I am one of those whom God hates.
I sank balls.  Ate fire.
Placed guitars in a bad place.
And shoved splinters of ice
into the nostrils of the sultry.
I put a two hundred pound
laundry lady in my head.

The hills rolled like lakes of gas.
Broken treetops cracked the fenders
of the automated body.
Paint settled into albino hyena eyes.
And I was born in an anal conception
flinging roses to the flagellant core.

Stabbed into the fat cushions
with a scepter of ink.
Fucked by a destiny that speaks
my angles into namelessness,
I weep the horrible name.

Scribbling on the wall
that cuts you in,
making you their prisoner.
Defying their defiance to
stick to your ribs.
Hoping the wildflowers
will come up through
the eye holes of a fresh skull.
Giving them the scum bath
they've come to expect.
Always the clever little motherfucker
who got there before you
and now lives in your teeth.
Always the evil love
that thrills before it sickens.
And the breath of reality
burning through the sockets of your bones
and the shuttles of your organs
not caring for you one bit
and being very clear about that
for you: the one who
never listens, so beautifully.

Curve of the cave wall's arm
flaking bodies
that each take blood from rock
the hard hat soup
of rock and rolled brains
a chisel in a beam of light
driving wax from bone
as the coat racks rustle
hard benches in the dancing heels
lamp shades on the scum wreck
spiderweb of decks with lint beds
shale marker on the wall
punched with cotton rope
a pendulum of names
is the strap of the mask
landing on a laundry pile
thick with the spit of whiskey
and the chains dazzling
on the levels of the spirit
they have draped
the knife in the foot this far
to birth-grip the handle.

Frayed clouds
sky of fragments
veering into the root's brook
fierce angles of water
that pierce the brain,
chair's legs bothering the back shoulders
of a long broad woman,
the shore turning, a lighthouse
tossing her hair.

Grids of paper and ink
that fade on her searching face.
A harmony of moss and frail corners
caving in under the petroleum illumination
hands on tables bottles and blades
the screens rustling the glass
sawing its way down
through the wood foundation
the feet of stools
and high foreheads of piano.

Pine top trees I grapple with
surrounded by a bank of oaks
in high wind
the eyes that the cold would allow
smitten through a rainbow of gloves.

Shelves of tormented wire
pushing glass tobacco
the chins of brass dragons
and garbage tits.

Searing cords and frames of paint
the broken bridges that talk to my slanting body
scarred nose of a gnome in dust
growing lanky with
the bloody hinges of genius.

Lakes on fire through the frozen goldenrod.
Sparked eminences leering through the birches.
A doughnut of punctured land
crying needles to the dark hearted sun.
Lips of burnt soil pushing fresh lilacs.
An eye in the earth that does not record but devour.
Curves in oil that bring forth the child.
Poolside razors clenched in teeth of sentient palms.
Rings of mercury descending the tongue of knives
in a transparent girl.

Knuckles tapping on lightyear-long girders
highways crumbling into tooth-strewn ditches
the lamb on an island of tar nuzzling absorbent foil.
Mouths in an otherwise vacant mirror
cleaning steam with gags.
Grey-haired teens feeding the elderly with fire.

Dining room skidding and rolling across an ancient floor
in a marble of fossilized scat.
Tea fingers tapping the hemlock into a swimming spoon.
Thatch work of indecencies that disembowels the moon
and heats the bright commerce.
An ax head held in the jaw
the cock of a crucified man
emerging into rapture.

I was born to sow pain into this earth.
To touch the long tables for feasting
and make them shine with poison.
Moving floors on chains
and the spit clay basin.
Forks and shovels dangling
from a sheet of vines
in the hellish air
around my head.
Circuits of white fire
scraping down the evil backdrop.

I know I am wanted:
so many yield to this kind of hurt.
Fit for yuks, a blond yanker
open and empty headed as a goblet
plunging over the hillside's cliff of wet lips
cursing the stragglers' inward faces
for staying alive, their meekness toxic.

Mouth a smashed berry
eyes hacked eggs
thick steps lost
to the gash of the taint below.
Yarn on pipes
trickling the rust of a gravestone.

Flowing branches latch onto the sun's cage
a door in the tree house's forehead
pops with a squirrel's bush tail
and berries on the smashed edges.

Clouds tugged over the mountains
by a mill of nails.
Rails in a sinew of arms
the trail keeps reaching and clawing
bright specks in the little dirt.

Brown light on my red skin
overlooking town from a forest bank
oozing letters and fractured numbers
coming to my knees on a split stump
ribs blessing blood
head straight on a crooked tooth
cave's heart that dangles an iceberg
the skull of a lonely man
flowering beads, stem's water
the length of fiber optic eyes
a fireplace of guts
giving the wolf aroma.

Daylight rafts and moon-sunk canoes
paths that skirt the fenced-in houses
ice around our places to be walked on high
where the sand hills are gone
heaps of crooked rock
machine shoveled stacks of water landing
a rioting fan of eyes
the plume strutting in a field of daggers
raging, open follicles that dilate and blemish
shorelines mapped in plastic lines
molecules of the pale man's world
coming flag to mailbox
with a skillet of sinister ham
toning the arm of reproduction
in a hive of mirrors
dripping oil of lips
face coming out of the roof
like a surface buoy.

The dome of a frozen pond
breaking the roots of the woods
cold lips resting against the sky
tar diving under firecrackers
wood heels on a treadmill of glass
island's rift of steam
dripping wreaths of branches
over the luminous nudity
hoods of wheat-colored plastic
lids of cooked tapioca
rolling back on icy pulleys
a cornfield flattened
by a fleet of rubber rafts.

My friend of moss and twigs
wades in the river with belly-deep eyes
his famous sweater is wet
frames around his glassy fingers
shining eyes to the tilted sun
and the obtuse moon
elbows calloused to crack
the curving windows
making his tobacco signature
from a dog's cushion
globes of piss in strings of rat fur
a mattress angled like a rocket ship
on the beads of a shingled roof
breaking the leaf and the sacred bubbles
spraying the doorways
with exterminating glint
nine ceilings underfoot
in one well-fed bedroom
grinning beard beneath a ballcap
ready to read and speak to the neon tables
wooden visitors from the sidewalk
and a shark's jaw shape of lips
in place of teeth
divulging rinds of smoke
the bones of dry rivers
catapulting water.

Cream curve of a melted street
bubbling up the gradual hill
trees popping like roman candles
until the open web is an inlet against the sky
pouring the praise of hands
out to bloodlessness
the grainy sill of a ship's window
the shards of little bodies
stabbing at feet on a treadmill
forks of A-frame houses upside down
shingles bleeding sand.

The cursive of a long knife
on the back of an empty shelf.

Transparent beast of burden
gripping the chain link wall
stacks of ink at your rib sides
plates turning and gleaming
the card table and electric set
wheels inside the punched holes of the speakers
porch sidecars and fingers of cut squash
familiar ladies and strange flashes of mercury
the bar with its light bashed wood
its gambles that come apart in the air
and its sinking vertebrae
brushing hair and lips aside the volcanic heart
fine animal or decaying substance
hatching another mind scheme
in the available mirror
watching the notation on scrambled rock
scatter straws to the expected dawn.

Rain on a maze of tubes
each square morsel reflecting
a carbon window, an ant's
pelvic bargain,
the thorax divided
in playing segments,
bones on the roof
in web forms tickling girders,
pipes on long beams
trickling their heresies into motion
the interlocking daylight,
water's ribbon on sheets of bronze
the embroidered carcass
an anchor chiseling depths
the tar's surface brimming with omega
salt vein cooking
the magnitude of the heat within
churning vegetable reptile
disguising guts
bringing a rat's tail to the table
with their antique storm
a vine spent in the lost hen's hay.

Mucus rolls in my head
like a silver lake
overflowing to the sea
brains fall into the bright
petroleum of a trash can.

Lamps riding the ridge of the brow
beaten by a current that pours out
in a glory of hair.

Sprawl of cracked hinges
and barking fish
stars clawing at the helmet's curve
the tongue of a continent
trailing off into water
submerged by the print
of a captured hand.

Saw blade of teeth
the birthday candles
of a reaching skull.

The melting of a prisoner
whose blood runs into all the cracks
a sky map pulling keys and twine
from a grundle of palm trees
drifting raft
of the paper's scream.

Rivers in my hands
still flowing I am somewhat grateful
to the oblivion of things,
clouds atop goldenrod
puking puffs of white light
prow's knife in the soil of summer
an erected madman
slapping his face with sandals
on the steaming shore.

Nuts and bolts holding
red painted bodies
long hallways through
pulse of trees drinking
all the names of the sun
a yellow leaf on each eye
a seedpod's violet taper
touching buttons on the raw
embankment.

Nullscape to scrolls of creed
rolling down the hood of a parked car
armor's pentagram of pink clouds
straddling the crooked letter.

Paint lines on the spines
of a heaving earth,
an arrowhead shape of cracked tar
around a sky-fought fallen body.

Bright foliage of branches
wagging over the torn void.

Disorder of roads disguised by a grid
blood oozing from rocks and soil
granules tapped by tiny saws
filling up wood with computers
each cell in a cool blue light
wires creeping lungs
shadows tortured by the reaching hand
tanks near pissed on leaves
clicking rust teeth
to the sprayed-on sky
limb spidering out from the stabbed heart
roots foaming in the deep woods
mud shingles on fading eyes
all the puddles gathered together
at the frozen cornerstone
speaking of dust and retold actions
the movements of dead men
on a strand of hair.

Above in the salted courtyard
or down by the anchor
where anger pleases me,
docks go out to the clouds
in a soft flowing memory,
some walkway of what
I can never understand,
and I am gone
walking
without the feet
I never got to know.

Seats in an orange leather octagon
around me, one wide window
stars hitting like moths
a different sky.

Fired through the dark material
shoulders brushed by a fiery antler,
face beaming on the surface of the sun
a link that comes to greet my tail
a field of stones purring and chalking.

Birds on a steaming board
skiers and airplanes
riding the current
of a single grain;
rumpled towers
spouting painted oil
in puddles of grass boats
each oar and porthole
a severed tongue
specks of sand
on gelatin moving,
starfish springing
from the pores
of a merman's shaven face.

Limitless broadcasts
of rice on copper
the cry of a dumpster song
from these chimneys of clay.