Spartans gathered around the TV

watching a newspaper ballerina

drinking her occluded eyes

through the funnel provided.

Kaleidoscope of sprinkled windows

decorating the scorched lunchroom.

And a black rainbow sunset

overlapping the rows

of microwave doors.

Couch cushion purring

to suck the syringe

a meek debrained antenna

bowing to the cemetery moon.

White hot blue night

with the chants of masks

and boiling water

with a wire and a howling dog

watching the current

flutter and sputter

over rounded rocks.

Secure in our armchairs

while the labyrinth's rage

moves snakelike in the wooden dawn

that holds a peeling milk can.

On my way to take down

the mechanical side arm

that talks for you,

swarmed by algorithms

in a protein crown of thorns,

slime of blood goes looking

for a fresh mold below

the dancing spirit,

cockpit dragging vast legs

and a golden electric light.

Warped circuitry

crawling its way

to the skin of the lion.

Mirrors dancing in suspension

seen across a freshly oiled room.

Spray falling from

the crystals of eternity

as they crash against

the tall latrines.

A clear table, a shining gel pill,

a tray with ash,

the departed reader

walking cliff's edges

smoking the last one

down.

At the deer swept door

of the pine's growth

the blinking light collected

a descending path

poured through the sibling trees

and the doubled sunrise.

Strings humming over a canyon

that reflects the grain

a sky dispersing into space

first brush

through the rattle of the branches

above the fecal candy.

Window cracked

with an exhausted rose

birch peeled by the abandoned auto.

Green shrouds topping the bridge.

Moon scraping at the outer wall

a cemetery crawling.

The goat sound in narrow caves

echoing flutes and drums.

Her curved frame and long hair

the leap into the quarry.

Tapes of a roar

that makes blood trickle through the speakers

submarine hearts in their reel of rage

blindly connected.

Dim rays, breaking into violent flower.

Branches eating through the tank

of programmed woes.

A pole with an eternal eye,

a searching set of lips.

The setting of a bronze sun

propelling lunar dust

over the bright

rough planetary skull.

My fiery double

walks with me through halls

of luminescent ooze

that flicker from

dying doorways.

Wires feeding grey skies

dark systems of blood,

the sand's grain staring

within compressed trillions.

A severed tongue cast far

to the galactic outskirts,

drowning in a carpet

of documented stars.

Finally I'm a sad pharaoh

surrounded in my church room

boxed in by all the pictures

I have taken.

Cymbals of a glad song are gone

to the furrowed woods

and the high paths for reels

of rubber.

Bridges extend past what ends

in my open summer

and barns levitate

on the avalanche's grain

my claw strikes the unwritten window

at the cemetery market

afloat in the articulate ooze

and fangs of autumn

one wish that they are cooling

one brought down to bone.

TO THE VALLEY GREEN

Bulbous rifts,

vast symmetries

percolating.

Light bubbling

up through the dawn

of the waters.

Forms in their strangled mercy

I'm an American slut

I'm a fucking male cunt

seeking to search the changing mirror.

All the hotel's people

bring their mimicry of God to me

as they surface past

their numbered doors.

I am the sidewalk holder

a concrete gun

to protect my enemies

while astrally they bend me over

I guard the stars

I'm a fire drinker

the king's pawn

eyeing the crown

the queen's pussy seeker

to regain the sun

and bathe in the dark lemon

to fuck the gates of time

and descend screens

in fertile wires.

Paint blots on the desert trail

where we followed

the sacrificial lamb.

And the highest cabin blinking

with electric light

in the cleft of the peak

antennae squawking.

Pages that a blood fit

epoxied to the brick

an elliptic heart.

Red doors

in the cemetery heat

above the granite crosses.

Lichens crawling on

the rocks that have broken

the hilltop's gaze.

The mule in the well

in a yard far below

piled with ash

and soapstone trophies

sprung by a wild tail.

When we were bare in the pasture

and the big cloud split

the fence rails crackled

and rain poured on the rocks

there was no electric need to move

though the moss ran with flashes

and the otters ducked

back into the shining current

slapped against the trunks

      of wailing trees.