of soft fiction and the predisposition of snow upon sunlit awning
there is little to tell but that clarity is bright and cold
that between mountains there is but valley
that all light is lost and all gravity pulls and what is not vacant
falls as it folds and falls as it spans
flying

        --curtails of woodsmoke diaphanous and storied
          round a redbird on its wave of glory

and the blankets heave as you breathe a spell of midnight and eden
and i've so little to say of wisdom or beauty
but that my mouth wettens to sharpen my teeth
with lust

          elegiac as loss

 

 

when it goes down
[it will go down]
and sirens blare
[as organs burst
and bone and fat
crackle] that first
night will be bright
[as the genius
of crows muddles]
as filament
dying in air,

and dark dawn rise
as pale lust-bloom
and innocence
[much like guilt
a feathery
discomfiture]
fall frail as snow
but eternal.

 

 

for


one moment
when the smoke
hits the light

it grins whorls
that frown cur-
licues

alien as jupiter
and marble
pedestal

a chord less
string more voice
in a wind

kin to it's own kin

 

 

One girl makes an angel of her rake of leaves
one sprawls pale limbs over old snow
one girl clears a path for whimsies of cherubim
one finds black wings furled
where road-broken dirt patches to dandelion
and sand and ash and glass
and starlight that rivers from the high plain of days

that fail and flail.





i wonder if trees doubt.
the green of youth swayed out upon branches.

wonder if storms act as regents of peace.
in starry subterfuge.

if love snails in its tank.
tropics in a hoard of folded teeth.

what spasms under the harpoon's tang.
of anatomies and autonomy.

of portrayals in cartoon.
and the stroke of fires under palm.

mind a fin.
heart a frond.

 

 

You lay yourself down, blood upon the cutting board of sky.
The heart is but mind.

You slip thru needles of pine, spill upon the rock of grass.
Green, an open eye.

You shatter horn upon cement, fur a drift of sign.
The idling engine, dragonflies.

Your call more breath than word, a mushroom bullet-forged.
Rain, a thought of time.

Sparrows ribbon moon, a chime.

 

 

The Casio Pea
 

grows green
among alliterated leaves

Tungsten.

hollow

 

 

all i have to do is be honest as i write this
my love for you is true

fashionably

 

 

in the fence's mesh

shadows of butterfly

in memory of mind

ballet perverse

a mild curiosity

 

 

taking three stones
breath-warm
with sun, write her name with two
in bare earth fresh-turned;
with the third, kill
an instant
in an arc of flight
 

Cassiopeia
is at her highest

the door has unopened the wind
 

my mind
ajar

i love you

 

 

whalesong
twists and spines

littoral

 

 

swaths of fog
raft

a lake looms

 

 

all i know is snow
and to praise claviers
and headphones
pretty girls in darkness
the water of tea
the water of coffee
how to consider everything
music or sport
or both or neither or other
or work of meltwater
fog
in channels of stream

i am sitting thinking
how to say my hand is cold
as i think of you
as you think of me
and if that doesn't sound
like the voice of god
nothing does

who is who isn't
self-aware
in this funereal march
here is a bird

 

 

what would you do if you knew
you wouldn't fail?

everything
nothing
to tell yourself you shouldn't

gods doubting their own existence
no thought to you

canteened upon precipice

 

 

gojira the cat
dark little star
of sneezes
a purl

intumescent
with lub

 

 

here we are
 

Cleopatra
kings

of rivergrass
dry

calm frames
yet to hollow

the mind
a tourniquet
 

for the heart
thunderous

enshuttered
in sky pellucidian

and grey
a film you breathe

this much beauty
this much truth
 

stilled knaves
skilled and unslaved

here in the inevitable
eve

neither rushed
nor unrushing

but rushed
but unrushing
 

Cleopatra
we are here

beyond temperaments
of natural order

a motley disarray

 

 

centron alert. reading
two unknowns at the east gate
where sunlight breaks up
in eaves. centron alert.

centron alert. the water
boils. please use the passkey
given to you in heaven
to reenter. centron alert.

centron alert. above the book
below the shelf is a feather
inside a skull where pains
without hunger dwell. centron

station. sorry for the delay.
status nominal. initiate bells.

 

 

the stars
the scintillating glimmerings
the hammerings
the anvil
the sky

the trance
the sea
the major

the much
the mulch
the i know
the slice

the patience
the ulterior focus
the word
the empty
the gleaning

the size of my net
the changing
the distinct within
the indistinctiveness

 

 

so
there i was flying over
over pine-green earth as the sky
reflected

from roof to rivertwists lapsed
from darkness
then to streetlamp and headlight
in momentary sheen

then i thought i was a raven
a chalk of coal a cloak made dim
by misery and eyes
without the admirability
of an eagle's

nor the contempt of the dove's

 

 

spray-painting fake jewelry
as a sign of the cross
the revolution

against conformity
and some poor fucker
just turned on the television

and another left his
to murder into that softest
impeccable

pecularity that is life
by tooth or by grin
or cold fish calmly stirring

in masterpieces of thunderous
murmurings everything
an ear

 

 

draw a line that goes nowhere
draw a hundred lines that do not add up

draw a barn in collapse draw sawgrass
draw the pump of a spring thaw

draw a noise like crickets dying
draw toadwart draw snakeprint draw mothwing

draw the universe draw entireties of else
draw the hand of heaven draw it well