Yeah just like that

Tithonus & Aurora
How You'll find me how I'll find you, for you and You alone

For the Sake of Magnets I'll speak firstly of the Attractions:

Those that carry dawn upward and aloft, each motive lifted from the ground

The dust and sand splashed Up-drowning forever the starry afterward

Glow that glow that like candlelight illume those dark hours in the sweat of Search

Those Anxious browning pages-studious endeavours each flutter and Explode

To the center to the Fury of the dawn, Wake Aurora our Rose is here

Hurry secondly for the Love of light I'll dowse these phrases in the Sun:

Baptismal font Mercurial, Brass pooling in the lowlands in the valley Explode

Forever aloft forever for next the light explodes. Wake fawn, wake bird

It's time now hear the coming of the Rushing of the dawn, penchant fears

Blown Out, and in that blinding whitely oblivion I've seen everything I ever

Knew, I without body am for Giving, I without envy am for Love

Searcher relax your shoulders, thirdly for the Body, for your Bones:

Powder the dawn with your machismo, The Dynamo Electric Heart Explode

For lastly you are arrived, for the hands in hands the patient Nursed in the others

Exchange the pulse the Trade of Heat, the Caravan of pheromone Along the arm

Along the spine, the Hips the legs and Up the Surge of mind, to the Heart the exploding of the Heart

Can you hear it? The way your heart Erupts, the Sudden-shudder overcoming stroke

Of love, for finally the love completely, As the shadows scatter behind their foils:

Lunar & Solar greet the coming of the Glory of the Lord. In a meadow Alone and patient

In a field where nothing is grown, where the dawn breaks fingers with its explosive Rays

Where the kernels of Grain-explode and dash to dust to dust the Wind in a place where we seem alone

And always together are holding each other there is a surging beneath the earth where

She greets us with her open Breast, where we are touching always touching and always always together

Firstly Touch the earth Beneath Your feet

Secondly know she weight and Gravity lifts, this is flight

The vein of Gold in all of it, Thirdly know its Nature

For Finally the love, and know then that I am near

A Brand New Day

That Rock Album

Doxhund
who Dare play favorites with the Heart

The Way the turnstile skipped Most important Beat

Gave the impression it wanted us to Dance

That it Wanted us

that it Wanted us to Want us

The Way that record played in Congress to our Sex was Remarkable

It Opened with this fallow Verve reclaimed

from Long Forgotten Vault in Record Studio

And then The Dropbeat came rush down the Stairs

and stumbled on Stage with an Absolute Lust for Life

Stepping to its heels it fell into a kind of Dance to dance to

A Sort of Tribal Anemia that spurred our Desire to Fuck One Another

The Way that Riff fit through the Vocoder and

held our intentions long enough to let us Smile Devilishly Smile

The Way it Attended to our Beds, Nursed our Cocktails, took long Hard Drags from our Cigarettes

The Way the Vocals came pouring from the chords

Words I’d Gladly kill my hearing to

And the Band Played on Long into my life

Through our Loving through our Violence

Through our fucking and our Friends

until they were tired and kept playing till I was tired

and unable to Go, till we stopped listening to eachother and Broke Apart

But Sometimes when the worlds gets too Dirty and Mean,

we meet up where we first met up

for Drinks and Conversation

Those Beats In Employ of Gods
Those Beats On the Envoy of God

Alan Turing

My Christopher
for my Brother

I Took that Bite because I loved him

In my Dark Soul, where these Platitudes arise,

euphemisms for sleep summoned-up other names for

The Chocolate Moon, The way Li Po Leapt into the Yellowing Moon

forever in the river, that thing you loved most about me

there that’s it, the nice way of saying I’m Dead too

I’ve ever been dead ever since

And so are you aren’t you, so are you,

there’s a kindness to strangers

died by accident You, forever boyish You, I survived Along alone

I Taught them to fight their wars, to figure out their Enigma in Hut 8

little did they know how dead I really was, all along all of that dead, as dead as

Nevermatter, remember lunch, the way our Doomy hands Traded gentle brushes, Never certain

The nervous glances, the heartfelt way we’d Caress, remember Behind the tree, past the liegh

were we first kissed, of course you don’t your dead, silly boy go and die why don’t you

at least you’ve built a man worth dying about, at least you’ve cordoned this apple

that I probably would’ve tasted anyway and fixed to my heart, my external glorious heart

wherein its polished surface I may whiteness the white divine

Oh my love, where were we when you died? you somewhere in my fiction

I miles deep in a cavern of chalk-dust and refuse, I can only hardly remember you now

and so when you go I’ll go, I mean we’ll go, together-forever

Demolished Poem

Divine Locket do not Break

Your word is Demoltive

Wherein a Heart

in the throat

screams (Bloody-Murder) During

Sex

In a glass house rattling

in a glass house where we throw stones

There are no Pain in your kisses And I cannot love you,

And some of this I’ve never seen

So long as I feel good, I’ll keep on feeling good

within the cosmofuckal suffuse of us, in that sawdust

See how the lean of the house

How Dare you be that gorgeous

the bridge is drunk it topples over

the Apartment building is also Very drunk and it stumbles

the Stadium is not drunk, but lonely enough to collapse

silly drunken regiment of buildings

No I cannot

with your beauty, with your adorable-swallowing

And the building gulped, sucked in a breath, held it and collapsed

the skyscraper tipped her drink to the sky, said her prayers and dove earth-first into the dirt

No no no it’s too sour, Collapse

all the ancient glass

highball bottles shudder reflexively,

all the window panes Shudder & collapse

Gravity is envious of a High Point

keenly aware of each in the foundation

it smashes it against its face

like war-paint

there in a glass house rattling

there in a glass house where we throw Stones

Spaghetti-oh my!

We’ve got Bitter in our Mouths

Never Trust a Woman with a Broke heart

Swear to God that’us the first thought came Cross his head

his ambient hand skirting the desert Floor for a Revolver

Having it Holstered his next instinct to Hoist himself up answered by a

Sharp Jetsam of pain in his hip

He’d been shot for Hours, the blood stifled by the dirt and style of the wound was nevertheless profuse

Now stood up he took three mostly turned steps and surveyed his surroundings,

same as they were he still felt a certain discomfort with their disarray

the now mostly dead Horrendous Eight strewn about

Terriffic Confessions each, the Secrets of their deaths

hidden guns and skinning knives Sucker-punched all about them

he stole the lighter of now dead Number-Six and illuminated a cigarette

in order he Might chance by some reason for his mood

the impressive pain near his holster quickly extinguished by the two

and some mile walk he’d have to make back to town

the Turkey Vultures eyeing his wound where certain enough to follow him home,

a Company and Prosession

He was Doomed, probably the chances were slim as the shadows in that High Impossible Sun

counting the dead for what they were and promising on his mothers dead Body to bury them

he proposed some water to his lips, which they quickly rejected in hurtful spits

the now dust ridden hacked up remembering how destitute it really was

but sure-as-hurt his color slowly returned

the sweat cursing the talcum collected to his face into a sort of mud-like Acumen,

the hardened features of his face took that first step steadily homeward

scooping up his Remington and Colt from the stone glass of his now dead compatriots

he had to make this right

toying with a few men’s hearts, now that’ll get a gal killed and she had to learn that,

for that she had to die, and he, he had to live

Dinner Prayer

Vagrant Dinner Prayer

Just After the first Seasonal Raining, where the dew comes on Horseback, Miami is transformed into

a kind of Killing Field for the Birds, Just Prior something Very Religious Occurs

An apple to the waterfowl, greetings for Passover, welcome bird

Gorge on the Memory Goddess imbue us with the sight

For our offerings

Let the sandpiper rest in downs of feather, for he has traveled the most and his wing-Veins surge with exhaustion

Let the albatross worship the moon for she is most holy suffused with Grain

Let the shearwaters drink gulps of the Coldwater for they are most Aged and practically dead anyway

Let the ringed Chick Dance for she is most exuberant, small and shear

Let the enormous buzzards feast for they are the gregarious storytellers

Let the honey buzzards perch for they are in the multitude of the glory of the lord

Let the bottleneck warblers’ eye adjust for they are full of insect and tired

Let the ruby-throated humming-bird praise and baptize us for she is most careful

Let the woodland Kingfisher shake off his burden for he is most doused in the Tempest

Let the Lesser Cuckoo Alone for he is without spouse for the moment

Let the rainbow Bee-eater bring on the feast for she is most accustomed to the region

Let the Bohemian waxwing unroll the carpet for she is most new to our traditions

Listen for the thunder of the coming of the hurricane for it hails the multitude of invertebrates

Hear them as they tunnel and breed in the Earth, hear their rush and greed, let us therefore feast

Girls

A Bath Demolished

Marguerite lies helpless in the Wine drunk total of sudden love

Her ears to the Music, knee deep in her bath Tub, shiverless

and although no one noticed her crying, her tears were good

Revering how it happened, earlier that day

in a moment of profound vanity, she had carelessly flipped back her full locks of hair and got caught Dead in a stare

innocuous boy, she dropped her things shocked at his utmost

flustering to pick them up, nevertheless he helped her anyway

and he carried her all the way down the pavement

across the street

and during her long drive to her flat

he helped her turn the key twice and swing open the door

it was hopeless she stripped immediately as she bunny-hopped and wrangled her way to the tub

each careless piece of clothing fluttering utterly to the hard wood floor soaked in gentle sun

So here she iswrithing in the dreamwoven undertow of the bath

Insomnia Like Insomnia

Consternation

Listen to the Traffic breeding and breathing in the Nocturne tumbling to-cover the city

I’ve no reason to sleep

And there’s Hardly a participle awake enough to Capture and struggle up next to

So I’m sure I’ll witness that Slow beast of Dawn Crumbling over the diagonally blurry line of trees

And I’ll regret the such-same nostalgic notion of the dreams I would have had

the lamppost and I are secret friends in insomnia

If only I could sleep

slumber Ancient mind, You’ll write it down tomorrow at least

in only I could collapse infantally

My eyeballs hurt their border/the brothers conscious, unconscious

caught far between the lines of either

And so much of this is rest, Lurid and Alone

So much of this is the memory of Much of Space

So much of this is Retinal, the Achening/scheming Musculature of Sleep

the wanting architecture of Bone Only drearily aware

Of the envious Attire of that Soul wrenching trance of Forevision

Of the Séance inherent in complete knockout Haunts feet above the bed

And I’m sure I’ll catch its eye as it hurries from the room tomorrow

Iraq at War

Insurgency

Of Dunes and Bullets, I know little, so this start’ll be brief

of Our Long ways Home mine is the most of all

I practically dug a hole to Babylon

And were this Earth all dirt that would’ve been such a Problem

Knowing this journey’ll hurt, I’ve brought supplies

A Stethoscope, A Miner’s Hat, a Canary

Knowing this journey’ll be Long, I’ve brought Food

A Candy Bar, An MRE, A Canary

Knowing that I will now know the way home I brought a Map

According to it, I’ll probably Die

And Hell, if Battles were still fought like battles once were

I’d at least have the Glory of knowing your name

And if Bullets were still fought like Battles once War

In Thousandsome Cavalcades of Death

I’d at Least have the Glory of Dying with you

If Battles were still fought like Bullets once Were

I’d at least have the Glory of dying by a Boxful of Sword

Nevertheless, I’ll miss you

Nevertheless, I’ll miss coming Home

Nevertheless, I’ll forget why we’re Here

Offensive

Narcissus in Lesbos / nothing from something / God was Two women

Neither of us is as useless as both of us

Loosey Goosey offers Derision to Hanky Panky, Both Say Yes; This means nothing to either of them

Let us Kiss Our Lips Together, Let us Come Together or Else

or Else I will come Alone, Misallocate Your Funds and Declare Victory for both of us

None of us is as useless as both of us

As I Sweep my Fingernails among your Torso, as I touch I am touching your Skin, Your aetherials of Hair

We will slide around one another, This doesn’t really work but I love you anyway

We will give birth to each other, One into the others Womb at Once, nestled there I am safe

Philandering the theme of purpose, the coitious interruptus of inappropriate slaps and High Fives

in the pantheon of Hedonism, Our Protest Vague, Our Sex Hot

We will Giggle into each other’s eyes and become thus drunk, like a resvoir

Many of us are as useless as Both of us

And as things get serious and Laughable, as we approach the apex of meaning greeted throatily

by a blush of Void we’ll perish in the Growth of Love, they’ll fall apart as they were built, unlink as they

are already unlinked, coo and cuddle like Oil on Water, ready for more In that after-Sex Glow

Both of us useless as both of us

Animal Suicide

precocious Snow

harbinger of temperance

Young snow glowyourself off

a ripcord of scream tears across the night

bledpetals perform your illusivereddining

darkenbenew Transform my lovely be the trail the drip still lacquered with warmishpulse

Be the Bloodcell caught unawares by the sudden thump bravely probing the coldest

snow ignorant of her lack of reinforcements, small dying frontline, the déjà vu avant-garde of death

She must’ve felt the calm before the

As a person falls to be hung there is a translucent moment of levity As

the ax drops there is a murderous rage to the drop As

an elephant in Tangiers stops to let the wind hit his face before going the way of the Jellyfish

before swimming out some thirty meters and sucking in elephant gulp upon gulp

precluding to tip like a Titanic, sinking just as the waters get dark some thirty meters down he

sure the night was cold, sure is cold out they said as she entered stage up

sure the wind might have rustled her ankles, primed her Novacainenerves

brought blue berries on her cheeks, made her Hooker makeup seem

Sure, the bastion band had many gold trumpeters but he, I mean before he took his own life

He could play the Trumpet man he could squeal Women nude he could

sure before he took one too many Vicatin he could blast the women’s clothes right off their Bones

him, yeah the guy in the back, sure her the one who dropped Thirty meters Seven stories

The Bamboo who led his dozen-member tribe into the sea, torch lofted above them the night sea

welcoming in warm-watered embrace a tragic soul into the paradigms of Suicide, you’d

never have thought it’d be her, Sure she hit the pavement I guess but I mean-a-hell-of-a-peaceful

way to go anyway

as I was saying all them Hyena’s ate that Gazelle, the one who ran off the cliff full kilter

just as if someone from behind him was chasing him,

Sure, she messed up her hair, but before long before it was pinned tighter than a steel drum

and Sure, they feasted

who wouldn’t of you tell me whouwouldn’ta shot himself with a Wife like that, what Kind a Jack

O’Lantern coulda lived with that caw caw caw and sure, he shot himself out there in front of them all

but c’mon, who can blame a vulture for letting go each tense pull turn swoop of the wing

who woulda blamed a soul for that, seriously if she wasn’t smiling the papers would be different

but all in all/overall/overall herself same person is laced in that snow and I got the feeling,

a chill in my spine if you want that

that last cigarette tasted like Gold flake that that last breath was no scream and I’d pay you Real

American dollars to shout me from the rooftops if it weren’t that she was smiling all the way down.

I also forgot writing this

Cellular

it made the distance

between us and them, those people we are going to be

seem so short

a pile of Phoenix

the people we’ve been

Along Shu road, there is an inlet of a certain stream

by whose waters I have spent my forevers, generations on Fire

Says the Body to the mind

there is recognition to the ringlets of trees, a datum of forethought

when you read this, remember me, us, or all of us

a recognition for the alabaster sediment infused with crushed flaming-burning-smoldering bird heart

a flutter to Jove, a shudder of earthly molting, a fear relaxed to a darker much more darker unknowable

Emotion, will I always be this, have I always been this, who were we, who will we be?

Yeah Like that

Provenance of the Burgundy Rose
Secret Contracts in the Soul

All Five Senses Clung like Dew

to my Swift Gazelle, I miss you already

Slender eyes Aglow with specious wanders

Interferon and Rainbows coalesce, this is something

notes the Amygdale to the Imagination (slowly stripping her clothing

First her shoulder blades, her knees Naked as her toes

Her only droplet of Mystery remaining)

poised Faun Cockedlucent for escape routes diverge

Your courses here, Bloodflow and sweat, in a dark room, Warmly

And as we camped out hillside after Hillside

Moonrise and Moon settings us back to rest

Cavalier Pulse my eyes ever ablaze with your, this is something

notes Serotonin to the heart (where she often lies undressed, lax against a Valve

Fluttering where ought a steady beat lie, the life shortening

With each hurried gasp of blood, her nakedness a partial coating)

Perchance as your petticoats divide the night

and we alone/alight in the naked fire, for several evenings

together, lackluster windmill chorus turn the grain of love, this is something

notes sepal & stamen to acrylic paint (spilt nakedly across the grass, carelessly gorgeous

This is how the Earth was given us flowers, in the shadow of

Enormous Romance, the first careless Love affair

It Broke with a SpringBud cusping its laurels and softly

twirling to the ground, a Heavily burdened Carafe of Love

wavered briefly in torpor & current of Breath to shed its extra weight

pound off pound each this crystal, in Seven Nearly broken parts

And, Suddenly everything was Color, This is something

notes Cosmos to Holiest drop of Blood (nakedly also stirring in the earth, lending her careless colors

Openly innocent and patiently diversifying Genomes of Color

In a Milky Way felt as a briefly wavering Beat in the heart of Truth

For the Love of Mike

Cupid Incantatory

White Rosebuds in Love with Earth

dulce, dulce (stern cloud)

And the Silver pitcher of milk (the orbits of moon)

Those that with must be demure onset demand

unction and uprightedness from cloud forms

those that demand their scenery with cigarette faggotry

built albedo of the hand, structure and slightly legs abreast

you of lush clothe disrobe; reveal your form to be the less than it is:

Twelve cleft and twain occurrences of step in the nighttime by moonlight accoutrement of

clatter break

you well-poise pay attention those blue eyes, bring them curtly forward, dress yourself and

answer me

milk, milk (casual stone)

and the tiny silver pitcher dulce de leche (the whirling white apple)

Those that with must be Arthurian broadset beguile

unction and uprightedness from the rock forms

those that whist their scenery with jawbone faggotry

built libido of the Armstrong, structure and grossly legs abreast

you of lude clothe disrobe; reveal your form to be the less than it is:

Several meeting soul slippers paw the earth junipers to attention in the daylight by suntime of

soft break

you well-loose pay attention those blue eyes, bring them casually up, dress yourself and

answer me

Rollerblading is Sexy

Sonata to Venis
And Desire’s name is Rollerblade

Her tanned thighs in a toned glade

Here at sundown, whose Dark curls

whose lush fields abreast might lead

Anywhere, anywhere luscious and Green,

Swimming through the coolie and Air

whose sweet zephyr triffles her posture?

a trouble I could cure, Her backbone fair

Pliant and Erect, with each meditative stroke

I am Fluid-deeper Taken to her beauty

a spine I could brush my fingers down

I could blow like a candle down her nape

clothed in a cropped shirt. The soft -gown

angle of her shoulder tipped to the peach wind

As if always this sunset was for her

subtle loft valleys and rivers churn

to her body, her body a pastoral Her

lust with its soft shadows and turn

into night. And I am sure when that nymphet

First has sex, she’ll die a little in that embrace Faint

under the weight of this man And his suddenly

leaden Heart, thrusted at her, a tragedy A virgin

quality or luster I could place in some poems forever

There a place for her Alone. there,

a person or guardian awaiting her return.

She glances back a fjord of galaxy of milky

way and endless white stars between us

I am thrust between immortal and her ilk

transfixed and mastered to her shapes.

In a world I can’t recognize,

it must be wonderful. And now the cherry glow silhouettes her Striding off into an Aspen glaze

I wrote this for my Stupid English Teacher

How Practicality Killed that Spanish Dog/ I do what I’m Told/ A sin

There aren’t no Glamour and Stars to being a Mule

Gorging oneself, a Glutton of cellophane cooked shut

Several baggies of queer tasting white powders brilliantly Bitter to the Taste

A Meximelt Cocktail of Rhohipnol, GHB, and Black Tar Heroin

I take a Hard drag on my Cigarette. One more Girlfriend and you’re home,

Scott free in another-Land, Someone else’s place, Someone else’s Dog

Human Trafficking they call us, a semi-Truck ethos of likeminded Organs convalesce in the back

We Shuffle into the sweltering trailer, One woman moves a rupture up her Spine

Her heart starts Attacking her in tridents of the Lore of Drugs; she’s already a dead Dog

Road kill twitches, Clouded Oracles All

Border Checkpoints are a Fiction; Sympathies of the kind that often get people Dead

And the undertow of the Girth of drugs, we’re silent, no noises only hundreds of breaths

Tempera terra cotta roof tiles accompany our journey, indifferent cargo, how I envy you

Then the Rouge breaks through, we blush to the flashlights cold stares, unblinking

He runs, gets shot, we stay, we live, Sucked Dosed, burgeoning Semi-Coat, and a Little bit comes bleeding through

For Mom

Warmly flustered Mnemosyne

on the turning of an Age

Snowflakes like

Snowflakes like

her Gloves falling to the ground

Like her Knees

Like her kneeling

There is, After all

a Place for us

We are a concoction of our

divulged/inadvertent childhoods

a recollection pastiche of our

orbited childrenhood

we are, after all

only children growing old

I prayed for (you and you) came

she said in snow, draw your wings

arm yourself, suit-up for battle

And he said stop crying

stop snowing after all

if nothing else, I’m here now

And if for fabric the snow

if for fabric this blanket

if by way of warmth we

grow older to the storm

to the center of the heart

we are after all, only snowing

Then the Breath

then the breathing

then the heave and halt of breath

the weaving heart of breath

the center of the heart of breath is after all

only briefly steaming heat

The lift and heart of heat

the warmly unfolding sudden heat

the weave and scent of hot

unsounded warmth, the private shiver

the bountiful heated unsounded shake after all

only naturally accustomed to the waif

And the empty silent heat

the bellows the monastery

the stainglassed forever hot

threshold of childrenhood

the something girlish place is after all

only nothing to be feared

And I am here with you now

aren’t I, warmly wetting snow

divergent picturesque I am

soon be spring we are

after all only unsprung

Winter-heated

Nineteen Forty Nine

In the Beginning, there was Chrome
A measured tale of Romance and Tragedy

In the Galaxy of the Nineteen fifties, there were only a scant few starships

several burgeoning lunar cities, whole Fiction fleeced Binaries of dark and doom yet to be spread

Yet to Lather our milky-canvasecular trope in half, barely there micro-expansion And the Lonely gem

of our Heart-Sun had only just erected the talisman-gargantuan of towers at her still Virgin center

Silvery Pink, only picturesque in her blacks and whites

only recently discarded Sepia Cosmos tilted to her golden Era’ed stride out the Ethos

or the Zeitgeist or whatever blew away with the Great Depression, felt in the Universe

as a Dull and dusty sandstorm, Ballroom chandelier crooked with a million little dents

No matter, her roaring twenties her shambles of stars, dangling from an Over-Sexed earlobe

No matter her gracious Industrial constructive early teens, this beautiful Buxomer Blonde was

a New Gal Pal by the fifties, by the time the bomb had struck her Virgin Petticoats revealed

the Cosmos what-if speculumed wide open for all the doctors to view, no less her Religion in Shambles

This Maybe adorned starlet had a silver screen and a heart of gold Then somewhere in some

Asteroid she was sure, some Glimmering Meteor of Hope plate laced in Chrome

Teal dreams were not keeping this moth-winged wunderkind down, no dreary dreams

of some sixty hippy loving revolution born in her blue prairie eyes just yet

she was all sunshine and something else’s, whodunits and wingding things tucked all over her vast

and corpulucent bodice, some much fiery gold and the turned wonder of her motor cars

the something other and the where we going now boss mystery of the Crime of the century

the Crown Jewel thief of time the Cosmos then, the stealer of headlines and the birth of a God

The Future

No More Heaven/No Need/What Hell

In the future, we’ll live forever /trading organelles for plastic pig hearts

Say hey Scientist can you with the mirthful shovel unlock for me the Secret of the Stem Cell

the Golden trove of disease curing entailments, can you add fur slippers to my cancer

make it designer curable, I want sleek cures to sleek diseases

Oh yeah I’ve got aids this week, a few antiviral and a new hypothalamus from now I’ll be

Tip top I’m sure, only bother is I scheduled my skin reinforcement same time could you

reschedule by anychance, my make a day My way calendar only has openings at

three or four, I need to pick my kid up from soccer practice after I retrofit my hair

change the color of my iris and invetro his brother later that afternoon, also will my

Host of Antidepressants’ Ambien’s and heart pills interfere, I sure as Hell hope not

In the Future, our flying energy efficient motor cars will Diagnose our space elevator trip with the bends

I with both arms flailing about in the pressure chamber might write poems about being in space

about my imminent, need for a new hippocampus, due to my several hundred-year-old brain cancer problems

sure, in thefuture the only thin that’ll get us will be freak accidents, those glossy pages of consumer

Reports Warns as the leading cause of Death the freak accident, Headline reads a man operating a small army of RoBots in Outer Space has his

consol suddenly explode…no one noticed he was dead for days, for days the smell they say those bacteriums

Dine in Hell, if we’d only caught it a few hours earlier we might’ve stemmed the problem

His clone will miss their comradery, his loss doubly worse because his grandfather only recently

passed due to a fuckup in the matrix of his most recent triple heart bypass surgery

a tragedy really

Reminisce

Just a note

here to tell you that

I’m coming back

just this once

from outer space

to tell you how I feel

My-cocked Wings abundant

I with all golden locks am

for no other reason than

the beginning of time

here to tell you that

without a doubt for the remainder

of history all sword blades

are Goldenrod and steel

are Rose, Copper, petal and stone

I’ve marked a stone so that

for all intensive purposes

without further concern I am

to note that paper is bullets

mango a Japanese Geisha

that without a doubt as

aforementioned earlier nectar is the left

And right ventricle of Gold, capillaries electric

Now! for further information, consult the Kiosk

and for further discussion

note how the stars taste like ice cream

how bolstered insects scurry like supermarkets

how when provoked a beaver smells

of Gunpowder like the Moon

of promises which incidentally often

smell of lavender and taste of sandalwood

or of nuclear reactors and stale cheese both of

which have a lime-scale chemical aroma

not all too different from Rotting new office smell

and that if touched on the peak of the vein, the sting

of the heart is a sword and goldenrod her

floral counterpart, that dance sounds like

trapeze artists who often look like,

and I do mean just like, the beginning

of a movie, the descent of the lights

the thrill of knowing That Tonight you’ll have

Sex, And that that looks like dawn the morning

after Hiroshima that that feels just like

standing on the last new untraded plot

of land in the Naked-heart of darkness the center

of the desert the soul of black footed

accidentally missed clubface, the soul

of the desert that incidentally crumples like banana bread

that dissects like solar flares, whose cross-section

appears as an etch-i-sketch across the lateral

visual cortex of the mind, which taste and acts

(a rare parallel) like Jello-mold, fruit chunks and all.

Lonliness

Alone

cast in a light of dried ivory and snow

the softest most invisible hand and the dark hair of night

nothing-less, nothing more

alongside a brown-wooden chair, oak Varietal

stone-inlay, French and floral, kiwi and hummingbird

iron-side clasping, hugging the chair together

within a room of gold-paint, a soft gold leaf

round cornered wainscot, the thunder and echo for Carthage

in every picturesque Baroque something other of the whitewash, flush

outside a barren snow, in a snowstorm

a single snow trapped stove,

a solitude of grass poking through

she is looking outside And crying

The Sun is Alone out there

The night is Like the Sun

Though I cannot see, though I am Blinded, stellar cartographer so Lonesome

Fog lamp of Ghost ship Though I am a Prophetic I thirst for your conductions Lonestar system

Though I cannot know your solar-Flareful love, Though I am Blind to Love

benignly adrift your efforts are neither wasted nor varicose Although I am a Prophet of Love

Though I can’t know your benevolent smiles, Though I can’t brail your Saintly-grin (for-you-are-too-hot)

Bliss-mistress continue to conduct with vibrant(colorful)arches the celestial, the solar(Rainbow)flare

And the Fire and the Silence of the Cosmos

Conductor Wand, illuminate Illuminate by witchever craft may my paper-be-lit, Nuclear Lamp Illume!

Though you are hearthside coalfire Furnacer, though you who may only see me in daylight/daytime

Are Magnitous Kenning sticks of space, Though you may not (point) your varied Atomic henceforth

Apollo I love you| with rapturous heart| Birthmother of Phaeton the Lover of-most-of-all

Though schroched I now know your Burnt/Bone plight

Sappling of Aarons Rod, free of varicose veins, transpire your sweaty Love to me

Oakey sweaty Almond sun, belight pathways the intersection of several important Happenings Illume

Though you are more than this | ship set adrift | Though you cosmos are benign

Cascade-Almonds from the willow branches; rain the Cosmos in sweet wet almonds

I Love you who most brightens my shape whose Albedo is most, I love you

Although I cast mine down Last, watch as it consumes all other Evils

Fatigued Salamander, who eats ashes as Bread, you Sun in Hell

Although I am ne’er present at rest, Love for me the curled authority I present

Fogship Ghost light I am you you are me

Endless night | fat Stargazer| Lonely head in the Clouds

More Spaghetti

Ontology of an Outlaw or How to Rob an Bank full-a-bills or How Cowboy Jim Died

Wheeled in his corpse on horse feet

what the doctor said:

Apparent cause of death exsanguinations dew entire to the seven gunshot wounds suffered deep in his Chest cavity, also of note the bloodied lip, the bits of broken glass in fist, a long rigid scar some years old straight down the left side of his face

what the bullets said:

Liver wound to heart wound the explosive segments of meat now drip full register, both lower leg wounds report little or no surprise and overall only the gunshot wound to the neck reports any cool harmony

what the bloodied lip might say, or what jim’d say to himself in heaven in robes impossibly white:

well fuck I’ll miss my horse

what the broken glass was able to speak for itself:

I think the world a stage and all its actors deaf dumb and blind to the oncoming of their constituents, I with this double transparency can both reflect Jim’s impending doom and tell him how to react, the rage to feel, seeing his brother to his back loaded gun in hand, I would have punched me too

what the long rigid scar some years old straight down the left side of his face said:

received in cock fight over the sum of some money paid out to the robbers but inwardly dealt by minds in whole to the other till Jim in grandeur leapt table side and stopped the fighting with a fist and some witches brew

The prairie speaks:

This measure of my earth severally times newly conveyed worms some distances to nourish the fields

What Jim’s Colt Samson said:

to the prairies to the grasses I bow in several ways, firstly drawing light to myself I drink the black bucketfuls of vision into my well bred skin, thundering muscles and the weight of bank bags still evident in my skin markings

What Jim’s Cold Laura said:

1. an uppity bank teller in san Francisco

2. a man, no reason, no name, foul disposition

3. some whore said owed money of

4. the sky several times, the stars Arcturus, Vega and Rigel

5. a mangy dog ill tempered to wake the owner

6. The owner

7. a friend and compatriot too eager for wealth, a gun-duel at sundown

8. a floorboard, a clapboard picture frame and a doorknob causing a ricochet largely believed to have killed my final victim, namely Jim’s brother by a severe wound to the head, neural images showing the bullet to have entered below the left ear traveling north northwest at six hundred miles per hour exiting the skull at the right temple imploding several brain masses, interrupting several thoughts and imploding them by chain reaction, Jim saw his brother die

Jim’s brother lamenting his own passing to Judas Iscariot:

The Vital action to note here is that I did not intend to kill my brother had he not been such an indignant cowboy, had he not provoked me and had he not stolen my wife, my money and my dignity, not that my betrayal ended karmic but that his death, the meanness and tears in his eyes, the shock and awe all my last thoughts were as a way of reconciliation a recoil for both of us

What Judas said:

I know how you mean

What a bystander said:

No doubt those men had their reasons but such a violent bloody way of going about it, I tiptoed in and saw both were dead, or namely that one was nearly dead and the other stone cold sure as dead as anyone ever been, I nipped my foot in the bloody glass on accident and held the man’s hand out of common courtesy, he drew his weapon futilely I suppressed the instinct and he drifted away to another place

what those fellow warriors in Valhalla sang to Jim:

congratulations you are Among us

What the Sheriff said:

Good Riddance

The prairie speaks once more:

If in all the annuls of history the legend of Jim Crown comes about again to sweeten the lips of braver men

then write it in the prairie books

speak for each and every one of us,

open a tome to several pages on the exsanguinations

the saintly hood of Jim

nevermore to be heard on this earth he, it is told

in his death whimpers noted how sorry he was to his brother

that this is an awful mean life and that only he meant

retribution not revenge, that only he meant to give as gave

to take as took and win as won, to be a better man as a better man

to sling guns to steal women and generally smoke several times a day

Haiku Justice #5

Oh, and what Strange piece of Trivia is this

Said the Policeman to the Deadgirl

I read his Pad it said, Grow be new transform

A Good Poem

On Death of Aeroplane
Or planetcrush in morning obscured by sun

A procession in several dresses And the Sapphire of the moment

is Overwhelming

Their eyes of course the lean of their hair their course steps

are placement

Several feet below the dresses in the Metrioric Ground the gourd the hallow

is a Fruit

A Redder-plum earth, pride in several cantilevers lowering the coffin at

Orion’s feet

His sandaled lower levels accompanies in Bowstring, a Minor C

of Love

Spherical Dawn remember me, the coast, the drying Shore of Earth. the Somber Costa

Del Sol

Albino clouds, The unction curtain of bones the dying precious

Engines is

A Pleiades of Suction, of Horizon/successive, the next sobering wave of Oven

Gravitas/Space

Bleat Bleat Bleat the heavens and the waves upon translucent Space translucent

in the Skys

Aviator wings and yet the starlings left tailside droop and are such that as the plane

crash morning

Summons so much fervor all the papers dredge the scene for news, No survivors say the headlines

say the Pleiades

No Survivors say the sunshine rush, the crunch and cruel of Traffic nor the blue something

of the Pleiades

Nevermore the apple cut clean of airplane air, Nor the deepest burial, goodbye night sky

Goodnight

Several moments to impact still the people they are ready, hand in hand and waiting

for the drop

Most Gods are late, some earily tap their watches, let’s get this over with say the oldest ones

to God

Several more seconds later and the last cloud layer and the Pilots all lean back

This is it they’re Sure

A Cabin’s worth of certainty/silently broken fairly by a whimper is camaraderie and

the Pleiades

Their weeping sowing breast purge the scene of sorrow, the Assurance in their steps, the tilling

of the Grave

No Survivors | The Broken Wing | there is Jet Fuel everywhere | We’ve Left footprints

High on Acid or Crush

Checklist for Love in Sudan

for the Slave of Love

Trustworthy Rose to tell the flowery inflammability, to sew in flames the loins

engender their luxury deviant panting, with the biblical soul

prone grass of the Sermon on the Hill, imbue with your mint retelling the

blades (the clatter of) the valid Lone gunman of jest; Foot deep in Loam

Curl my toes in coltish-dirt around Rose Bush roots, perspiring the End of Love

Helicon and Halos gather in influence/clout scrape textured poise from telling

the primordial pool of voodoo Mercurial on the stellar altars, those Halos ping cyclone up the Sky

The Sky is it, this is the, This is the Slave of Love Lover this is You.

Red Dune fornicates in the wind I am the Cherry-night moon, hear my declarative

I sacrifice firstly for this genuine present of History

my blood on your virgin sand,

this the smashed leaf a centurion,

and most of all this the multitudinous pigment of Earth

Owl brother I am the Totem, Prophesier you are the Eagle Song, Sing therefore

of the last and formal signs of Love Lover is you

I with both spider claws deep in your heat, magic-vectors through the veins

your heart teller recreates for me the memory; I am the hot dripping of

your Heart I am the representative of the Slave of Love, hear me hear you

Aztec Missionary of Zion I am of the Space-ship Pyramid I greet you in Peace

The Sky is it of the, of the Slave of Love Lover is you

Written epitaph on grave (oil on canvas, black on black)

the dark gourd dug out; In a place famous for the crickets (with shovels and gravelamps and Violins)

the song is most vivid in the masterpart herein the thorn, the cavern heart of rose

come inside the Slave of Love Lover is you

First Loki of the north winds I summon grace of your playful

counterpart the slave of Love I witness for the slave of Death

This is much sadder than, this is much bluer than the sand

Secondly, I swear So many grains tipped here in the Loki heart

Of so many of nothing is so much of heart these therefore are the stories

Of Dynamite lovely the dynamite of Rose,

Of the busted and battlefields of Rose

Of the parts of Love

Speaker for the nutritious gaudy should I call on you to satiate this place

with animal waters

of the clearest coyest sort

I sweat the prayer words vertical to the aurora

nautical vault upward on account of the ludicrous

the ambergris of the soul, fragrant dust lacquered in the rose-ice

this is a parting of ways,

from here on out slave of love, I am the slave of Death

Strange god these people left long ago, These Remnants these water-meeting places are

a deserted village

the cobwebs are the most remarkable part of Love

The Age Worthy Rose Vines catapult this the elder church

in vaulted halls of tropes (Liberate First this part of Love)

Breast spirit limber (year after year) along

each Blown flame inspires/ignites as a funeral pyre

up your spine the sepulcher breath, first gripped/gifted to the etherlike

smoking gun/smoldering (throne first know) that this is Worship

this is the first part of Love Slave of Love

I slave of Death tell you this only/only as a part of Love

Love (of No) thing

Magus therefore from the deep(east sand (I resurrect the (Corpse of Second

Part of Love) from the most luscious elder fields) of the oldjungle the phantom)

Cat I call on you deep warrior to grow of sand

murdered-sphinx emerge and tell, talk the second part of Love

talk now, no lies from you elder/emerald lips, tell the tincture

delicate menagerie of truth of the Second Part of love

a buzzard of skies the milliongrains of sand scoopt up in each beak

the scooped sand is a changed scenery this is of long ago

isn’t it this old jungle time before speak, the truth I say tigress talk sense,

this misted aurora is the tigers lullaby; no doubt in the meat sweating early dawn the aurum is the second part of love, the aspirant spirit of the last great cat

the last large animal is aspirant in the aroma/aorta and no doubt she

gifted the second part of love, Slave of Love I slave of Death tell you this in only the capacitance of objectivity

remembrance now this Love

(infinitely the mani(fold of) the third part of love) I am lost in your breath; Dawn inscrutable whom as seer has seen the myriad affairs. I call you from (Lone)ly mountain/man

great loves of time I tell were not that bad, the key to speech therefore is so daring doomed-child

Alternatively, Slave of Love this is the third part of love lover is you

Stonehenged to the ground this the altar of the third part of love,

the Mayan mystic may tell you of the third part of love

he may sayone of several things

this tidesand trickling through my fingers is the most tragic affair or otherwise

he might add tell me not of the circle of the passage of the mountain and its worthless old decrepit languish, he might say as you do not tell me the third part of love in the cemetery of love affairs

I see the best reduced/reductionism in stoney altars to their harrowing fury-for all love all lost

this is the third part of love know the end of love

The recoil of the fourth part of love is the greatest ale

the retelling and inspiration of love,

this is the most particular aspect to me and you the haughty mist of ale

past our stories past our aspirant souls among spirits lovers all effect in the breath fromsex

suck of love, the passing transitory soul, the eyes locked the love of breath

the passage of living should among the eachother is

the most important part of the fourth part of love

the teller is the boar, is the roasting boar of love,

the living twirling squealer of the fourth part of love,

the wished in life

the loose cannon of love

the inspiration of meat with

the sweater arboreal/armorial vapors’ of Mahogany

The oldest blood of veins let in a little cup to seer brown tells the truth of the fifth and final part of love

I need not teller for this part of love is simple as Achilles’ still beating heart (ripped from chest)

a virtue of sacrificial limbs/lambs and coins encamped in eyes

of glory on old Achilles’ face the vast of face

the lost man is inside hazes growing old,

forever less forever

the older weaker greatest favored

warrior of all time in the when men where bigger

and in the when life was grander the fifth most part of love

died a thousand times in the cries of love, in the slave chain clatters

in the Boethius of love

in the bottomless giving piece

you must relinquish of love

The Roman Nineteen Hundereds

As I Bleed to Death, After some time, These dead men occur to me

In my place where we collect the dead new

denizens emerge of note tonight these fair citizens are plebes all:

Firstly-Newly streaming Commoditus splayed his Brother-open-

Electrocutus made-of-Glass for Snapping at his wife-of-Wool

So much, shesaid, was made of Glass, there was too much to tell

Secondly As Born-in-cracks counted his tax this Coinagian whittled the sparks required

Therefore coins required Piled up The dole the common bun the gilded butter of dawn

a workers elegy of Song-counted coins was hummed, Until he died, one more into the breach

Thirdly-the-plot borne of Lascivious’ night-thievery amok will go unwell

Therefoe he will-be-stabbed in the |dark| steel will drip his |dark| blood

(will (drown the (alley the alley) cats will) drown)

In the Rag and Bone shop of the |night| damp pulpit collects in the reservoir of |night|

So much blank paper, porridge drips |night|ly from the edge of lips, manumission from the |night|

Tone accapelas of the poor wrung in the rag and bone shop of the mind:

The stockman’s scared lung might hack another verse

Therefore, Fat Porkbellis fatly warbles

the train counts-his-life away

While by the banks, an old man draws his knife

A Century God I say unto you, a Century of Life?

here my prayer Lord, | | I want back my Wife

now cut

Fourthly, Galvinius carefully/caliously boasts a golden leaf upon his receipts

Therefore, Galvinian appeases his father’s wishes and is

lost in the wash of the River

Finally, Anthropologus’ count is the remaining

congealer Therefore disrobing I just before bed His nakedness

is raw he counts one, a Last-sound catches his eye

My early morning meadowlark churns electricity from her lungs

never a bird song more sweetly said all the cities-silent-crawl

The dirge of useless envy for the dead is all, is all.