Reefs on the backs of the hands
bronze eyes peering over
boiling hills of salt
glazed folds
a seed pod's talking fingers
vertebrae in waves
tongues in aching incense
long paths whipping a shadowed house
doors lit with cracked herb
ways of bone gravy
dragging silent sands.

Through the goldenrod stalks
on a thousand centipede legs
grown from a human heart
furry anchors clad in soil
diamonds shaking off dust
in a beloved rectum.

Vinegar seething
in wells of white light
basket hands of intertwined grass
holding the sex of liquid fire.

Lacerated pod-milked persons,
the bared gums of a speaking dog,
blankets of ash on tar
spreading in a dark breeze
and a flicker of dissolving rain.

Courts abandoned to the rakes of time
pock marked by falling black holes
that teem with thinking worms
a holographic hand
that grinds them into dust
for a future film.

Coils climbing up
the jack stem of Achilles heels
bone protruding from leather
scab wheels on a painted walk

what was rewound paid forward
in a limping lamp
eyes tapped through a frame of gold.

Grey weaponry in skeletal dust,
the gloved remainder of martyred energy,

grins of flexing corn
tap dancing on the sun,

the milk of fools
slapping against
a dark lens.

Fortified with chalk bones,
brick dust traversing the gullet,

spirit's path of moist earth,
a stack of rings swallowing teeth

from a fertile hand.

Torpedoes of dough
stack ultra violet rays
runways gleaming with nets
of telepathic eels
the torso's eyes
of a rising goddess.

Moon's fur blanket of tousled cloud
a triad of marks and speckles
coming to bend glass
and give limbs to the egg
heels and arches over a smooth blade
brains chrome in overfed energy
a fart's divine emergence
through weeping stone.

The rage of my vitals,
path of spleen's aplomb,
terse wound
where my enemies win
by splitting me, the dark wood
where heart swallows them
spitting them into mosaic
with a diamond leer
shitting out of them,
pretty to make their killing
proud and symbolic
while I grin through
my fucked gut.

In the long sky
I am climbing an arc bridge
trying to open a latch
that guards the universal water

and I will not find it.
I enjoy my progress, see
my fingers carving deeper in the metal
that fires the passage
see it creaking to burst

but I will not be there.

Venus has been present for these weeks
her radiance almost takes up a spear
the light is overwhelming in its diamond way
through the map of blue cosmic bones
she surfs a class of stars
and fetters their path to cobweb

which once held a living thing in its trap
and rumor has it
was built by one

The gel turf of settled paths
a star dense sky field
of shower heads
talking to the rolling windows

someone's voice is floating me backward
but I want that warmth
that first flung me
over bramble fields
agitating like a search light
to be mirrored in stone.

Slab windows of crushed
and crowded faces
receding on lines of mist
prisms hanging in objectified air
wet with the inspiration of witness
toking nails around the corner
the sprouts of a shaven head
the dark's uniform
getting fucked by ashes.

No I did not
taste the final
baptism in fire,

but I did punch in.
The vessel bent as the light
comes curbing over,

I dig my blades
and hang on to the hearse

of streets on pause
bleeding neon gum,

granite cut stomped grass
and razor eye sight

tucked in plummeting gauze,
where the stern narrows to water
and salt sting

to the rings of talking molecules
given.

Who knows what fine stuff
you have been woven from,

sweet garbage charmer,
knuckle droid of onions.

Casting the pitch
in a flapping flag,
a set of curves,

a fled permanent rapture.

Aisles tossing in the cucumber,
the taped-open ducts,

the masked clouds
and their anger,

the naked electricity
quills staking out
a seething globe.

Your seat's shadow
a tether

anchor creaking in a bucket
marking over-shined floor.

And the mop stained,
a paper gone, grease gust
the tabled work of ages
tongue escaping from the ax

a flower bursting bridge
the pipes fixed

and a dusk journey near
to shoreline chalk
a flashing fleet caught in migration

teeth signalling coils
and contested cold

worn bench to eaten sun
grime turning gold.

Paragraphs on squares
like the wet tiles he slipped on
like the soap he left hairless
a paved yard still breathing
for coming traffic
and a net wagging
tongues moving over barbed wire.

The cut scrolls open
to the ceiling's light
prophesying cardboard land
castles inflated on peak oceans
sending scentless ships.

Parades of ornate scum
the caterpillar shoulder blades
trickling from a bent gut

foot wide tracks making ribbons
to the volcano's base.

Balconies of outcry
rattling like doll's tongues
bows of mercy and haze
dragging on the boat's flag
as the island steams

runways drummed like icicles
fallen from the moon

my fur lined hallway
pouring designer dust
comprehended rinds of plastic
taking heat through time

over the streamers
of gas lit tasers
a reeking life of love
chapter by banner
and canvas crossfire
drummer at the head
a dragon's smile.

The shine that bursts
from the bloated
has a flower's reflection
and a radiant curve.

Piercing light from
the dawn ripped top
of an unseen waterfall
kept in a spinal scroll.

Fences circling a pyramid
train cars crashing into the dark.

Roaring thunder of uplifted choirs
a web of jelly eggs
hissing the big bang backwards
into solitude.

A fearful eclipse leads birth
sight's crack of tangling lashes
wetting a neck sack
vertebrae's deific engraved expression
in reeking tandem
through fresh husked corn
to flogged fish.

Benches on a whale's back
throwing off the glue rag passengers
who swig a tired haze
and watch the nests caressed by breeze
holding fast to horizon's fire.

The long galaxy-climbing trees
confetti stapled to the wood grain
of sanded stars

fern leaves on the house deck hands
and potted plants

some crescent memory
is quietly screaming
from behind the screen

bridges unrolling
like flower strewn red carpets
over the tucked edges
of a pale river

factory brick in blue moon cages
tapestry of carved elves
passing an exhaust pipe
talking feathered plumes
and wounds bound in chrome
the eggs of grey arachnids
hatching on celestial scarves.

WHEN THE MOON IS YOUR FRIEND YOU NEED NO MAN

Skunk skirting the birches--
funky beauty, each rounded
assemblage of earthly flesh
coming to nimble points
and paws,

quite subtle clefts of nose,
peculiar morsels that you know
what to to do with,

fireflies the headlights
blinking against your chalk
and charcoal,

your carefully kept
levels of threat,
your strangely fresh
and untouched
complete perfection.

Heads on a slab
grinning with a stopped song
blood frozen in mid-crescendo

remainders dancing in weightless sheets

tangled throughout star patterns
tip toeing over straw bridges
to a pyramid of duck feathers
glued and sun lathered
to a semblance of stone

teeth locked in gold embraces
where the dream cracks like a cell

a silk bulb separating into ears

dried brains rolled up in clever tongues
chins close to marble
eyes gone back in lids
that never knew their game.

Pegs with beseeching hands
jutting from the lacquered forehead.

His reamed senses, his vulnerable armor
clattering through an electric wormhole.

A Christ of the refrigerator,
crucified on his careful snacks,
nimbus bottomed by beige slacks
and a shitty sweater.

Beckoning to the tide
through the sunset
that rides his party deck.

The skeleton beneath the sex
the infinite's need for unpaid
complex connection, branching
enfolded buds from exploding blood.

Ragged grey of the sunrise peak's
fertile edges.

Ash tapped porches bobbing
on the cemetery tide.

Yellow ruts in the blue ditch
where berries fall.

Shadow of Frida flirting
across my crotch.

Red brick wallpaper
peeling from an eggshell slab.

Lamps conjoined by slime
lining the mythic hillside.

Rolling laughter from the thunder of God
caught up in my sternum.

Tempered steel on threads of gold
railroad eyes in a bath of suds
seeking the tunnel forest
sitting down far away from love
on something truncated
to drink the river.

Mount Monadnock's peak
is capped in cloud

I think of my gone lovers
their essence departed from
what lingers in me to be kept

the trails rustle with water
some of them crack for life
emerging through the journey-ridden dirt

bare ascendance blinking by mica
magnets groaning on cliff side flanks
trunks yearning toward the fan
bank's blueprint leaves
and tiger's vessel of eyes
heel bone like a tooth root
jutting from
sweet gutted earth

the threaded needle's time
a curve of lips traced
in rubber sediment
the torso's horn
going home to granite.

The cloud trail
ripping from my hands
lungs up in the skeleton leaves
pouch of downy grace
so hotly open to twilight
the pond cracked with its frozen pulp
a car crashed path of hyacinth
laid out in steam.

Tapeworms of the flowing earth
wax coffins pulsing phosphorescent bulbs
a bearskin mask trickling nails
wretched hollows of cracked leather
snuffling yellow lit pools.

Mates of transparent machinery
brandishing a wet fuse.

I listen to my headbangers
having arguments with God
visiting a tired ornament
hanging a stiff towel.

As if the trees were descended
from them.  As if the sun hatched.
As if they were watching.

The roots wind and touch.
The current's knife
carving through their background
its enumeration of music
sweet as the rain that runs between her
a cleft earth.

Miracles that will break their chairs
wait behind spiked fences.
Oyster stacked grenades
eyeing from their own
thumb worn coffee cups.

Time's bar of running trails
rippling across the stillness
like salt's reflection.

Shores lapping shores
the galactic life force of volcanic springs
torn highways and pink seething plateaus
outlines waiting for the ink
descending from electric clouds
spermatozoa blotting out the sun
the fangs of staring granite eyes
parting a hologram forest.

PILLOW FIGHT WITH THE GRIM REAPER

I will be classed with criminals,
losers, fuck-ups who lived strangely,
addicts addicted to addiction,
the flagrantly oversexed
hypnotized by that shine,
that spazz, that super
natural billow of bristles,

that eats us up like a burnt titty sun
while feeding us,
our grabby bodies and flailing minds
so often failing without glamour,

and yet I have attained this unlikely peak
unbeknownst to the old gods,
stirring in my strings and animal skin
what the mighty could not make
nor their handmaidens weave.

So many days passing quickly
that it is too much for us,

sand beating the windows
until they are fogged with fine scars,

cliff rising like a vivid coal
in the pale distance.

Doorways veering from a vortex peak
falling down like straw.

Floating on some floor
smiling at a stranger's ceiling
capturing a small spark
from a written wall.

Beaming through shingles
and starry roofs
to land an astral
beginning, the verse
of a chorus winding down.