I have become my own death dwarf.

Droning between the snow laden trees

matching footprint to root after root.

Seed creeping up on the cemetery.

Grey rocks and their pads of lichens burning.

Fences for the blood

long eaten and entwined.

A rounded path in the radiant

green winding down

to a mercury lake.

The treasure of irises and curves

sap fresh in the morning and mouth ready

big ass pressed against my face

eyelashes batting across a satin window

what spills through the portals

of my living room

and answers the machine

while standing upright

assembles in light

with lips like a whole alphabet

laughing.

I am in a pyramid of the crown

that is cradling the earth

alone in the fiber that I followed

through the rip between worlds.

A thoroughly plumbed rind of flesh

scarecrow at the bus station.

Staring out through the rafters of sand

waiting for his suitcase to emit

a pool of snakes.

Flailing ships and long

disconnected circuits

attaching to the throat

that calls them home.

I kept flying

on the waves of blood and grass

over apartment graveyards

and the city scents

disintegrating in the town trees

where a dooryard

assembles artificial light.

Landing on couch after couch

with a dust cloth

over me.

Kissing the foreheads

of statues fallen

in oblivion of fire

setting the night's fragments

up against a morning brick wall.

When we dropped by

that chick's place

to pick up some ghetto bud

was a long time ago

diamonds flickering from the yard

her hair in long braids

across her sweater'd back

we leapt around the estate

for her enjoyment

highways roaring in a secret socket

abloom on dying days.

My emptiness fills up with your death.

We were partners on floating chairs,
watching the same river

from a split window.

You were microwaved in smoke,
I was in a gin dream and beer aftermath

getting ready for the Salvation Army.

Together we wobbled on

over the concrete curbs.

Watched the mechanical brooms

cleaning up the grey blue

Massachusetts street,

two thrones coming home

to New Hampshire.

Near the stream a bulb

bulges and slants

toward the darkened sun.

Mossy serpents tangling

with electric wire.

On the flat, upraised stone,

a poet sitting with his last beer

watching his future mutate

on the oil slicked pools.

The flying fences of a floating world

jostling with cloud bursts and running jokes

the boom boom of ramps under marchers

metallic phalluses bouncing on ruddy pavements

a symmetry of skies

mopping jet windows

with bristles and furs.

Lunch hobo birds in blue-ribbon ways

I sowed my green seed in the earth

and it sprang and sprang

from among them.

Rings of fallen fire

the cracked and speckled eggs

swimming in the shadows

of these graves.

Discs landed on earth

that become the landscape

long roads carrying sightless plows

and dead charms

that bump buried windows.

Climbing through rips in the woods

and neighborhood holes

to find you stunned

ready and willing

with inner fire.

Established in smoke and singing bones

flying from a springy chair

a ring of iron feathers

overlooking the wooden empires

moving with a satin heart

one limb with a crooked eye

to bring you home.

Tufts exploding the horizon

that sway with low hanging flowers

bike's frame and supple gruel

a floating window's ax.

Wrapped in the fading glaze

of a fallen sky

a pile of bent buds

flowering into electric panels.

Water tanks on stilts

that touch a foggy precipice.

Pines showing sap to a breeze

of oily brine.

Knives in their apartment of shadows

growing taller than the cities of earth

a grid's thirst of thickening blood

and its rising tongues.

Climbing icy breasts

of the valley's hill

to the peak and concrete furniture.

Sharing a square in the sky

a whole series of squares

ending in a mattress.

Full throated I follow on wheels

and woodland paths

your heart shapes

and shivering nothings

that inhabit.

Waking first

in a tower of languid light

a church of birdshit

shelf speckled with the books that clung

and the ones that fell

outward to the thorn

of consciousness she keeps in her panties.

A sliver of grace

in the cracked hourglass

serpents prowling the yield

of summer frozen in boxes.

Folded scales of what's fallen

on strawberry paths

for the roots of a mountain

to drink bodies.

Ferns and feathers

arranged around

my hollow head

roaring with sunlight

a lipsticked

leaf.

In the cage of breath

you hover with a common radiance

and pedantic mouth,

chattering above the rocking oven

ascending in a rocket ship's swimming pool

halls caked with plastic mud

black holes overeating in the far reaches

the bones of asteroids

near an imprisoned sun.

Ice dripping through the shell of speech

the frozen dancer's body

suspended on a garden of thorns

and assembly line beds

ash flakes crossing a telescoped square

a peeled horizon

throwing off quill clouds

and dismembered shelves.