In 2020 we are the motors of the mechanics we drive
in the bed
of other work days
as the bees fly less
and
the drive of somersaulting mad men, calmer
than a pool of iced days off
after the pool boy
cleans up
start screaming,
although it’s universal when you rise, and my limbs burst
through these elsewhere tossed things, and elsewhere bones
that have no succor in the middle of the sun’s dance, as if:
naïve butchers in the street are sleeping on the bus and
there is no answer from the ricochet dream apart from
keep your **** together
keep your **** together…
and the world is well travelled when you’re smoking beside a dog
and the obliterated silence of a room has a voice,
but the turnstiles open when the poem begins, ah!
the weekend again-this, envelope of random orchids that rustle
and
open,
in the haven of a ***** flat where we find the best corona jokes
new cities
these shaking palms
the way the world works better at 10 am
and the humour of a crazy snake, checking KPIs
again,
and when i wake
i will love this zero
hour
contract
more,
i will worship you and say
yes
yes
YES!
Mar 6, 2020
Mar 6, 2020 at 11:47 PM UTC
The trees grunt around 2am
my bones shatter yours
among the lawns and miles of river
half-shot from the lung
jesus knocks over his beer
it begins to hail
better than our words or guttural dreams
among the early light of cars arguing
and the stare of dogs in haphazard light
Dismayed enough to bark with laughter
that rolling hymn of bone upon night
where we rattle space together
gripping it with knuckle, palm, fire, and distress
opening the lightening to our day
that remind us of seasons between
better made for the shadow tax, or
whatever days we owe.
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 6:27 PM UTC
i sit my **** down
and feel the office nudging
a bored embrace inside an over-lit room
hell drooling on the back of a flea
spewing and rubbing its stomach full of bloated dead waterfalls
one eye standing up and looking down into a smile that i send back up
a joke is cracked about local *** around 11pm and our screens twitch
enough to ignite all the hatred and desire in the world
and if i stay here
i will finally just call you up
and ask to borrow your tongue to write my will
all hearts turned sideways and sleeping
so
enough room to dance about it all at least
even if all this will come later
the surreal worships of speed
baked in heels of bear trap misery
enough to drink another coffee and sneeze perhaps
or enough to turn over and become a beetle
where sweat becomes each other’s air
without choice
death flys by our eyes like so many commuters moaning at the same time
and a buggered cup of sun pouring into the arguments i’ll never know
where a timed **** allows me to exhale
and a sly nudge brings me back…
time to go
time to go bud
the tap says
even if it’s time to be using my hands again
where if time repeats
i’d rather it was this way
and gladly
another world becomes.
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 6:22 PM UTC
An arm touches my back
as i hassle through traffic
i turn
and we stand still in the avalanche
and stay alone in the street
and it’s not a hand alone
it’s a part of your scent
reminding the cars and ********
to stay at home
or awake and corral in their own way and elsewhere
in a gaseous dance of steps beyond this time
we smile at disgrace
and walk back to the world
where the street has emptied itself of talk
and the day grows back our limbs.
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 6:16 PM UTC
Torture would be worse if i kissed you
then came back as you
and we did not dance.
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 11:41 PM UTC
The waterfalls are maddening
although
only because i swim like a shark
& full inside the bones of old moonshine farmers
they're the ones who really get it
fully full on their own fruits
slamming hell with laughter
begging it to come with each sip
then when the deep punch comes
belching
embracing a lightening love
and knowing that the next batch needs to simmer
lest the roof comes downs
and sings like a poem
fermenting angels and all.
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 9:23 PM UTC
Our mongrel hearts are born inside the sun
yet the pleasures of solitude are greater
i engulf ten leisures of life, in a bar
then think this, your attire enough to make me sane
then insane enough for your limbs, transforming
regardless of life or the prices of love & whiskey
I am these days as i work in an office
where the birds pour & pour
or near a Pluto named fire
my head glows redder than my dog's tongue
since all religions are made by flesh
and the only one i see is yours.
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 9:22 PM UTC
The Thames rides high in the city's red wheel!
the indigenous birds of one country are moored no longer
the night is worth its ride, and castrates each reason
to not sell: the freshest cut mind: its only state: its only guest
Babes milked by dunes, growing giants from their anima palm
low nebulae of sea anklets, by the cooling of patience
by the stored morning of vittalic kin, usherette grasps
shatter spite, at the risk of all peaceful vibrations in humour
where the roads connect to all amor fati, amor fati, Amor fati!
la chimère d’amour; where rhythms are shared by all animals,
unflexed in the skull by denizen skull: the populace melts
So passed the point of brinking-worlds, there are only elements
so no rapier can slice through dream like the scent of day,
and we scream in melodious waves of diving accident;
which brings notions back of extending fire sighs so opaquely,
happiness cherishes the chaotic mirror of booming children
the figureless dance of the last disgrace, which has no pity
and is the travelling word for success against liberty
We are no longer life, or its blushing ripped condescension
only my shadow and yours are the freeing muscle
where man has shattered space into the thousandless voice
of solitudinal stars in the androgyny of light-
hemisphere of binary pleasure; jealous boys and girls drink smoke
we the haphazard twin of darkness and light forget, wilfully
as if destiny is a circular pleasure, of both stomach and sky
By the watering mortars of the watchmen from Soho dancing again
and to this city the agile mouth of a field is awake
where the sad winds entwine with the yeasts of the hare
the smallness of light balancing on your cheek, gargantuan
to everything through the hymns of a car choking, to spirit
two moments transmit all there is, by the third, death emigrates
or it does when we dress each other by the charm of time
I have no idea where this music begins, and perhaps our DNA laughs
as do my fathers, your mothers, in the emergence of reversing gods
the birthing of make-up, the evening day mobbed by innocence
where purity is less magnetic than a sliver of fish, dead in a dog's heart
even that now, même que maintenant, even this now
même ce maintenant, is a better howling blood of choice
where a little fatter and choicer- rage is the sonata of calmness
And much dusk where the glimmer is, the ****** drool of half
heartedness is your soft wolf walking in, the silk of your bating voice
my only vice, and the point of all tantric scent
the murals of our past are now the sculptures of changing grip
like early and significant horses enduring the guilt of eating
all tribes in all ice and fire, the fastest cars cannot beat the tram
the tram and old bust marriages of constant grace
Fundament, infallible, mercurial, wholesome in lie
there being no flea with enough backs to carry us all
no poem in hell can survive without being saliva
too much **** and not enough road makes a dull car of us all
but, there is only one liver waiting on the ground
what is the perfect song to let it breathe? Tonight
you are my attire, and I am yours
We soak the ribbons with massacred blood, we say
to the absolute: no, I choose my partners carefully
I am yours, you are mine, our habitual skin
blowing leviathans training the wind
and chokes as we stroll releasing our hands upon its neck
but let ours fly together and apart, nothing holding the world
in the divinity of wood, your translucent perfume, our body
The dogs have blown into darkness
The moors create hybrids from themselves
Wild garlic ferments in fields of skin
Texas leans into Vertigo’s kiss
An ape is born smelling of you
My sweat is your blue June
Armed only by light.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 1:18 AM UTC
Publishers love jello
cool, gleaming, white hot jello
one morning i imagined that i was
writing in filth
the snow was the earth
the earth was jello.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 1:16 AM UTC
and we just
floor the peddle
my love-
(
sun falling.
into lap
all the featherless,
birds.
repeating
unable
to
burn.
so simply
away;
)
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 1:14 AM UTC