The flesh of dancing bones

distinguished by fire

finds a colorful cranny to die in

places organs that sing

on a counter-harmonic altar

and with a grin torn into the heart

falls down like a dead sex organ

into the infertile abyss.

Mountains cracked by steam

and reeking lava

fleeced of trees

and the flight of the living

invite the attachment

of Martian forests

amphibian eyes of cruel

elongated giants

grafted serpents

and the baby shit

of dying angels

wax teeth of encrusted books.

If one should turn with gentle eyes

to sweetly perceive the extent

of the homogenous terror

that one will be wasted away

not by a bomb or a crucifix

not by a series of guns

or a tightening noose

but by the limpness

of a sleeping herd.

To harden against it is to break

to surrender is to be suffocated

the way to ascension is blocked

by divine stupidity

this is the wrong world

and you are the wrong rebel

might as well eat tar in flake form

for breakfast cereal

might as well drink reptilian milk

for gasoline.

Orchids forcing through the eyes

the thrill of diabolical water

poison roots in poison soil

branches of elongated flesh

hissing with toothy hysteria

barren lands stricken

with diseased blood.

Slashed costumes of rancid cloth

birthing latex replicas

chains of rubber dolls bathed

in radiant liquid shit

repeating robot harmonies

in obedient recital

the rust of metal wings

peppering a planetary

volcanic throat.

Plastic idols melting into rings

of toxic flowers

ponds of mechanical piss

eating antique bones.

Cracked sky proclaims electricity

fronds gush from split stems

green sap of violent life

paths of radiant lava

curling malignant steam.

Figures pushed through mud

animated bronze and marble

peacock dresses flouncing

from the frolic of manic nymphs

on a dwarf god's limbs

the panic of dark blood in silver water

an altar of seductive steel.

Deep knotted brains of ice

drowning in baths of mercury

red ferns atremble

in vines like a raging river

sinews dancing for a death drunk moon.

Delirious days

fade into the kaleidoscopic spectrum

drums that waft like leaves

bikini snapping on beer fed blankets

wet stone blinking in a cloud brushed sun.

I lean back on a bench

to watch my ghost turn corners

the machine of a cruel afternoon

conveyor belt souls.

Light comes from broken places

to be corrupted

the stained cloth and the shadow

to carve out our melee

the blades of these fragments are enough

and as beauty comes forth from death

so my hours bloom.

My days are ghostly bulbs that float

through the pulsings of

thick veiled afternoons

in the tide of stones

I'm a turning utensil

in dreams of dripping light

I fly above painted roads

watching tunnels dug up

turn slow machine somersaults

men's bodies tied to churning clocks

and women folding chloroform cloths.

In the cracks between ransacked calendars,

in the pools left behind by receding darkness,

I trim hedges that hold fortress doors,

I pile up hordes of spirit-tongued vitamins,

I watch the fan blades articulate

unceasing circles, in tubs of zinc tubes

I rinse the blood of brakes

on dawn's awareness,

I swing the chains with vacant hooks

for all the puppets who are gone.

Branded by the brightest blades

goblet brain dripping with

nuclear paint on the patios

of smoke-linked cafes,

the lipstick-smeared kisses

on cracked brick porches,

high ladders with Buddhist banners

trailing off into the talk

of an abandoned night.

Vines crawling concrete canyons,

birds clacking in the iron ribs

of a snaking overpass

footsteps of the lonely

on an egg-stained cemetery ridge.

Trembling walls of painted grates

wherein the gnashing teeth make song

strings of fire and dripping tongues

lashing at the cloud-soaked sermons of grease

from bearded waifs with poor faces

eyes of solid red in turmoil's flesh

the flying bones and brain

of the distinctly human.

Spiral staircases into empty air

glint like frozen milk

and separate the thunder

of a great thaw

bright kisses of burning lips

upon marbled brows,

thin waves of the dying voices

that tried a caught raindrop

of spiritually illegal color,

faint droppings on the page that flipped

for the pulse of a glowing cellar

to grow throne shroom cathedrals

with vortexes spiced and leaded

the upthrust of breathing stones.

Dog face scowling

a grizzled walker

drops envelopes of burning

heavenly light

to anoint the winding tar

a denim dancer

in a globe of floating wheels

gears grinding that kiss the lips

of faded immortals

offshoots eating gravel

and spitting out pearls

guardrails sparking with satanic beauty

the flick of a frenzied painter's brush

the order of fractal chaos

bronze wings capturing the eye

a tail of poisonous mercy

head sown back on

fresh from the chopping block

bright tongues from the injured neck

developing backup singers

and hot electric singing axes

a tin of baked saliva

encrusted in an ancient mouth.

CHICO MALO

Forelock of a snake

guarding pineal prescience,

slabs of scriptural weight

farting ink through bright

fractured tectonic plates,

head covered with the blood

of hovering angels,

the support of terrible

reptilian columns

roaring underneath

his rattled bones.

Gas tank of the infinite

cut off and burning by a thread,

these helmets of misguided mercy

falling off like wool.

He licks the bridge with a long

recording tongue

and the glue of spit becomes

veined radiant insignia.

Satan represents courage,

cunning and genius.

Satan represents humanity,

the fountainhead of humanism.

Satan stands for revolution

against tyranny, against

meek mediocrity.

Satan stands for the sexy flame

set against the void.

His downside

is the downside of everything

imploding into raw space

like an ecstatic dancer.

His voice is the voice of Bob Dylan,

cawing into eternity.

His face is the face of Arthur Rimbaud,

James Baldwin, Garcia Lorca.

His face is the face of Abraham Lincoln

glinting from a fresh penny.

He wrote the Constitution

in the name of a distant God.

In the egg of an inspired twilight,

in all the amphibian details

of a looming fog.

Fur of light on heavy clouds

the power of the wind in harness

pushing me higher.

Poles linked by talking wires

running spirits from valley to valley

an alphabet of signs in water

sand in the fingerprints

glinting from contact

with so many lands.

Drums in radiant circles

heat that eats the rain

before it hits the ground

two nude encircled shadows.

Lanes of the never before

explored

opening many

vacant heavens and howling hells.

Deep sunrises yet to come

don't hover in the deep forest

Earth comes to them in space

by fertile movement

turning frost to disappearing tendrils

in the orbit that knows no vacancy

bright galaxies like rolling water

the paint of long dead stars.

In the shade of the eclipse

I gather my fallen arrows

and dip them in a river

of melted gold.

Cracks in the sleeve

of earthly daylight

pouring through

ancient space.

I drop my fork and spoon

my bones of ink

this body of vagrant water

ten tons of concrete runways

and the cloak of sweet grass

I wore while the days grew frantic

cells of time

departing webs of vibrant roads

through a rain of bright wet smoke

dust walker's

magnetic glasses.

Beads of blood

on fans of ruddy quills

attach to hairs of death

and then fly off

like unstable bullets.

Here in the orbit's

gray scorched basin

scrape me out with tongues

send me around

the acres of Saturn's rings

improbably take me home.

Stone wheels of the way that goes,

trees moaning on a crust of earth,

islands floating in hot blue air,

cream-puff islands with neon signs,

strings of light leading

to the heart of the ancient forest,

cloth stained from an interior world

drying in the ice of dawn.

Plastic cabins overturned

with an array of ribbons

coursing through violet roots.

Keys dangling from a torn branch

hinge of a half open door

from dusk to hurt yearning dusk.

Shelves of sky

with sherbert color

to be wasted upon,

glass flashing false memories

to a drainpipe altar,

lines of suggestive coal

tracing goddess outlines

on the straw mat of a primitive

with books in a wooden tower

and music in plastic flasks.

If the corpse of my father

could speak with a true tongue,

if the purple waves

of a schizoid December

could accumulate backwards

into dappled fall

and stone crown the ivory roots

of tall black flowers

to an everlasting pall

of womb song blue

each torch's comma flouncing

in a geometric void

each alloy of the night

solar flares that attach

to the radio suture

stitching tombs together

with a future tone for time alone

in ancient cherry

concrete claws would abound

in gilt framed mirrors

moon lit clamor of water

wound like spools of taffy

together on a branch

of suspended metallic rain.

Planks I walked to portals

radiant with hot

fringes of other worlds,

the eyes in these old feet

dazzled, the water

of these old eyes

twinkling with

infant hands.

Shining with

hard beaten grain,

stretching to the last rebirth

and bending back

to sun on dented homes

cool beds of fresh

kaleidoscopic lettuce.

I was born to be a demon,

I am always the bad one.

Lamps flicker in the lairs

that I pass as my shadow

interrupts the thought patterns

of the inhabitants.

What is this antiseptic cave

where I was born?  The ground

is an ooze from some

concrete underground,

the trees and their leaves of paper

jitter vividly like agitated souls.

Gold coils in my eyes, liquid gold

from the mouth of the deceiver.

God has given me a great immune system

to curse my enemies with,

I commence with my leathery spear

and my knives of stars.

Prostrate in a heaving ditch,

buried by a mound

of feathers and flowers.

Colored there by inks

that run and flick with

rumors of consciousness.

A pillow of rock

birthing urgent books

from a leather womb.

Blades from the shafts on target

ricocheting through dim

psychedelic wire.

Blues from an ancient death

reflected in mercury.

Shades of a violet hedge

rustling around a silent palace.

Risen from slug-kissed leaves,

filed in the sky's sheaf

of uncollected pages,

gone sailing on the journey

of a laughing wound.

Crescent furrowed with

luminous moss, vine crawling

gelatin bricks, palpitating

metallic walls.

Daffodil tongue

in the deep mouth

unburied for riotous summer,

stone teeth descending in erotic spirals

to the drain of a world's fond yellow fall.

Leagues of time

beneath the glinting

surface of deceptions

the brandy of air

and consciousness

has snared a singing wraith

carrying my features to a breach

in the dream's receding coral

blankets of reverberating liquid scrolls

singing praise of the vision's receivers,

joy passing from generation to generation,

high stacks of garden beds

floating in bone linked grills,

gray claws of light behind giving walls

sending plumes of many multiplying dolls

furred and painted with digital scrapings

from the cave's last wall.

Paths pouring out

of a spherical ship

that glimmers with the flank

of raw eternity

in its mirror wheels and gears,

dew-struck rubber

alive with seed of day,

lines of aging light

that go back to the engine's ring

of metallic steam.

Winged regiments in rank

melting through glass worlds,

sparks caught in distilled frenzy

by caress of the master's hand.

Roads reaching over high hillsides

the edges of green lined ditches

glinting under a raw pink sky

bones thinking and toiling

before many pages and in the midst

of many upturned carts

the signature of divine hair

turned to divine disorder

or suggesting an eternal shape

as the ferns and their elder oaks

reach from dayfall's astral fur

in a parched canyon, and in reaching

invite a flood of sweet ink,

flowerpots of gathered mud

and quills from moon-fed fields

that penetrate the veins

engines organizing eggs

a fog with pincer hands

enveloping dreamless lands.

Green heart beating in the gray shroud

of mid-winter forest,

charts and lines that speak

to my vertebrae,

hills multiplying in a sliding land

behind many awesome mountains,

cliffs talking to vines and water

frail branches of a love that's torn

growing strong in disintegrating daylight.

Fronds of the tongue that was buried

gathering like the tail of a male

peacock, scattered sections bleeding

through oily soil, beds in the valley

of flowers that have overflowed.

Plateaus capped by tar

lit softly in the dim yellow evening.

Windows gleaming radioactive steam

rails carving broad mountainsides

from thickets at the feet

to jagged pine peaks.

Nobody has ever stopped moving

in this hollow hell.

Bulbs glow from the pulse

of burning bones.

Voices flow like rolling coal

over the toilet bowls.

Butterflies quake in the reins

of an electric haze.

Smokestacks excrete black rainbows

on the bronze periphery.

Shallow cuts in the turf

broadcast an otherworldly mirror.

Reflections darken to transparency

between the evaporation

of days and nights.

The trees lean various ways:

conscious oxygen

learns the map of minds

and retracts its touch.

HYMN

Let the sun scratch my face

and let there be days of slumber

let me sleep on a long rag

at the threshold of the goddess

let the leaves fall on the fading scars

my feet leave on the earth

let waves lap like grain

at the air that gives them assistance

let there be decorative torpedoes

and suits to die in

with immaculate ease

let the machines make love

to melted bones

and the foam unicorn of alterable fate

be cast on the pool that pounds.

Let the deer continue their diadem walk

stars dying into space

limbs bracketed by blankets of fire

far past lunch and riveted

to infinite things

scraped bare for the life to come

ears rock n roll for the hand's potatoes

shale shading the moonstruck mountainside

with a masklike light.

Milk laden lands

frozen with ecstasy

neon posts uprooted in the rain

left flickering and crooked

in the paths of the inner flame

that drives the outskirts

embankments of moldy money

strewn with leather blankets

and scriptural underwear

the hosts of the prophetic gleam

bowel's music in ruined bookstalls

eroded landmark towers

in puddles of half melted coin

rescued by moss and bright

animated bones shining in salvaged paint

the crossing of rubbery staircases

under knots of tied up lightning

fissures that clench and ooze

with darkest honey

in the flanks of lost

and freshly fertile earth

the serpent of the skies

is a torn heart's mirth

and a soft train coming

with oceanic windows

and wheels of sexed medieval fire.

Lyrics of rock strips

and reefs of coral sharp as steel

cavernous rib cages

howling with the worthiness

of tarnished pleasures

the rust on a harp

twanging in twilight

while the astral corridors

across open prairies

resound with strange sneezes

and relinquish ashen wings

bricks multiply from cloud

to stained cloud

walkways

for the ascendant damned

who move between

sealed plastic offices

plucking strands of time

from vain contours

to reveal the icy light

two sets of lips in flight.

FOR COLIN MOMEYER

Two headless wonders

walking truncated roads.

Do you have a magic eraser

that writes, do you wear foam

shoes that sing?

Do the wires that cross your sky

bring you dreams abundant?

We will walk past

the clamor of many spirits

on planets of dust.

We will rush out

from ravished temples

to dangle from

the longest branch.

Oh lost companion,

oh absurd sculptor of the night,

whole sidewalks of conversation

will follow you home.

Ledges blink

with dripping living light

roots climb intersecting walls

bulbs and wires dance

in tender breezes

the void outlines

of long gone dancers

lungs of disappearing speakers

sliding out of living air

to dwell suspended in dark matter

a freak of wounded color

lacking butterfly haste

the big bang palpitating

agitated in a glass case.

Vines write on the walls

the caps and garments of prior lives

descending into glittering graves

emit sculpted steam

clench rot with heated rocks

blood painted flowers of charcoal

surface in placid eyes.

Ponds shimmer in concave plastic

pinks and blues in veils

of amphibian green

collecting channels of pulp,

short skirted books

through thinking water,

bright gloves for undiscovered bones

going limp on a dry threshold.

The rivulet between

moon shredded coral hills

resurrects lichen veins

and solitary gravestones

are gathered in a granite strain.

PROMETHEUS UNBOUND

I will wait in the nuclear vault

I will swim in the lake of fire

like printed letters coming after me

I will wait like mica in the rock

and I will wait like lava

at the core of all these consequences

running like mice

dragging down clairvoyant doors

seductive shadows adorned with necklaces

sanctuaries of the damned

dripping with concrete wounds.

At the dam's lever

where the forces twinkle

like shattered glass

let the ships pour through space like ass.

Pathways of shredded leaves

leading to a circular indent

brown glowing in the green earth.

A temple of glass

rising from cut rock

near the watery center

crystal after crystal in cracked rows

wind screaming through frozen chimes.

Forms leak

from these wounds in the landscape,

limbs flex like the belly of the sun

and turn into stringed instruments.

Tables piled high with vines

in a forest clearing.

Lonely voices wafting

out of cracks in trees.

Lover's outlines

floating where there was

no bronzed encounter,

figures dancing

floors a camera never traced.

I was hammered by a bright horizon

fleeced by a passing dream

having shined all the visible tables

having stood frozen to watch them shine

and sidewalks sliding and slithering

past crooked poles and small deserts

past lights wavering and cans tipped

toward little jungles that drink up

the leaking hacked containers

and the shapely ooze

I am alone in terrors

that are universe wide

neon framed from hubs

trembling in webs that never glisten

harps wafting whose pluck never ends

bone singing through a chain of heads

the scrubbed bus stop that never stops blinking

steep reservoir that churns with silent friends.

Sweet mystery of night, how I love you.

All territories open up within your grasp.

Shopfronts occlude with vaporous eyes,

roads going down to the ocean

guide the sinews of ecstasy

to a holy place.

Rock walls radiate moss like paint.

Channels in the dark light up

the deep insides.  The art

of commerce with eternity

blotted out to be born

a veil of twitching mouths

pronouncing serpentine sounds

the five hammers of a floating couch.

Crematoriums for the living

are in the oiled alleys

of clocked kitchens

the lips of angelic soil

and the bones of steam

that express divine speech

the feathered secrets of its calling

locked in tongues that roam

roots raging that have no home

diamonds forming in the twilight's foam.

Ice that curves

around the pulsing blood

of bodies forming,

clouds that reach

with sudden hands

into the glimmer

of empty lots,

lightning raging in circles

dropping hoops

and wilted flowers

on wounded walkways,

jagged steps

on crumbling ledges

all smoothed by a windy sash

and a scythe for clusters

bursting out of night

that have rainy faces,

bone paperweights and doorstops

collecting in the mansion of the dead.

Torn to ribbons that

articulate the storm,

tongues thrashing

in colorfully threaded air,

waterfalls in mirrors

that glide on silent wheels,

reflections living ten alternate lives

spiders dancing

driven mad by magnets,

the heart as an ancient tool.

Mysteries of undreamed worlds

emerging from the paths

leading into the last vast forest.

Lips of ebony and vine

speaking from the walls

that melt at dawn.

Patios crowded

with flashing rattled eyes

lonely memories of crowded spaces.

Leaves in tumult

blown from roots and branches,

each singer swooning

in the high bells

of different chords,

the way of the keys

extended past sense

and far past

meek infinity.

Bring me out on long liquid ropes

levitating over the nearest river,

shade of trees where we left a couch,

springs reverberant with rust

ticking down in a delicious rhythm,

moss cloaking the mugs that we dip

in the cleft of the rock,

sun sliding on the mercury

of immortal loves intertwined

on the raking current

the rain on ancient towers

pooling in rings and making

pigeons into doves.

Orchids in transparent beds of slime

rectangles of trapped sky

dripping with bronze lightning

runways of discarded wings

splashed with eggs

and lost to astral envelopes

ripped silver masks and wires

adorning a bulbous highway

velvet fumes of our last escape.

Abrim with sabotaged thoughts

I arrive on your doorstep as a hunger

spilling lilacs from my tongue

like slippery letters,

you a tablet of sky on fire

you are the bright layers of rock

brought out by the grind's polish

of many moons

flowing over the cloaked bodies

of many grand pianos

black daffodil of the finely carved

and silent graveyard

where I go to collect the hair

of my half-gone spirit and be wet

with dawn-hewn rivers

in the curtain of days

that ripple over melted sands

my soul in the hands

of your hands.

Orbs descend

with glowing

refurbished symbols

tentacles of light

that were left here

from the last

galactic meltdown.

You and I are

departed from all past lives

to live the fountain of the new

on leaking foundations.

Skeins of alphabetic mineral

made it our way,

were laid in healing webs

on sonic territory

and caught in flasks

that reflect languor.

Lids batting at the light

of a trashed moon,

yellow paths

on lichen-covered highways,

mushroom cliffs and shrouded pools,

tapestries of bright unbidden worlds

unfurling astral flags

that trick the surge of day

I am found in the far corners

of bathroom mirrors in unknown corridors

a shriek of besieged desire

escaping from the maps

webbed by ashen cathedrals

and gathering rocks for a running leap

over garden walls

my doppelgangers go down in thorns

while I play in the chartless clouds

between hypnotized towns

and the drowning in city wells

beauty's dew on my machine of painted leaves

and her seat of instrumental reeds

with eggs that stare like seeds

the hay made by decayed

undulating hours.

MEETING ON A MELTED DESERT

The spheres of unholy light

hold life aloft.

Limbs sinuous as snakes

hold it together.

Fences ablaze with electric shame

bones shaping snapshots

of the infinite liquid music

zones of moderate perfected cruelty

where it's wise to remain foolish.

Ice pools like letters on vacant paths.

The insignia of gravity's lust

imprinted on the dancers and the soil.

Networks of birch branches bound by steel

a horse of eyeless fire with a sleeping rider

hips as the twine of sunrise

murdering my silence and my fear of death.

Shrines of warped wood

kinks carved in cooperation

slender stories that rend the sky

the lightning that binds

and breaks the husk of time

frail opposites entwined

with the strength of water,

united in anarchic rhyme.

THE GOLDEN GOAT DISSOLVED

I eat my way through trash walls

and spit out my cousin silver,

perilously bright I am gobbled by

the dragon of every culture

a tea room in the interlinked

stomachs of the dead.

Wombs construct themselves

in chains of light coming out of me,

the lace geometry of my inverted forehead

is patterned on the involvement of birds

with the cosmosphere before my arms are weary

and she comes with a scythe of chrome.

Narratives of ice perched on crumbling salt

the floors she scratches with a sideways phase shift

folds and grounds all surrounding falls

shores breaking into heaven's halls

sights forbidden from the earth that calls.

SAMELIA BOUND

Diamond studded dancefloors

balanced on a web of skulls

the soft wind reverberating

between our stools on sticks of brass,

the turning eyes that watch

a congealed flame,

our messages are played

on the dim vibrating void

prolapsed between light's echoes

crescents darting in and out

from tear struck sight

the outstretched arms of silver

from a stark black pond

pooling bloodlike in an airport runway

and the letters of a hot tub's tiled walls

body of music floating on racks

and waves of reel-bound steam

earth's wide planks of bone soil

tide of multiplying wakes

where her mouth takes in the drowned

and symbols are the spirit's tools

snake's vision is hers to use

and the apple tree's trunk of wombs.

Gemstones staring through the wall of fate,

caves poured full with orgiastic spirits,

tongues of heart licking

the pieces of the walls that have fallen,

dark swath of space enveloping stars,

halls reaching beyond the reach

of all auditoriums, lights measuring

stalls of caged lightning

with a brighter blaze.

Springs pounding beneath the moss certitude,

twine lashing to their full alphabet of spines

combined.

Hills cut by the worm of dusk

rays that scythe flourishing

from the hot gold of some infinite bird

piercing orbs encamped in tendrils

bodiless comfort of deep space.

Eyes that swallow pouring mud

bone bridges of a dusty planet

cellos of stone

bowed by entombed

greatness of soul that fucks time.

Girders enwrapped in lilac

where bruised hands take lunch

glass reflecting oils of reproduction

cubbyhole kitchens blinking

like stunned searchlights

naked whispers that exist alone.

The tongue distilled of place

is also an astral highway

bright vaginal leaves bespeak

the names of the American rose.

Hills unfold through perilous oils

anomalies from the fumigated hallways

and the burning exit

him with his beams of dirty light

and her with the cut of her jeweled cavern

lichen covered twigs

and a mound of magnolia cones

coalescing in the glassy twilight,

harpooned on the orbit

of a foreign sun.

Ankhs of mud on pavement

sanctuary key to some other land

you and I trapped in cobweb labyrinths

of this reprinted and talkingly

embalmed world,

where the rut has salvaged

electricities for you to hurl.

I am of many minds.

I am a restaurant of the dead.

Feel me from a distance, hoard me

in the memories that haven't happened.

Trace on me enhancement unforetold.

Let the colors train a swift array of bones.

Let the trees of blue breath disrupt a pale sky

without a ripple or a sound.

In the place of ambiguity

plateaus swept clean as fresh glass

sit across from me.

Give us time to study each other

in the eddies that pass us by.

I am afraid of losing myself to fantasies

of enchantment,

I am afraid of rank possession

and the leech inside.

Bleed my milk, witch,

and ink the reed inside

the temple's walls.

Teach me my master side

as a variable dragon, show me the coals

arranged as touchless knives.

To a high ledge on fire with living waters

to an immaterial vortex

to an aching scar that speaks

through the sinews of a new wound

streams of punished life

go braided into braided hellfire

mud whirlpools on the ceilings of the dead

the gilt frame of a gasoline cathedral

summoning the courage of the damned.

Disembodied wolves on temporal surfaces

cannot stir this frozen blood

but the torn sun can

and it shits its light

in a chain of chattering skulls

to annoy the linen clad ghosts

who are glad to be going without a soundtrack

glad to be going with razor bones

and insufficient twilight

glad to be the dead

with luminescent eyes.

BAPHOMET IN CHAINS

I am here to be the venom in the veins.

Here to strew the beauty that is too late.

To sacrifice all to the void that howls.

Spread the colors on the range

that pulls and frays.

Paint my bones

with mindless letters.

Scream at me from the void

that reeks in all your silences.

Burst the bubble you built with lies

as it caresses my fangs.

Watch green bridges shoot out

like the tongues of snakes

and then retract.

Let the canyons speak

like sweet grass.

I will be waiting there

like a shiny pretzel.

I will be writing love as a curse word

with the ribbon like a leash

between my teeth.

AND

More frenzied Fridays

pour out from the lipsticked

mouth of hell in rays

breaking the soft perimeter's

dark smoke of burning money

and the loneliness of this

piece of shit dropping from the social corpse

in a halo of bent antennae

orifice ringed by spidery limbs

eating the wings of a demonic horde

to keep them grounded in the torn garden

and the trees groan in a captured courtyard

and frozen swamps groan under the feet of fools

and the routine disintegration continues

bleeding color and abstract thought

and the heavy metal of consciousness

continues in its fist of being and.

More visionary Mondays

sparks rising from tousled floors

where wanderers speak

to lights that dangle on weary banners

sight saturated in dancing objects

stone necklaces draped on hills

wheels rolling that are ever after

the rind of the unattainable

the rhyme of nonsense and the

dragon of reason

slain under bridges of string.

Laborious attachments of vast

gaping gears

to the dreaming of a captured spirit

cast through blueberry walls

in a cabin of fevered and filmed dreams

tassels on the frames of faces who laughed

the light bent on gravity's forces

long blades on the mend in multiplying gashes.

PAGANUS RENACIMIENTO

Blankets of excrement

cover the sullen courtyards.

Flowers of violent life

bristle through with gorgeous thistles

and poisonous mouths

to laser-scrub the landscape.

Cornices touched by snake's tongues

shimmer with hallucinogenic light.

Tendrils extend from stone

in slime revivified.

Globes of green glass

with fiber optic webs

shimmering inside them

refine the shadows of deepest night.

Inverted neon pentagrams

blow up the religious graveyards.

The dumpsters puke

a thousand years of mottled soil.

The shopfronts erupt

with coils of wet clay.

The cornerstone stained with ultraviolet

sheds shades of gray and squirts

blue paint around the sphere that cannot stay.

ETERNAL ANIMAL

Drown all the preachers in piss.

Let the feeble clowns of decadence

be torn asunder by their own decay.

May the mildest pigeons

become birds of prey.

All the empty cords move like light.

All the overflow of gnostic basements

clustering like snakes don't mourn.

Here is the devoured moon

in the hollow morning.

Here are the tragic players

what's left of them cartoonish

in its grim remainder.

Foul garments are torn

by freshness in form

substance comes up in seeds

to taste of death

beauty born in hellfire

is stronger than heaven's gold.

A wounded wolf

in a velvet glade

covered with

piercing eyes.

Growling over

the lines of gravity's wires,

light fallen

in wrenching patterns

on the ground that heaves.

Flames licking at

the grids of order

that invited them

to come in.

He limps toward

a constantly

rearranged horizon,

he never turns--

his many eyes are pulling

at him all over--

then lopes along

the rays of

a disintegrating sun

on the land where

his ghost pack

dreams and runs.

Solemn angels with melted mouths

eyes attached to ribbons

that are neverending

stretched across smoking galaxies

taut with living light

strings twanging in a cave mouth's

wet ecstasy of darkened spirits

churning in a cold, deep dance

whole labyrinths of stone

breathing in the dark that glows

for solemn angels smirking.

Planetary blankets

dripping through

the fingers of a grasping dream

painted hallways where I lay

the water of life an aluminum door

in the sprung trap of my mind

its claws of velvet jewelry

turned into a song of moss.

Stark benches overlooking frozen glades

uninhabited walkways under space

the sky a fading shield

of agitated sherbert.

We lost each oither in the frenzy

of strange years that explored us

lost each other in the circuits paved over

by ripples of raw experience

and the practice of masks.

Now on a ripped ledge

let this last fractured persona

leave me like the sweetest smoke

and these anxious, unseeing actors

depart on a downward sleigh

with the tears that come.

There are arcs of wounded vibratory light

over the walls of a basement level garden

over the water that pours like hurt language

over the bridges that buzz like rubber bands.

There are tiny bottles in a row

filling with substantial peacock plumage

refracted coins and leather weapons

delirium of ink and the soul kept on ice too long

pouring out of every particle that will stay still

glass rattling on a dustpan

or the whole sky shifting like a shield

no wombs that seed could wield

pouring into day bone naked

shaking like a photograph of stone.

Gloves of the tempest

dripping yielded color,

fingers shaking in the smoke

beneath a shattering grin

canyons swelling upward

transformed to oily ditches

networks of organized entropy

for priesthoods of sculpted excrement,

the ribs of ships adrift scraped bare

emitting wood smitten depth of music

sorrowful in lunar expanses

rays of light ripped

from irreplaceable skin.

The storm has its sinews

and nerves of ultraviolet

glued to its radiant underbelly

the gelatin of its captured lightning

forked paths of empty space

blanking through ethereal doorways

at the threshold of a detailed dream

wings are insectoid in a folding brain

laid out on the hum of a restaurant table

stranded by driven feet

vibrating still in its fluorescent frost

its days and nights entwined in fallen ages

stun me with metallic spirituality

send me over a crystal wall

with the prod of death

shock the marrow from me with song

voracious God.

Parted like the waves

that never crash in mind,

dancing on the islands

that wink out like stars.

Kissed by a tragedy of leaves

that never die,

perched at the eternal edge

of the aching flow.

Old walking partners

salted and gone

to the breezes they wrote

singing through a throng of ghosts

on a panther's paw.

Forlorn at last, bleeding without fantasy

the minnows of a river's swampy blood.

Born in a pillowcase with

laser tipped eyes,

tied between cloth worlds

into an unseen neon pretzel.

Fished out of a low hanging cloud

with newsprint skin, dragging

the chatter of tinfoil ribbons,

plumes riding under a copper mask.

In the aisles abandoned

to cracked music,

on the wax highways

there's nobody within

the solitude that has no name,

there is a tag with glowing erasure

flying from the flag that's gone.

All ships have sailed mistward

to unseen harbors,

roads of water frozen

toward some height

of illimitable dawn,

bring me my strings

of yielding fire,

bring me my jackals in brass,

thrash the fields with mercury spots,

fill up the puddles of light

with linen letters,

bring sanctuary to a barren basin,

slay daylight with neon daggers,

put a mark of love like a target

over the concrete acres

and the land of snares.

Goodbye, mask

with ornate eyepiece,

goodbye hats in the hallway,

goodbye all the sad hanging coats.

I'm going out on the spirit's shadow,

going out on a long fiery limb.

Join me in the snow that is suspended,

join me in the snoring anvil

that is falling home.  Join me

near the chrome magnetic core

that is blinking where the traffic pours.

Goodbye to the bones unending

that have toured all this to bits.