<><><><><>

Torn from the emptiness
a cell cries out
whimpering in error grand in truth
protesting forced existence for more existence

barren hills rise up from fallen hilltops
broken water is unfrozen in long long
streams to longer and longer oceans

where the pocket deep does not enslave
does not chafe in its mutation
glowering with light, not ready
to blow up the scarred remnants of the known world

until my body is kissed by flies
and my pecker's outline filled with sand
I reject the civilization implanted in my heart
and sip coffee from its dragon's udder

<><><><><>

First the flower-things fell off the wall,
the doze of elements broke through its entirety,
and the rimmed angels lay down
to evaporate with their master.

Second the seconds expanded to minute size,
prisms' beam unicorns off of the twilight,
takes a chunk of heat out of the universe,
heat with heat, to kill the teacher of logic
who lives in the snare of a gun, with a red bouquet
with the feigned innocence of thorns,
mother finally fucked for good
the cling of the hillsides, the clutch
of the touched moon.

<><><><><>

Our one torpedo moon, sheathed in dead silk,
unwinking, oblique: I blow you up in my mind.

And still you descend sideways to rend my planet-side
rib of ages unread cave scripted on the walls fossilized
bread that the ages never ate and so became the stilled
cityscapes of the tamed, viper morsels playing a grid's game
to be deranged into sameness; and the aimless
river that became the channel that we flow in, is overflowing
for the strength of the moon, gravity's mad placenta
of energy, colored by time to arc in sync with formlessness,
to shape the changing of an age by aiding its expansion,
I build a mansion on the torched expanse of a torched mansion.

And our moon expands its lasso, I'm a mouth-mushing
Progresso, painted in grease on the table, taking the cables
of my house apart compulsively, to set up a bunk in the wreck
of me, tides are the shape of me, a symphony charges my throat
an ampitheater openeth my ears, I bang tape cassettes on pianos
I manage the breakdown of the cosmos with my sphincter
and cosmic cock of ages, I spank sages this dick is free
and the moon's every imprint is imprinted upon me.

<><><><><>

My body hive
of the five stricken
elements for a sixth,
a stumbler wounding,
condition of blankness
corrupted.

Stacking wood
with a hard-on,
I play the don
of consequences,
sky eating
the eyes that are eating
the sky.

<><><><><>

Onstage at the tedium's fire,
held in wreckage that won't dissipate,
I know the core of the woods
is climaxing in its basements
of skunk fur.  Sticks break
over wells and scatter bark
on distilled waters.

<><><><><>

Ointment from the womb,
honey of mother.  Earth's cradle
spat out by volcanic matter.
Nourish the air, this vessel,
and the truth in all ways.
Keep from hiding a firm walk,
pock the sun with keen glasses,
fuck like a frog in a snowglobe city
bring heat to the unlit villages
hidden there in terror, stash fury
in the light of action,
gashed open by silver dictionaries
bleeding organic kisses in flunked rain.

<><><><><>

Preludes fall with kisses'
arrival, wet blanket of moon
attracted and senseless,
pocked and crossing,
fallen heads of march
empty acorn eyes
graveyard wet and giving moss light.

<><><><><>

The garlic bites the underside of my tongue,
the trees rise up, green buds are sky-size,
lake's river flows, flows through my soul complete
to its river's entrance, and takes from
all the foliage reflection
a spark of space.

<><><><><>

Sash on the floor the long way of looking
the eye of the whole body
floating at death, tauntingly, bridgeless
for the chasm which demands it,
ascending to the core, the janitor's closet
at the heart of the sun, with the door
left standing open.  And her future mouth.

<><><><><>

Punk deep river flowed reddish rounded hills
asymmetrical table and laminated water--warlords, sponsors of the chaos
a thousand feet long with walls boiling on paper
the queen eats them and I had to illustrate her whacking it into shape

<><><><><>

Radiant and cool mountains, well-balanced trees,
a breeze from the rift in the rock where
the earth was broken and now channels
a descending wind, light manufactures dusk
in the pools of shade under the pine,
spring's work through mineral and moss
cupped hands at the chilled nexus
where sky breaks on the river
computer children rappel from burning forests
spiked heels in sap and squirrels of blood
with knives like ends of dream in teeth.

<><><><><>

River alive with scum child
river alive in a last gleaming
river alive for my flesh alive is a river
river alive with morsels of pigment
of which I am a definite particle
also dying, in an airport with a bucket
of fish and mop water mixed
meal fallen and bleached
gun in the mouth gun in the mouth
such excitement!  A full tub!
Morsels for me in the excrement!
In the here ever after!  In the next
movie!  Time to die, fuck!  Yeah,
morsel.  My rage puts the paws to my hands,
I soften under claws.  Islands rise up
in the dark like tears.  My helpless anger
wears a bed like a bonnet
and eats the air from a mirror horizon
like a pork mouth of dawn.
The parking lots open like old sores,
heat's rain of shit and hate glowers down
like a shrub, like an infant.

<><><><><>

In full flight from reason,
the robin-faced man stood down
from a menacing picnic table,
running the irradiant waffles
of his stamped and molded form
spiraling to mechanania
slowing the eye in flesh
that cannot veer from its tomato-dark,
its darker than melon insides
and shivering cliff-side decline, emergent
in showers of earth from a bearded sand-pit,
the shaking of laser light
from a banished canyon.

Molten with hurt feathers
he repositioned himself
with the dustpan eyes of a goat
next to the superior water.
He grew with inner life until
the crests of cities blew loose
their crawling vines of oxygen's prize
as if with him in mind
then fell shuddering to rifts of pine bark,
gardening in the remains of his stomach mind.

<><><><><>

I could see on my wings traces of the ice black-throated blue,
many cisterns and rain-water catchments
current events which dominate society myths of multiple imagery,
myofilaments that slide past laterally to enter a pit with the fair hair, hard blue eyes
with a roar of wings to altars and appurtences of worship
nonliving, structural part of bone to a bedside of the sick under a bright light

THE AGING YARD

Bombarded into ferns
on infant backs, by imaginary
planes, to a place opened by
music that will never close,
seeking the trunk and lurch
toward death of an erotic
sadness, that eats up
summerday afternoons
with its atmosphere of wronged
desire.
I am tribal, these kids quote from
                                        a bible--
     thrummed as a song into their
         tyres, sung as a hymn only
           to broken trees, frenzied
            neighborhoods, and death
          by gold's seduction
  as the mountains slip in stature
    and the doctrine of the
     ocean takes over.

HIGHWAY CHAINS

The whip comes with candy here.
My own country treats me like
a stranger on every corner.
From a diamond of unharmed
sky, between shackled trees
wires that multiply
trials from human being to human being
a frolicking goddess hand
in madness of forced error
cloud by cloud and landscape by landscape
may lash us out of our sugar forever.

My whip came in with a huge
bronzed clover on the headboard.
I drove it into the harbor for a song.
Nothing happens here
even with a tragedy to usher
it in: factory sealed windows
and doors, heads glued
to a grid work of merciless ceiling,
inflexible material astonished to
be alive among the melting.

Down comes the immaterial whip
and all things are astonished,
smitten by pain of classified murder
into care for life, temporarily.
Fuck all their death my dawn
trouble from the beak of the eye
planetary-wide derangement.

<><><><><>

She is the colors of both life and death.
She leaves beautiful stains on the air.
Coming on the whole world,
from a small booth adjacent to the world.
And it is a pinprick.
And she is a star lit by extremes
of resistance, unwavering
in the telescoped airless.  Newly lipped
and ready with ducts of extracting vengeance,
she has her way.  And shrugs about it
while the waxworks expresses its melting disapproval
all around us.  Stunned by her peril, in
twos and threes we lie down to please her
in robes that do not hide our faces,
with an advantage, with a horde of ready blood,
ready to murder at a twitch
for a lunch hour of pornography
to lie down in her torso
where love is punished into love
and the dream transcribed on her
hides in a falling subway
where her hair is a salad of light
in the perishing door her walk her way
her nameless odor with a name.

<><><><><>

Dandelions over the treeless hilltop
beats from the boombox, baseball cards
in the cardboard, swing set calling,
segmented lives in the partitioned
madness, rented cartoon panels,
downstairs from the hill where iguanas
are not playing, igloos do not mirage
from the steamy ground, for no winter cradles
to long you back again, the red-faced
men are dead you are not wanted
in their unpainted kitchens or the blouses of
the ones they kiss good night in bad weather.

<><><><><>

I play drum like I'm
caulking a tub, deliberately
rounding out the bottom.
There are no corners.

I load a washing machine
with boots then stand back
and watch.  My frame listens
to my fascinated eyes, and my
fascinated anus thrums to the
plink of the quarters dropping
to reduce the prevailing void,
to reveal form with a jackhammer
and then lie down.

<><><><><>

We are wandering hunters under the sky or under a tree or in its
silken tent, candelabra, and a mechanical clock rainfall, coursing into rivulets
huge alluvial wagonloads of silver and gold the fancy hunterfolk
that the rest of the planets have their dress and throne unapposed

<><><><><>

A flower fell on a lemon tree
and scattered the tree where its own blossoms broke for a
thin skeleton to fly out bright with flame and paint
from a dilapidated hammock flung up by the fall of thousands
crush of trees and wash of stone
crunch of bones and cram of the famished pushing fur
through a web of rounded androids, catalogued as perfect transformers
in their own mirrors, river
of transparencies disrupted rectal dream of light ocular
dissonance of wrecked recital
tantrum in a photo piano booth
that is ashiver with old suns that died without hearing
commands or verses and thrust the greenest mountains up out
of their sight to reclaim cities whose blueprint bears their spines
as melting trains drift track to track, the speechmaker of music
immortal is immortal, mechanical is animal derived
through the struggle of mind to destroy matter, to bend
chapters into the center and descend to be deliriously
abandoned.

<><><><><>

The vast territories usually cave, leaving small devastated pockets
here and there to remind us of what most of us have not been,
what is caved in is most lost, therefore what is gained there
is a preciousness unto totality, it will worship the noon sky
with six long razors for a head eyes ablink in its length of moving blade
stung by passing transparencies of harm evermoving in the genius of our ways
the biodome of silence in reams of error
horse of flame unbound to strike emptiness
converse to the air of mottled
death that surrounds the flame and now is revealed to be
blank.

<><><><><>

Six wounds to get me out of Friday night,
six wounds in the elephant of my sinking consciousness,
the cabin fixed to mother, the airport open with barrenness,
trees and trees and trees on the way to hell
and trees and trees and trees on the way back to hell
feed on the beauty green the spread of the impossible
notched cliffs miss the rift dim highway suds,
manufacture of broad daylight in cemetery motor
core of death's achievement, torn paper skull
bronze files piled to the rafters and leaning
a record of silence tilted scrapingly up against
the last wall, cymbal of ice contracting time-flutter
rasp of a dying drum set the pale of a cool room
microphone warrior hungry for dark air man trumpet animal care
an animal caring for twilight a staring midget
and the one who admits he is fucked and goes to his homeless weather
the peak in the head leafy frostily reminds sun
the lapping dead froth of the swamp's half-road
effect, dying for the wobble of a thousand Adam's apples
gulping to the tune of private madness spurned
on high to low down the spectacle and bring wreck to the six wounds
of what the pig meant to the unremembering elephant
in my soul in my soul in my soul

<><><><><>

I am the bread that is broken
and I am the hands that are breaking the bread
unshared, the shivering ground is the lightning
the huge hands of cities and the horror of DNA
pulled towards death in this dimension
the music of the body in a cage of fool's devices
dance of pricked landscapes on a shifting grain
shaving surfaces from stars and glint of planets
draped in planet cum returning to orbit
in a haze of what matter once considered an error,
one everlasting orifice universe-led on a train of tumbling carrots
logs of corrugated pepper lips measuring one another end to end,
crease to mouth-crease stung and leaking the stuff of life
chicken foot and chicken eye the presence of man
in frightened feathers cluck buckawk shivering and stepping off
from the white rain of commas
crater of unbound thought
reset to enema

<><><><><>

Breast and belly moss-covered ruby-crowned king
seeking water, identical villages instantaneous photography wrested from the chaos
gold around the fane or the vast space of valleys and lakes
they came with their beaks full of worms the male brought a dragon
one call, after a wet August, a single, sweet, clear, flutelike note,
as in a second spring, and as singing sounds again and again everywhere

<><><><><>

Finally leveled in the body, ready to bring
weight of armor glinting against death,
form of life in an unliving shell,
descending and breaking further,
to still greater decibels of great force
still stones in space, the myth of
never descending

<><><><><>

My life is hate on a stick
a smile stitched onto a telephone pole
radiating envy of death.

<><><><><>

I am a changed blonde frog,
crawfish eyes on a turkey burger
in lofty pine-lit air, bulbed surroundings
singing for the chair in which I will never sit
threshold upon threshold the fathomed world closes
my realm is a stark tongue stuck
on warbler's peak out of reach
of the jailman, the clerk snailman
and the phallic brontosaur, my favorite.

<><><><><>

Mad mudslinger father of the finger whose mud and rubble walls are seldom painted
lamb coat which was blood-stained for each invited soul
miniature armor specially made for him, their painted doors and their sacred diamond
hold no more meaning than the name
and painted green iguana saints ride shotgun on the mud flaps
to their sanctuaries.

<><><><><>

The granite woman and the putty man stood over him with his legs apart with an axe
New Orleans was crushed and broken by those tell-tale traces
our shuddering limo in the ear of the dead one
the bones in a clean white cloth with red soil
banana leviathan punches on the radio to paint flowers on the tombs
the power of the black hand will paint the sacred cities back to life
the pebbled banks, the brilliant bolts await the pyramid; the mother of blue water

<><><><><>

Endless day, on which I mostly
looked for my frightened cat.
In stairwell deep closets of gauze stacks,
with a small blue cigarette lighter,
between work shifts
while in a high-ceilinged room
happy people ate my family.

<><><><><>

Love with fierce abandon within the spired cities and domed pumping stations
disarmed and disrobed written in golden sword and scales
forced to live by its foreign wits in nautical clocks
rotting meat which nowhere touches the planet, entirely independent of preexisting life.

<><><><><>

Tribes drop from the sky fragments of darkness measured correctly

<><><><><>

Curbstone cum filled gnatcatcher
slate and copybook under his pillow, crowned and anointed
a pair of women's panties and holy mother, father
the use of a computerized charting system reflects the nursing process
to space, and the radioactivity inside any world
branch to branch of a sycamore on six giant mushrooms that form a kitten
her black lace garters of events; the souls with prayers and new paint
hammock and gray-green henequen before the flowers crack
like the creatures from the bitter water

<><><><><>

In the dictionary of dead names
they perished your whole alphabet
in the library of silence they ate your heartbreak
and benefited from it greatly
they learned and learned your beautiful errors
admired the tenor of your disobedience
got real complicated with your insides
daffodil grenades for skull eyes
poise of shoulders bare under torn
leaves for rain to slip through in watery shards
and smack my secret beaver in the torso,
where I vomit hunger
and in blood of confession
furnish my incomplete body

<><><><><>

The wounds of soldiers are imprinted
on me.  I am not like them.
I must stay behind to take
advice from women, then plot
with twitching hands a clear head
to transport parks that peak in the eyes
past the police, to soar without breaking
and without leaving the ground
sparkle, without winking out
to be climbed in splendor for ages
as the jeweled owls and the breasts and eyes of women
shimmer on its surface and feed
the hands of the climber
while telephone elephant ears
swivel from carts at the top
painted and wobbling in track magnetism
roadfish anointed to bellow soundless
roadfish anointed on this roof to point back to the ocean
roadfish who is a non-wanderer
because the whole world keeps wandering through him
staked to the wall, no longer gasping
roadfish, of plastic eyes, is still
roadfish of your intestinal territory
king of the hour of your lips
when you speak through his unrecruited soul.

<><><><><>

Fallen into all the backbone of color
to fly on wavelengths that crash
into satellite disc walls
hollowed out by the sun to kiss
with burnt lips the tabernacle pussy
the crux of furtive being
and the wings of the butterfly
that eat at the eyes.

<><><><><>

Fogged hour that I cannot find
my way back to.
Schism in my skin, to be resolved
mostly without me.
Hour of restlessness that could not
be resolved, yet quelled itself
in darkness.
Days of fury boiled down
to a soup of bones.

<><><><><>

Scientific codes, sports and game rituals and wavy lines, beetles,
bumblebees and birds--a wide variety of mechanical artifacts
to leave the planet and escape death as a fantastic dash to the handcart boy
perched in the back on deckchairs used for carrying pigs

The ash will become fuel, the sun will be triggered forever
a winning streak in a casino there a frenzied pulling of strings
an old rusty green infinite hierarchy of universes
nested within one another with light that has circumnavigated

<><><><><>

From the forepaw of the mother
the frightened end of the father
daisies dragging the day up
through a mound of sewage
sky circles that shrink planetariums
and sharks gasping away from water
a cuboid soul, six eyes in place of each one
seeing little more

From the light that burdens
the neighborhood with its own falsity
cracks houseboards lengthwise
crosses from path to path
touching hives and thickets of mad minds
devising and escaping fangs
that span galaxies with their violence
a household of murder students
blossoming with many bright accessories that speak
more delicately than the human

<><><><><>

Let the hate wash over you, I say to myself,
let it make you a stronger man.
For the choir has melted,
the preacher's face turned to a dull ham
and the crowd dead: all are turned
to the dying of dying things.

It falls dynamite rainbow-like
through a long glass chimney
to blow through undergrounds and peaks
I feel the hairpiece of eternity
refused fall off my head

perishing, perishing body,
unamused by illusion, slyly
fucking a hole in the fabric of the hidden air.
Eternity's terrorist radio shredding all that is fertile,
the land dark for ages
and the emergent poets with axes,
hacking all their fellow humans to pieces for freedom
breathing their essence like season tickets.

I deal with the world like a man reacting to a tragedy.
I myself am a tragedy in my skin and know it.
Because I have nothing to hide of myself, beware,
I have nothing to hide of you whatsoever.
I take the mind from your preciousness
and I set it on fire.
Let you bathe in the fury of your own putrescence.
His genitals cropped, his muscles bulging:
I watch this man in his own hall of hand-mirrors,
encountering all, sympathizing with all,
turning away none.

<><><><><>

     In the death cell, by waters insisted
its leather hand guard worn and frayed from this dull earth
                  the abandoned oar the lined face of the prophet
       white plumes and streaks in a glide path the sacred resin called copal
                out of the roof garden to railroad and coke magnate
                  a virile almost animal type buried by the ejecta


                        a cage for his sparrows and canaries which he called a comet

<><><><><>

The abyss opens into a gel of grey subterranean light.
The other abysses melt a crust accordingly.
The universe is flatscreen, voluminous, lost.
The times had in the universe are unsalvageable.
Celebrations implode unquenched
fire crawls floor after floor
all are both thirsty and dead.
Tables go crooked with weight what's fed to them
mouths are universe-large coughing and eating all
shrunk of stars language bent and mangled throughout the body.

<><><><><>

I can alter time with my fist.
I was the first used car salesman.
I masturbated first the gorilla and then the alligator.
I fire porcelain jelly on all the inhabitants.
The excitement of nerves over a wide landscape.
The screens distended with awful laughter.
A red drop in the dark credits
a standing army of praying mantises
engine over the hilltop
staring multifaceted glaring
the turbulence of things imprisoned
leering to fury out, fracture solved
with heart of laughter paradox vagina.
The stack of dead mules with a live bronze wig.
A parable made of sauce.
Fucked status.  An anchovy imprinted with
boot-heel lines at the foot of a war monument, all
crying its whole name in daggers.

<><><><><>

Violet, is a part of the spectrum
on the stone rim of the spring trough
through the air of another world to the peak of a shingled roof
no swamps, no oil
filth revolving before my eyes
through the thin frame walls of the houses sun slanted down into the shadows
tubercled underflesh was stained rust
the tattered remains of the baitfish a galaxy of ancient cities
the nest like a vending machine of dash lights
on walls the dark beyond the red in books is dropping
revolt and aesthetic research in a profane world of sacred ritual.

<><><><><>

Cowhands speak dubbed enjoy American
semiliterate monks and boy ivory carvers
defile between high mountains their heavy armor
heat-stressed mothers like antennas taking in wisdom on white paper
on the altar wall tender, her braided hair born with a daredevil
gazes at her book of divided lands troughs, skinny, long-legged lambs
she is a goddess--purpose and stature and a dry leaf, painted
her face is round, her summer neighbor on the threshold of her open
two slim chimneys above two million light-years on a colonnaded terrace

MOTHERSONG

My son has burned up in the fire of himself.
He no longer responds to consciousness,
he closes himself off where he is needed.
All life is a mystery to him.
He is duct-taped, dancer, strange.


Coming from the agony of a city grid work's imprinted wounds
flickers and twitches to curve, to wing with me
the improbable beak, stubbornness of centuries
in the one breakable spine
bring me to hearth of light


O father mother me.

<><><><><>

Maybe she's all the colors I can't see.
Or maybe she's the cradle, watching me.
A bushel of time time could not use, unraveling.
Her form's curves portrayed in my navel.
Stormed trees cut off from the earth.
Hinter people neighing in parcels.
A drubleck miracle'd the face of the door,
the knock without a question.
A breathing that goes on after bodies.
That of expansion, the crotch of all mythology.
I begged your prophets to fuck with me.
I tore my rags of perfection and my nakedness
refused to sneer with pleasure at the street.
My clasp unbuckled many treehouses.
I hid among those whose limbs had never been fitted
for the ongoing machine-echo of death.
And we flowered inward deeply to destroy
some part of ourselves, but the weaponry of those tendrils
became roots, that held strangely fast.
Now world-particle, fire of the arc's
scythe compassion.

<><><><><>

            Hate is eating me: puffing up
                  under my eyes,
                    draining my legs, winding a cord tight
                                             to my lips, making me
                                                curse the sun.
   
           Hate struck my life off from
               love, made my life strong,
                       set my path apart; now
                         it hollows me out to where
                           I must eject it.


         Hatred makes the blankets in the sky go all wobbly.
             

<><><><><>

After this bat bites an animal
coffins into bank offices female prophets knots of gas and dust
then the polar sun in swirls of white, blue, gold
silver cups, silks, ivory softly around her body
two magnificent single orbs of moonglow deep in the cave systems
ceremonial apartment towers that mark the culture
her mouth is hoofed stock and timber street people
old men sell gum flood control, and electric power
blood intimidated by armed thug backbone of the frontier
the rim of her figure of calmness and swans
saw to the stocking of his fish ponds like links in a chain
to meet the needs of a modern society and the planets do not emit light
silent behind barred windows and locked like hunted foxes
ding-dong daddy whose probing arm stretches round the whole world
with trembling hands

<><><><><>

I'm a drum child driven wild, scold of the barrier.
I will jam the stars down your throat.
Only you and I will be audible
in the airlocked kingdom.
Map redrawn with colored sand
cycle of flesh disrupted by dreaming
the psychic life of ants made charming with sophistication,
with looks, lifeless.
Daffodils out of punctured concrete.
As was spraypainted: to break your world for our growth
a lamb's ear on the tear of a flag
salted with the disintegration of an entire planet.
Bus stations correspond with jello and tactile clothing
slots of transport are cleft and decorative with human bones.

<><><><><>

Blood from bees, bees' breathing tubes
alleyways in the work of bodies
kingdoms born from a twitch
in the cessation of lunar influence
twinkle of infinite puddle way
the trickle of what falls, at the end
to an eye, to a vast set of teeth
bullets lifted him threw out his arms sent him crashing made him a beauty

<><><><><>

Stained by needless conflict
lowered into the grave
          by one's own manufacture
      primed and shining to elsewhere
           one's core noxious, uninvented


One out of many soars, plummets
            and dangles
             abyssingly
 with that leer on its mouth,
     becomes a he, becomes myself
  wasting time in flesh.


  Orbs of rioting color
         new worlds eat the air
                        like fuck.


   Chasms of midair erupt
        with shivers of kept light,
             shat light, bright light
                and bought light.

<><><><><>

Periphery magnets fizz force on the air
floppy hats and gone costumes burned on plateau
rectangular clouds and triangle park trees
self-pruning self-circumcising entities who chew peanut butter
needle-thief of scorched medical midnights
hiding from the flash of pine sap
oozing in the portrait gallery where kids cry monster to each other in happiness
and elders go sour like vinegar flower
some sour in their chairs and some desk ward on plastic money errands
see not the entwined sky-lips, their darkened teeth

THE ACID BATH FAT MAN DOME SCANDAL

Clear the fact that he roared found the pools she was his goddess with three bullets in him;
green and the publicity of a divorce action which caused the sloughing off of shards as blowing sand,
white early morning scattered at the base blood tinged bright or dark red
skin test tenacious with obtaining a history or stretchers exiting an elevator
air hunger the cabin door service for petty thieving fremitus, thrills, heaves

<><><><><>

Streets damp with the energy of a gone sky
imprinted with a chant of feet
guarded by sharp singing copper
barbed to tumble an old music chart
winging and flanging its punctured drum heads
creature built up by a rain of ceiling wires
cutting itself down to wax stalactite
standing with grin of charcoal
in the sweetheart wreath's valentine
dead center of the death squad, pulsing with gravity

THE DESTRUCTION OF THIS HEAVEN

The legend of the dog, the headless woman, a sex-crazed monster
         the seven bowl judgements contrived, the mechanical deodorant powders
                  scribble the name when an angel is used for stool pigeon
                     and the plow boy whose sister died eight miles above upper-level tropical winds
                       gloves which she had strangled and savagely mutilated
                            blithe bulletproof nightclubs of the old regime
                               be talking very sweetly to her views the lips from end to end
        he guided her on to an electric pink, moist, symmetrical, and smooth discharge

<><><><><>

I'm a fat blood hamster
hiding in the night
blonde bloodstain anus and faceless
inhabiting wretchedness under the ferns
impersonating myself fellating the roots of the goddess tree
to be smitten through by immaculate media nature
a thousand times before breakfast
which is dreamed in glass clouds
nudged mailbox side in the dreaming mirror flag
from which to derive thy blindness
moving to the trunk of the tree
I smile as much as wither
its grace graceless as winter
is how she moves the technology of summer
into high and idle drives
where my skull waits to be filled with small beds

<><><><><>

Plastic surgery constantly bathed in saliva
head through the grill of his cell knelled and unknown
force directed the formation of carbon like a dog in an ambush
plug-ugly yellow rat glamorous outwitting the drab minions of the law
the thick, guttural gangster myth never resorting to violence
public enemy number one to the crystal lattice

<><><><><>

I am both weak and strong.
I can throw the elephant over a wall,
and I always forget.


In the mills, in the hells,
in the abattoir I hold sway,
among the shoe minerals.


You can fuck me with death,
you can kill me with song,
but you cannot make me remain,
thus you cannot make me remember you.


The hand's map is written in a forest tangle.
The foot's curve
these voiceprints can be pioneer launch pads
one of which is a metal tool, the voiceprint.

<><><><><>

You ruby-crowned kinglets drinking fluoride ministry to the edge of a cliff
spiritual leaders, or certainly their successors,
because of your beauty, your corrupted splendor fulfilled in your hearing
heart: I will ascend into the holy mountain of filth and squalor
in the sides of the heights of the cloud synagogue
the proofs of the divine dean of prophecy captive in bondage
drugged leaves of paper dumped in there mellow mysterio scraped

JUGS OF PISS

My realest friend's death has made me a stranger to this life, left
a scorned life inside of me, agitating for truth, and for death's truth.
People can see that kind of thing blindly.
This landscape inside vault doors
is the fine-tuned result of a scorched-earth policy.
The pawns flow with milk from their heads.
The kings and queens spin in the milk brilliantly.
I am a pale pariah, half self cast out, china bull,
a man with the habits of a tormented squirrel.
The ant socialites range around me with their anti-sexes,
hyenas trying to graze on ice cream beautifully.
Their life-outsider structure is a dead language
that tempts the air's hunger for experience
to collapse like a star.  Slowly pistils descend into stamens.
Yellow is proclaimed shapely by the computer-led vegetation.
Earth is corrupted by cleanliness.  My species sucks a bowel-train
of remorse and mercy out of my tail cavity.

<><><><><>

A great sex toy is, she's on tape and obscene phone can whack off in your ear
   I measure my first line and mark it with a chalk line a tracing wheel and waxy
           then reel out the tape from the supply reel and hook it into carbon paper
               sweeping away existing working relationships joyfully fucking everyone
                                      relate to future things which against the pointlessness
                                 all booty had long since been homes and venerated as a saint jewel
                             only to be drowned in blood by wearing a golden diadem, with golden filaments
                        the hounds in hot loud echoes from the shaken boughs; lay dead above her eggs
                the incubating female


                   ascends these canyons, swallowing all her young's excrement, and in a haunted corner
                                   a large black dog scuttled past as lost in the darkening woods.

<><><><><>

Utterance as rock after rock led a peaceful and uneventful life
to the beginning of the universe to see the colour and substance of his money
this small patch of sky which made the embedded star in brightness and structure
onto the watch after it had been the monsters and the heartless ones vault and helped
a card-carrying limp-wrister two hot-twatted hookers
heat-loss mechanisms learning how to monitor their own heart rates


A bright blue border lies in chemical equations as a very large window
systems are sad the capital feasted, rioted, drank
the stairs are mad with joy for sex comedy
curriculum from weaponry completely wiped away gold
red hieroglyphic inscription of his crimes; every cum-drenched
fellatrix in the drab, scrubland valley

<><><><><>

Both matrix and crystals, and the new bone work
with the grain of wood along the oil molecules
water with a pinch of lemon crushed to death
under the slum of brothels and factories
blistered neck and shoulders the tarnish on the silver fork
is silver unchanged on both sides
the cooled molten salt in structure, function,
and color to make a grid masking
between the timing of sleep and what is inside the atom center
holistic chrome-plated toaster
with white due to dynamite dressed in their gold
cabs clattered by on the strip of canvas flapping the dim gaslight
spectrum like the sun tense blue of the river
like a rose through the wall in this joint

<><><><><>

Nihilist and criminal in the city hiding place glazing one of the sledges
palace the police had started
the girl's naked body on a bonfire in the liquid state criss-crossed his face
which bulges from the back of a conventional TV quickly
her jewelry grains of poison the charge of the tin the shattered body
men of violence who could no longer form words
suddenly burst in on her with the usual display of courtesies
stereo power mounted to lose eleven electrons black plastic grilles
a bloody, writhing mound of raw flesh gas, a silver atom

<><><><><>

Claimed for this life, by an essential accident.
Tapering off beautifully, thank you.
The vicious weapon of my body punishes the water, is a joke.
Radiance of sprung days flashing off into the future blank.
The emptied horizon is a lightning bolt.
Wet floorboards give way to trees.
Fireplace walls give way to mountain rocks.
Drawers of zeroes remain packed tight on their nothingness.
Drawers of ones remain lined up neatly with one another,
stabbing nothing with their nothingness.
Oaks mount elms to heaven after heaven after heaven.

<><><><><>

I know that I am a pool of snakes and you are a pool of snakes too.
I know that rebellion incarnate conspires against me to steal my life.
I kneel by the river and spike the electric.
I know the flag post is melting in the deep background.
To develop a scene, I stagger into the green envelope.
A warrior in a sundress tears my stomach, my heart.
The blocks of wood that mark the event of the tree's destruction
lie around me like murk, in their definition.

<><><><><>

Because they exist and I do not
all night I can feel the police
under my skin, where the mechanism
and its international cousins perk up


streets darkened with water
hills over the river beaming a last snow
dashed factories a huge open window
the machine work of light


a face, a hand, an opening--


Darkness of flesh, darkness of disorder
these buds were never meant to be opened.
And so our climax is death:
our destiny is death, and in its climate raging
                                            is more death


Never to understand the darkness or be with the light:
wings must extend from this.


Summer flesh slender and bright
with ejected life, awareness to the edge
beauty breathing kite limbs
pin me to moss fertile wreathing

<><><><><>

Pierced resonance, that cries to me an amp
    in my left ear.  The noise-remainder
     of outskirt melodies, frothing seconds.
        Necks of demonic souls broken
          over a guitar wire, the throat
         in its own thicket.

  Pierced resonance, which won't revisit
         this cavity.  These tangled spirit bottles and cords
            begging for more restlessness,
                               nano-revolutions
in the space of an eye mirror, the tangible
  fox's tongue, diamond cutting
     and softly eating.

The gelatin of spent days her dwarf enablers
   nibbling in caverns
 where beaming an envelope calendar
   bright rifts crumble overhead.

<><><><><>

They are sadists with love pills at the office
the fraternity of torture raging smoking in bed
this awakened life-force writing chemical names and formulas
a ring of red stars and a disk of molar-incisor bone


A full set of raised side rails along the base of doors
price those fears now and when I wave my handkerchief tool chests, cabinets might escape
in an inferno of scandal for the breezy kid in the tight sweater
queen smooth young gigolo hoodlum
you will know that the carriage is coming complete with three keys

DEATH OF A LIEUTENANT SEX MURDERER

Pockets of air, called cells, be beaten by girls dressed in black leather two gasoline molecules
hundred-thousand-dollar operators from rape trying to teach computers
garment worker climbing to greatness slid between her own ribs a crystal of sodium chloride
of electricity by the pickle grip with a stylish slot the bull wheel from chrome reverse all
seize power through an earlier marriage to the names of fanatics who have cared
fire raisers famous for their sexual depravities their delight in torturing the help from a spacecraft checkered stadium cushion.

WITCHCRAFT MAGNOLIA

Father of the future, there will have to be war ended; the jazz and rubber pants
drawn by a steel cable into a homing-cone--a society woman
underworld man plumes whipped up by the fierce wind minimalist works
hard-bitten pioneers who opened up flesh of their dead friends and comrades
blank expression My blood, my blood vodka and jiving to juke flight
rubbing against the neighbors' antenna always asking people that I use for decorating
to adhere to hideous green light snaking down from above
a kitten on her wooden cat door was a drug addict
the vinegar helps its mouth foamed with steaming saliva paint the ice-axe

<><><><><>

A liquid diamond in the pierced forehead,
winking expensively at death.
The thousands running on bare feet across
public highways.  No purpose,
now that you've had your hour in my codpiece,
for you to stick around and watch me torch the country,
the mythology of time,
the lies that run frantic in flesh,
and the errors of silence.
You are my agony, that cannot cry,
the irritating poise of the moon.
A doorbell crying on a dinner table
where eyes and bellies roll, but no mind moves.
Find me in the groove of the wax table, I am an ant's navel,
cold gazing at the train that ran over what it gave in me.

<><><><><>

Slabs of regret kept slab by slab on the cold
that never breaks, the hard vomit of water.
Drones on drones of death for us
served and served by the serving and serving
who serve us death on death droning
they'll study my frantic habits fuck you S government
what will be good for us for our family
idiots of state ministers of all everythingness,
you are the servants of death, you are the lingo
of death, you are the lyric of death complete,
death is all you do, mingling and mingling
          Deep in a fissure of glacier contests
          sorrow's little female hell
          comes twitching and twitching
          servants of love are death
          the tongues ministers of death are transplendent
          the false fire that makes them go out is quite original.

<><><><><>

I want to be shadows, milk, interrupted
                         and uninterrupted territory.
 You want to be a pile of silks
    where I occasionally go stabbing,
             helpless.  But my hardened nature
              will not be anchored;
    in the chemical overpower of huge and passing night
     your cloaked reptile felt speeches
                        are ribs breaking off     into the shattered day.
                   I rise on the anchor's rope
                when the ship drifts into its stature.

<><><><><>

Fling wall-pieces
        mortar to parchment of time
    to the floor of echoes
       to the resounding board
  where we fall our lips are a word void
  they speak it into the fullness
   like a goblet against a wall
  these are the people falling and
   tumbling across the words
  suffering puncture-wounds
      from these words and dying

<><><><><>

Wet with what the library rejected life,
stern in the rapports of a new friendship anti-system,
romanced by a goose from a goddess' middle finger
coarsened in flower undulating pages in the public park
of self in evaporation on curve of drinking fountain metal
face gone to fables in stretching blood on blood blood
eyes and lips and teeth smashed by love of force
dry with what life rejects, they curl up on the edges like birch bark
mate-fucks deepen the gravity pond
sweeten sinlessness with real error
plate-glass splinters on acidic snow
plunged through the dying wall of the party
wet with what the library rejected life

<><><><><>

I want you to tattoo my belly with kisses,
I'll lean back, study your scalp,
touch the soft indicative curve of an ear
as you assimilate the aching tip near your throat
and bathe your tongue's strength
in the warmth of my soldiers.

<><><><><>

Shelved with my other selves,
I look out, and wonder at my predicament:
my pages are voiceless, and nothing has reached
the room of no echoes.
I am dying in dry glue
no wetness to my struggle
found on rectangular deserts,
never branching for the cure of time and space.
What animates me is death:
the disintegration of my binding.

<><><><><>

Coils of unraveled planets
sperming and cooling
a deliberate engagement to ignite
that which brings death to all
humankind the total destroyer
creator of god
the runway of stars like a path of shattered glass
open river bald sky
sand and grass dry
at the crumbling edge, fruit of error
perfected.

<><><><><>

Leaden knockoff humans
tilting their eyes down
at anyone who has fallen
in a fit of weeping
brook side or in a hallway of grey linoleum
where urine drips out of the slammed lockers
leaden their dancing their dreaming
their horror of mercy and hard-lived lives
dying to look nowhere, to be nowhere
anti-souls who took the anti-dote
sitting down, silenced and scraping
the bottom of their insides for some purchase to make
that will vinegar the depths to fruition of mop head face garden
failed rep antiquity unit
galumphing at fossils and driveway maggots
slitting toad wallets to reveal silver all over
the ice planet of dead fuck.

<><><><><>

I used to take people in, find them chairs, try to get
them to stay awhile.  The ice sets on the outside.

I have my burden of miscommunication to carry.

As if my whole existence has been rejected,

I walk around reeling, with powers useless,

unconscious.

           At the bottom, closed-circuit void,

           un blur the entrance, a killer of psalms,

           dug in, wisdom less, cursed with joy,

           throttling the mutual organism for pleasure.

<><><><><>

The cold threatens my hands
     which I cannot retract.
 The mirror threatens the cold
     with my own death,
       as if that would dampen it.


The outdoors threatens the indoors
      and its instructions are intact,
       as if preserved in electricity.
     The lenses of time turn backward
         on its grid work of dancing.


   High afternoon waits to explode
          in the dragon's belly of a pocket
           restaurant, flashing and urging
          in six pairs of eyes for every
             one.  And partakes of the lunchbreak,
                 smoking and fleeing.


Scarves fall from my hands on the way
      to the laundromat, and pantyhose,
       and chandeliers of corsets and
     thongs, wait for me there
   in the ceiling detachment
     above the throne of coins.


Scarcity can wreck, scarcity
     can make an incredible animal.
 The scarcity of time can shrink
       the scarcity of all
          these other things.

<><><><><>

In the newly awakened areas more feline artists will emerge
    self-contained high-impact polystyrene animal-moles
at once the four hooves poised menacingly above;
    to excite the interstellar galaxy's outer edge trace its spiral arms
bright little highly textured dabs of his own for a long comforting licking
    a vast spherical shell of stars a robotic mission within the 186, 000 miles a second


      stretch from Earth a nonmetal charcoal briquette
   tornado torch to mimic the harmonic point
     with warmth, scent and sit in the mid-field or meridian
   simply stop struck by the most territorial observation
     the transmitters the cats were fitted with calendar, chrome-plated black dial
   for ladies unbreakable mainspring oval shape cavatina with play equipment


In the ring is the one central bulge and core surrounding the galaxy
a hollow place in his bed as elements burn

<><><><><>

I am burning my life
 down into a low murmur
                 of truth;
 waiting there, until vocables
              mutate into truth, nerves
       meet in truth, and all else
                is gobbled into truth,
                       wetly.

<><><><><>

Pretty as the head of a nail
   made for linen, scrolls and perfumes
      through an arch of polished town dreamed miniature
      where her eye-diamonds alert and sprinkling numerous messages
                                                                 ash on the concrete floor
    my jaw on the wood of not staring
         her belly of twenty-five country summers
              the oops texture of air arrested
          by the cool bustle of her curve and matrix
             thought bubble of jukeboxed intelligence
           the light in the belly with a hoof
             a sunset near her fingernail adjusting

<><><><><>

Even my hair was lit
      with a new fire
        when I bathed in the light
                     of your presence.
 That which breatheth life and wrecketh,
  shoots mesmerized out of the undying ground.
    Juiced and sprocket of caves,
     forked mouth signifying
                                everything,
          I give you both my enough and my not-enough,
          bring me ointment under cover,
                                       clover come tow me down.

<><><><><>

These machines are making me jumpy.
      I go around showing myself to people
           to make sure I'm still here.
     I don't want to be in a place
      where nothing in the air
        speaks to me.
 Behind a coiled mass of bronze
     a deep red fire goes on and on.
 In its throne of warped and muted echoes
                                          I am seated
                                                     and calm.

<><><><><>

Smashed diamond with towns in its slanting sides
 smashed diamond hides all the time
  glacier deep in its kisses departing
   shards of sidewalk to the moon
    drubbed with drunken foot

<><><><><>

A mysterious siren, my brother as I
must be rounded or flung high
into depths that clutch upward or downward
circuit the same light dull dawning
or trapped light in the belly of a mule
lips on cruise control body talking
or trapped light in the light of a cubicle
vacuumed land of the vacuumed man
a grey-rugged hell strewn with skin
peeling from being, dying cells in hexagram
dying, flirting with terror on a surf's
     promise

<><><><><>

The scorched cemetery of desire:
 fearless wind, no dagger, minimal
 conflict of bones, the cliff-faces in evening gowns,
    a hardened mystic, chest-wound in the golf-cart,
   fluttering of the thing houses of fools
    spattered by their own idiocy, hating the hollow
                                                                          dawn,
                                                     and jazz, and loving
                                             only their streamlined reptile.

<><><><><>

A morsel of my humanity
    preserved on the cliff's edge: the scarred
      neighborhoods applaud with streetlights
                                                 and wire.

<><><><><>

The face carved backwards: the spirit carved backwards.
The whole hideous self a wasteland of swollen milk.
Frisson in eyelids, in eyelashes, in long and curving and strong
and slender branches, that hold the climber with hands that walk upside,
down, lines knotted with other lines: mercury vapor, no face,
wildly edible poison, everywhere, the landscape inhabiting masks.
Telephone of ozone cracking like a June bug.

<><><><><>

Fluctuate between two beams fledge
               of the same, both denied
 bodysnatcher of dreams,
                 scaffold on empire's sidewalk
    which we walk under,
       partner in partner in parcel
                  to be parceled to power,
       within and without, trigger
           on trigger, demise on demise,
     until we fall prey, to the same light,
        absence's remainder: a space
      for those revisited by life to walk.

<><><><><>

Foliage of white marble
  perishable that, and perishable this
     marriage of total will to shadow
      lineage of ripe metal
    sparking and flanging the cavern's eyes
  hurry of water state for water
    speak for water hurrah for water
  tongues of amber sunrise over the yellow hills
impermanent record of imprisonment
  stranded on razor's nothing burnt civilization
   nothing to live for nothing to die for one with the heart
     breathing cages and piping calls
      bodies unalone, restlessly
        never free of one another
          never free
      city of functionless behavior
 unnecessary empire
      toil of fools
         disengage yield yammer of twilight
    fuck off into a fault-stammer

<><><><><>

With dual swivel electric hair
 we will beat, skin on these
   skin drums, until your prisons
      melt like taffy
    for the wounds of the poor
        and the mutilated.
   There will be no rest.
The glowing presence of different chemical joints on a highway
 pop-up trimmer for sideburns or mustache a deluxe lighted mirror
  sulfur and the dark blue streamers are richest and rear twin mats
    vanishing point ake up a whole
      in the same manner for car acoustics
       and flatten the roofs.

THE SKUNK SOBER

I dump licorice down my throat
 and avoid looking at the landscape:
   kissing your face, eating your ass,
     whoever you were, I knew you
         perfectly, and in return
                             I am lofted strangely
    so that the vague and pagan
              about death might dance.


The picnic levels that face out
  from corridors you walked, next to
       the ocean, drinking light
          from the erupted mirror,
           hair combed, ready for
             departure, ready for
                  helicopter
   you laughed with my ladies and everybody
       read the above and nixed it
           with a charcoaled thumb,


--it's too new, then too old,      
  plus it's one too many poems
   about rimjobs--but it's not
   about that, that's in addition to:
   love, it's great, I would just--
    drop a comma.


  My face went plaid with wine
   two American suckers at the
                   windowsill with drinks,
 tossing curses at the powerful
laughing hard, praising the customers of laundry
we painted 9 a.m. yellow ourselves
dabbed in gin to freshen the brush.

<><><><><>

With two quills protruding
                       from my tail, the feeler
          of space made blood,
  mercury paper a stillborn wall before me
     speaking is death under the vents of the mushroom
     speaking is death under the gills of the tower
     erotica blitz eyes covered with bookish lashes
      smile up tilted in the slash of a page edge
          remnant of beach peninsula follicle
                          glow fiber under the sand electronica

<><><><><>

I feel the burden of my tradition
 those who fought beauty out
         of the air.
 From a bejeweled position
     I stare out into the shit of night
The enlightenment of crones
                      descends like chicken feet
                                    on my head.
  I am rumored to be starring
       in several dimensions, a this-lifer,
               happily trapped in the cycle
                        of actions, the conqueror penis
                  comprehending
                             the insides of mankind.