I fell from a cloud of gnats

into a golden rod patch.

My ephemeral flesh appears

to be pierced in many places.

Stalks extend toward

the curve of the sky

the blood on them is pink,

and not deep red, I must

be almost gone already...

It is good to see the tousled

golden brushes on these

hundred hollow threads

that send me home

to the heart that spawned

this bright magnetic glade

and its teeth alive in dawning shade.

ROCK N ROLL NOTATIONS

Rock n roll is my religion now

as it has always been

(I would listen to the bass

beneath the gospel)

rock n roll

(I would hear its LSD

between the creaking

of factory trees)

captured me completely

from Little Richard

to Christian Death

but it started with

Christian death metal,

Mortification.

The zeal of Christian death metal

reintroduced me to Satan as a friend.

Rock n roll is the only

indisputable victory of Gnosticism,

among so many other things,

that poetry brings

but only rock n roll can deliver.

SWAMPMAID'S SIRE SUPREME

You muddied my welcome mat

many times, never knocking.

Now I know you were

listening to my music.

This may be the real reason

for my love of music: to draw

the swampmaids to me,

and me to them.  Others

dream of purpose, let us

dream of new purposes,

for ourselves and others.

It's easier when they open your gills,

a queasy pleasure: it happens

on the inside first,

often with a probing finger,

gentle from the river and swamp slime

that the swampmaids wind.

And they build swamp architecture

in lake-lit depths

the heights of which

their sisters only glimpse

in the reaches

of their lonely oceans: the mermaid's

teeth are even sharper,

they are less likely

to keep a male companion.

Of the swampmen, most

were converted.  Even in

the ocean, the male of the species

is exceptionally rare, attended

by terrifying myths

and stories of his diminution,

related to the instability

of his terrible power.

Perhaps this is the swampmaid's hour.

And we who fell to gain our gills

will provide the new record collections.

Swamp-fed fingers find erections.

They also serve who only wait and fuck.

SWAMPMAID INTRODUCTION

I love the dirty mermaids of the swamp

known to a very strange few.

Most of us were knocked into the swamp

by accident.  Only the most perversely

persistent found favor.  We live longer

than our civilizational selves.  Scars attest

to the healing brine of muck's ferment

before it faded under laughter

the sliding of perceptive vines

sheer sap of earth's desire

vehemently fucking.

MOPPING UP THE BLOOD

(a meditation)

Mop up the blood.

Put out the fire in your mind.

Worship the sheer

promiscuity of creation,

Syncretism's corridors

between the crated hordes

of crashed civilizations,

wherein I sit on threadbare cushions

contemplating Thomas Aquinas.

Chairs all quiet, down

to one cat, Mister Bingley.

Dark salt chocolate,

mysterious granola.

I'm the mushroom controller.

ANAYECH (in the guard of the Empress)

(in sacrifice to Ananke)

Spread your legs as wide as you can

and let me fuck you unrelentingly while

looking you placidly full in the face,

letting your pussy leak

so I can flip you over

and eat your cum out of your ass,

and thank you for it, you who are

so superbly tactful in everything,

the one shy thing that should not be denied,

O bridge of flowers holding

over froth of brine

horizon where a portal shines

and aligns with satin dressings

and the architecture of our sculptural

window frame with a red shade to praise you

adorned with invisible glass,

I love to see you walk,

my naked little panther,

how you need to taste the children out of me,

how you know your dainty little

28-yr-old bootyhole needs butter

as your eyes need to widen

as you need to snarl quite naturally

while you salaciously examine my pleasure,

if you let me take the condom off

I will lick the sauce of life away

praising you as the wife of everything

that pierces this veil of temporary darkness,

we are unfathomed yet

we of unknown generations

coming to take our place in

the strange tectonic web of time

trespassing only iron law

if you are fiction or altered

maybe I will be tempted

to accept you anyway

and let myself be oiled also

I will willingly bend over.

THE FOOL

(for Kalob Thurston)

Flowery bright red florid fool

with bright yellow boots

on an even yellower background

I know you are going where I am going

because I am always going there,

I know we will meet each other

in some semblance of a field of battle

riding thru with huge magnetic hatted

bar besotted hilariously cape-wearing

microphone-blowing John Landino

reveling in pure un-chased Mariolatry on the last

dick waving stage, being generous with everyone

in those garage days, manly and simultaneously

henlike like Allen Ginsberg, beloved father.

And yet I am excited

with my eye-ring

expecting to meet you,

as if I were a David Lynch camera

trained on a shoe store

I am coming home

HELL

Red tide on the slate of streets

the fire of forever

dwarfing every streetlamp

in a gorgeous plume.

Ransacked bodies

strewn across blooming hills

stalks ripping through ancient cells

in newborn incarnations.

Only the somber spirit

gravely facing the pain

will survive in light.

CAPITAL

Money enfolded in flesh

the spirits that mold

such a parade of grotesque faces

pinched humans made by machine fingers.

The worship of accumulated filth

with a golden name.

Cancerous tool, get your fibers

out of my fucking DNA.

MODERN OUTPOST

A fortress of frozen cheese

bending under angered sunlight.

FUCK AMERICA

Your empire will die disgustingly,

as it deserves to.

The hatred of all your children

will descend on your soul.

Your life of arrogance

will be remembered

only as endless horror.

Your memory will be buried

under a dung heap

and still be hated mysteriously.

Your artificial life

has overwhelmed

the weakened original.

There is nothing

of substance left.

Pissing on you

would be mercy.

Strangling your rotten throat

would be an act of love.

A blue void opens beneath my feet

pulling poison from my every pore.

Strings of dark brown acid

leaking through ethereal haze.

I float away on an electron grain.

The seed sprains the shrouded sky.

A network surges with accumulated spit.

I'm leaving it scratched and gashed

with the hatred of my eyes,

with the plowing reach

of my cloud-covered hands,

marked by all my emptiness and light

where a bright thought's born to die

for revelations on the sly.

The smoking neighborhood

is hurled into space.

A leaf of worlds goes

floating by from some galactic tree.

Roads are withering on the earth

the folds of clay between long grasses

sighing of a time when they were formed

in the furrows of a yearning churn.

DRINK

How your eyes light up

with electric threads

as your mouth fills up with hot cum.

You drink the primal protein

with delight, your nimble tongue

and tight mouth insists

on gently drinking it all.

Slowly you slither upward

into my arms, gulping

with a happy sigh, and we kiss,

and kiss, and kiss, and kiss,

tasting me with delicately

intertwining tongues,

sharing the sweet taste

of semen and saliva.

This is how we kiss after

we lick each other's assholes.

We love to wash

and investigate each other.

How I love it when

our tongues are deep

in each other's rectums,

happily plunging and praising.

How I love it when you suck

your pussy juice

from my mangled beard.

SPLAY

Tapped on the spine

by an extending pink array of forces

caterpillars crawling teeth

ferns draping lucid genitals

I want you to swipe

your damp sweet bush

and the split folds of your pussy

across my chin

let me speak to your clit and love you

let me open that pretty ass

and breathe on your bootyhole

you are perfect

when you're getting fucked hard

on your hands and knees submitting

perfect with my spit

on your adorable little anus

perfect when you turn

and anoint me with

your luminous brown eyes

almost enraged with joy.