving knives.

Tapes of wind and shore side solitude
flicker around the congregated cut throats,
a pudding of electrodes,
lipstick and mascara crab cakes.

Topless veal frying architectural hands
to retrieve blood,
dry and gagging
in dyed smoke.
Narrow shorelines wind the habitat
grey concrete clusters, black plastic,
potted plants in ashes

white peanuts spill out on textbook rugs
long antelope hoses come out
of the walls, my body

discs of fire and firming eels
keep my rock steady, herded gaze
burns twisted into flower by fiber
canals brightly yielded
in the taken light.

Wednesday, April 11, 2018

Brows clipped and sharpened
focusing the blood glass of the eyes
apron ripped by the arms of
a female keeper, bronze servant
of the pumping rod,
an ocean in unsteady readiness,
a seamless paw,
strings greedy in cornered vastness,
the baker's back seductive as blank paper,
the pepper below
a cloth-belted waist
heat-fractured into honey,

raw-cut stems and disinfectant leather,
seething onions that set off
the squeezing and oozing wood,
hacked green and its pile
of root-butts and cracked
seed-bearing hearts,
all near a boil and volcanic rivulet,
pusher of rack and lamb,
mopper of hot decks
glued together by voiceless air,
the aching of a long and hollow bar
in the vacuum's hot wire.

Tuesday, April 10, 2018

The scar on my brow is scraped
from staring fiber optics
into broken gears,
my cabinets float around me
in a heavy flock,
the trapped light funnels
and pulls.

Long doors and evaporating corners
sneak around us like
hidden touches of make-up,
rugs pulling an antique floor,
the skylights blushing red
with high-up vehicles.

You are smooth and bulbous
in the folds of crouching linen.
Slimming crowds fork away
from each other
around your trick elbows.

Monday, April 09, 2018

Chimes on the cold breeze
thighs twitch on a moving walkway
towns lift off and hover over
chutes of sucked-out beam-up light harangues
make coat hangers and corners tick
tapped pens and money lenses
aisles and hammered squares
rolls and packed pills
a falling anvil to catapult
the jutting geography of many boxes
dust-stuck eyelashes on glass
signed spheres and stamped DNA
liquids kept in unsampled classes
pricked by the moon's cap
an empty elevator in which she remembers
fainting for sex at the wolf's tongue
and printing table blankets.

Saturday, April 07, 2018

Platforms of walnut smoke
mice roving electric ridges
glass triangles watching
from half shadows
in the birdbath eyes
of flatbed beasts
the rubbed out dollars
of elbow scab teeth
climbing leaves to get near
helium-stacked branches
and stinkpalm the tongue of the hills
an armchair reptile
flinging belted scenes
around the tether-pole
in a day's link of silver chains.

Friday, April 06, 2018

POEMS OF A JANITOR

The rag foams on marble,
hands of oil search
transporting air,
caged flakes
zoom in glass meander,
baskets are green
with pink dye and
orange teeth's horizon,
ducks in plated rows
dunk beaky nostrils
latex eyes
on the werewolf finger,
banana skin forearms
of sideways ladies
slipping dark cash
to the stair mopper,
ink on the foul of his
tank-tread sneakers,
rays in ultraviolet
spanked formation,
brows and cheeks and braids
in the coin of suds,
printed toilets
roar and blank the walls,
scenes of a raking leg
thicken the incline compactor,
the cursive of dairy razors,
a hot water pen
for tampon baskets
and the poems
of a janitor.

Thursday, April 05, 2018

Spelunking oars
tied to the strings
that found them,
needles scratching
the pine they fell from.
The witchcraft of many tears.

Nursing water tanks
and warrior wounds,
suspicious, gathering.
An ovoid sky pouring baskets
of goldenrod spears,
dilated lines, stung
and sprouting.

Wires of perception that
tug and make gnash.
Mailbox doors like a cold cervix.
Deracinated sun
that scorches all the borders.
Fiend declassifying his delicacy.
The twins of the warrior moon,
hacking stalactites.
Moving tables that
disclose the source,
the Neo-HooDoo heart.

Wednesday, April 04, 2018

Porous epigrams of wheat,
the face in the spoon stretches.
Grates of frozen flesh
channeling mortar stew.
Burned hallways soaring
past fertile rooms.
Heartbeats in the clenched hands
bouncing lights off water.

Outlet faces sucking tangled cords.
Hillsides running with broken milk bags
tree houses springing like catapults.
Cups like plastic tops
spinning on glass and vacant tables.
Stung buttocks and lashed calves
compacting brainless bodies.
Sacks of trash leaking golden blood.

Rings the blacksmith poked
with shrieking tongues.
Salty units displacing oiled wheels
with a treadmill of scalps and bullets.
Slender triggers gaining space
expanding galaxy walls.
File folders dripping blue heat,
red numbers and whitened
switches and wires.

Tuesday, April 03, 2018

Midnight sits at the tip
of an extended tongue,
she has a name there,
she waits like a church
staircase open,
a silk monster.

She organizes cabinets
with a wisp of air.
Belts and handles
float out of storage.
Headlines flicker across
her rouged brow.

Screaming thoughts navigate
the streamer-draped bulletins.
Umbilical cords cut by fish tank edges
paint the subway pink and brown
with layered numerals and letters.
The telephone pole is a grandfather clock.
The shocking energy reclines and coils.

Monday, April 02, 2018

Dawn doors and rain slopes
sky-ovals dropping tiny sap-filled wings
geometry of cut wood and cattails
blood plates and frozen ways
swamps pushing diagonally rooted flowers--
choke-hold of wave after wave
tickling a boat's motor--
imprints of finger-fur,
lines and their sprouting heads
full of snakes and soda

cool roller coaster wheels through
rings of tied-up gloves,
the interwoven dollar signs of dungarees,
asbestos closets leaking black light,
the sandy corners of drunk-slept rooms
spilling mirror fragments,
tangled dusty ropes
on the beer-fur of some giant's chest,
a knife kept in clinging paint
singing anchors to nested objects.

Sunday, April 01, 2018

If among the clanging of tribes
I try to howl in harmony,
know that it is only a dance,
a straining after processions
that have left me over.

Platitudes rip up in the yielding air,
the strengths of the canal's carvers.
Hang-gliders exchange merciful texts
with no commands.
The grass surfs the ground.

Pinioned roots rear up.
Stones like teeth
wear long caresses
and move a light along.