to the young privateer.
the captain kidd & his bought n’ taut gang of holy bluffs.
they bribe and imbibe and swoon on the dock-way looking for a quest or two or three
to dream and bury their doubloons in island guts like little mysteries. little sundowns
over a rixdollar indian ocean.
let them take a turn.
destined to mutate from private to pirate, the kidd, like blackened rotten wood.
******* frigates.

the ship:
with her bob and sway. she is, the adventure.
& her song is calling out for a rapturous few,
for men ready to die on the highwater mark by glory or fire or dead glorious sun.
so they put her brass and bough to seafaring days,
the sweet galleon, barely wet, yet
completely riffed to voyage.
she is
from the shores of london. built. designed to kick 14 knots under a full sail blast.
& she will bite.

she’s in calm waters.
the kidd savvy toothed and butterscotched, he awaits the big show,
engorged to set forth the play like wily ocean dervish &
they do.
they do proceed with benefactors coined and crunched on postulations of pirate death &
pirate gold. reclaimed honor as they say. the hunt for pirate teeth.

& with official pass and parchment, high-throne approved,
king ***** III stamp & sealed,
this voyage is.
this voyage is and forever was, hereby charted, to recover said stolen goods.
to reclaim thy warrior vanity &/or vengeance.
to noble this **** with pinched loaf, like now.
set sail. now.
1696.

“**** them navy yachts at greenwich, the thames be ours, boys.”
slap *** and flick thumb toward those armada sons,
& as tribute
smoke balsam herbs on the starboard side for the mother she and the father be.
but for this slight,
this dishonorable silly ****,
one third of adventure’s men are pressed into service of the crown.

[continue.]

the adventuresome few, petty crew and crows.
steal the heart and mother-meat of a french ship. steal everything onboard.
steal the ship itself.
& on her way to new york, new boon, pure and entered into the new world.  
there are new men bought in the american port,
good men and odd men of long criminal legacy.
a small black vicious quartermaster. he’ll do.
a murderous preacher gripped by stars and celestial patterns. he speaks spanish. he’ll do.
another type of holy man and a wild drinker too, embattled by demons on the port side. sure.
plus the dock-boys destined to **** for fruits of exploration.
this is the way of the son of a gun.

the boatmen jockeyed. she is
the adventure
prancing the vertebrae of atlantic and beyond. cape of good hope, she
breathes easy out here on the wide tide and float.
out here on the vast blue this. she
evolves
out here. loves out here.

pirates.
the hunt for pirates or the lack thereof. she leaks.
she rasps into the years on. and on.
the kaleidoscope hallucinations of sun and moon, sun and moon, and moon and sun
forever.
the strait of bab-el-mandeb.
& there
she plunges into darkness, into the stars seen from and through a periscope formed
by ancient hominid lineage.
seen but untouched,
in dreams. the kidd, reluctantly lime, admits to his madness.
madagascar.

malaria and cholera and hell break the boat by the throat.
& thrash.
to be organic is to be ruled by a shadow, or entropy.
the mouth of a red sea.
one third of the men will die here.
simply as insects crushed and brushed off deck and into to her great spate of agua,
the mother gush.
her earth.
body.
father,
hear his whispers in the mirage.
the ancient mariner, the ancient holy ghost riming down there.

in destitution.
in a rough and soggy life squeezed and making men weird or violent or both be ******.
the kidd goes cold to hot sweating noxious.
turns pirate himself
out of sheer hunger.
out of sheer need to eat.
sets the boys like dogs upon a frigate of east india company men,
or french *****. either/or/or/either/or.
he & the boys are in a madness swirl of sun and heavy guts.
cuts to spill blood
or gold. this tender bit.
lip bit
& tested.

captain kidd fractures the skull of a deckhand named moore,
for bad attitude and giggles. moore gets death.
chisel on the deck.
& to think we are all troubled by some primal trauma.
some dumb thing called death, that is.
men starving, men dying, men falling in the vast black that is that eternal void.
dream of women and riches in the meantime.
fortunes.
1698.

savage kidd, cool kidd, cool spit
off the edge. to think of the once soulful idea of these paradise days
& trip.
savage to cool.
the two divine modes of a survived man.
a ghoul man, or aging man.
& to keep control of his crew kidd sets them upon the quedagh merchant;
a 400 ton armenian hulk chalk full of gold, silver, satins, and muslin. ‘tis *****.
renames her: the adventure prize.

madness quenched for now.
charmed for now
& on the horizon are fragrant times. blissful distance.
but robert culliford,
with his mocha frigate. this man, this suave pirate lord, his vengeance act.
he had stolen kidd’s ship years back, &
the captain opts to cut his throat.
take the mocha.
keep calm & carry on.
to paradise.
to dream of her cool warm beaches and fruit forever, peacefully thinking.
so that night they two drink together in good health, and in the morning
most of the men defect to this other man, this other ship, culliford.
other dream,
other captain of true buccaneer effect.
act 3:

13 remain in the galley firm.
this is the house adventure.
& she is burnt alive three days later for rot and ill repair.
but she was fun,
& a *****.
a stitch of old woodwork given-in
& crackling with the eyes of her crew seen in fire.

kidd steps the pond to caribbean times with the adventure prize, toad toxins
& high on the jungled shore.
he trades that colossus, flips her for a sloop and seven little chests of gold.
little bellies.
the island-gut doubloons to bury.
dream, remember?

but the men-of-war are after him now. the privateers & hunters & devil’s dogs.
the men he once was.
men of marked death.
& he is now some pirate, some forthright bandit
settled to **** or be killed.
some sad kid.

first: buries that treasure up the coast of america.
oak island rig.
cherry rocks of the maine bank and *****-trapped pit.
the hunted.
they catch him on an inlet ****, and sail back
to london to be tried for crimes against the crown.
the high court of admirality.
1701.

they hoist and gibbet his body with worn chains above the river.
not for piracy, but for ******.
the ****** of that strange deckhand moore and his giggle.
kidd’s bones
suspended there for three or more years at the mouth of the thames,
as warning
to the perverse travails of a criminal lifestyle on the highwater pond.

they emerge from the wooded neighborhood ridge and fringe at dusk
into breadth of lawn
& limb.
witchy chicks
casting banter n bitchcraft.
teenage dead end dreamers tipped in black magick lip gloss
& glitter, their
genderfluid familiars &/or wayward boyfriends apparate
in the street pink cloud spinning wheel,
& hawking bile.
****** stella smile.
swallow a hex, send a snap, tongue along his neck
promising to fold bodies before sunrise.
the effervescent gasp
of post-ritual clarity.

in the house,
is a kid.
a gig.
the devil with a younger grip.
& the kid thrills on a bit of the ol’
         u l t r a v i o l e n c e.
****** videogames, ****** anime, ****** mayhem n melodic music.
he is a conduit of dark energy.
a pure blooded offering of the stone age/video age,
mind in a kind of kaleidoscopic way.
he is me.
bred on televised bucket slime ceremonials.

she checks her purse.
drugs & snacks & juul & a pretty dead bird.
a daughter of delphi watching your kid.
tending to him.
trending him.
popcorn smelling him, the texas chainsaw massacre on vhs just before bed.
palace of teeth n twigs.
just a short walk to the edge and then its bath time.

             the demon version is grisly and cruel.
             the angel version is starry-eyed and adventurous.

to conjure some
  thing,
at the cliff jumping.
it was fun.

no weapons, no drugs.
he had the eyeballs of an aztlan prince.
touches water.
touches hot-grill to meat /repeat/
/replete with cerveza.
                to roil in love of sun said lights, all things lovely.
                to return by city driven lights, lake to shore to shoulder.

[to sleep.]

[to dream.]

dad is on the grill, cookin’ up something scorched.
swill is on the lake, skiin’ up something else.
sweat &
stretching lungs, the sun busting gut.
unseen, bikini pink
& green sauce.
pass the tortillas.

winterous: awake.
ice-fish and stoke the pipes of flash and holy hash.
ice-fish our favorite frozen mass.
we all grow beards,
untrusting of men who wobble blades to their faces on the daily.

spring sprung and spigot. we
return to blushing shores of wet rocks
& girlfriends.
girl bands exploding amps from atop houseboats
in styles of the highly drunk and tameless.
plucked in memory
of the ******* to come before them.

son spreads knee blood into ******* &/or
sidewalk chalk.
mixes reds to pinks with head cracking asphalt.
of god & country.
of soggy bread in a lunch-bag; snackpack readied.
he skates.

the concussed ****** of booming youth.

omega he:
to the wolf pack outers.
breathing love of summer, he
is the son drunk on hi-c
& burping.
watching teenaged supersoakers yodel
on a bridge.
florida.

son sneaks out late to rationalize
the city’s features
under strange light & love of nightly people.
boy sculpts body out of beast,
turned dark corners.
arrives swollen.

his father erects a roofed flattop in the backyard slab
with flood light electronics taught to worship
the shred.
mother rattles the blender
on the kitchen outskirts, ***** breathed
& nearing with hugs.

blister-itched.
glossed folds of scar tissue.
those days on summer-beyond when the neighborhood pulsates.
with satellite dishes tuneforking high-frequency vibrations
from outerspace & pigeons explode.

son’s ears bleed, &
the television goes unwatched.
he snaps plank & ankle protein, refurbishing
his legs into iron-rods
or wands of summer anthem.
cold war.

he empties sugar-sweat & toxins
into the storm-drain.
essence of wet heat, skin pinched, & friend
of ghosts.
a three legged dog lay in the shade
leisurely watching the boy skate
on endless.

claude: battles tabletop.
reaches for maple syrup, into breakfast,
& breaks down puking.
the girlfriend/abortion situation.
the cash
& cream corn.
smells of deeper spring.
grandma & her bible.
to pray.
to eat lunch.
to television &
honey blunt the relief of a sunday night.

lily: into decay.
into dark days of her america.
detox: she breathes on vapor. sweet leaf.
sweats the heat & dead-dreams off. off on wavelengths &
resonance::: sound therapeutics,
at 528.111 hz,
enhanced dream frequency. she falls
into bliss. into
unopened codons & the rigor
of vibrational analog.
love cassette.

achilles: wheelchair-bound & boning
still. gripping ***.
the girl & couch.
the couch & modern warfare.
old warfare: harvest of limbs.
he crawls across the lawn to pick strawberries.
thumbs the dirt for entrance
to another world. smokes a jar
of roaches, as monument
to his second generation revival.
cool.

wallace: & the zebra jeep.
red rock monkeywrenched billboards & the ****** of flame upon milk factory.
chemical factory.
fertilizer bomb///return/
to town & grotto.
porch-light wood & breath of ****-rotation.
the babylon journeyman,
embroiled in plots against the order.
to simply disappear.
to portal away.

.                                                               @
                                                            @ ­    @
                                                        @  ­          @
                                                    @                    @ 
                                         ­       @                            @
                                 ­           @     @     @     @     @     @

                america, americultus, americate, dubiously *******.
::: our gold-flecked bodies.
blackbirdian danceparty, i'll go.
washed-up beach bottles and all our feet amongst them curling time.
teens dream in orchid; they wait for stars and dark and los hombres of good dust.
they wait on eyes, and on embers, on belly belly.
jellyfish flashlight shrine.
we eat acid and strawberries and butter in the cemetery,
and feed foxes lizards face first :::
                us lost ghouls on school-nights.

                flash tag jazz, and yellow bicycles.
::: that hot eternal light.
that candy colored smoke don't smoke; go south on her body.
then thoughts form thoughts form action, form twangs all tuned to air.
& we, as notes, we notes harp like light
to dust.
our glistering hormonal thrusts beneath sheath of liquid love. her eyes,
with those multi-speckled strands
infinitesimally drunk :::
                seed from my ****.

                pearled halo: smoke above my head.
::: waves and machines and weekends. filtered by the long ****
of existence.
boys wait in rooms of hotels for more drugs, and the girls bringing them.
like caterpillars on silky thin treadways,
with nothing but the flavor of our passions to ignite the way. we
exacerbate the boundaries of our intentions. we
curl under sheets, bending sheets of light and sound. we
flakey emaciated flakes. [sequence suffered time in motion] we
                dirt. it’s what we are; dirt.

                we are druggernauts, tasting ourselves along the iridescent brim.
::: we crawl up cross-glowing hillsides toward portals and faraway
bleep-blorps of hot god-head calibration.
we sticky-crackle go burn. [nature puzzles]
the brain shifts back; twenty-one grams they say the soul weighs.
they say things.
cherry blossom tree tips in the dark.
tele-portal surfing with an intergalactic pizza priest, and his satchel of secret sauce.
he heaves in the corner; rebirth :::
                tendrils pulled tight, everybody **** chung…

in the year 2462 those with nails protruding from their palms
will talk in ancient tongues
& sway the tribes of men to eternal love,
& endless ammunition
of the soul.

spiritus.
kin, galactic
& the golden fire.
throb the saga of man,
into hip ****** illusions and combustive color schematas.
we bury our dead in flower clippings
or skull bits.

        [skateboarding rises as the highest form of intellectual sport]

thrum and plum-*** the sewers of electric babylon.
hive city reaching past gasp and wasteland,
her lips ruinous.
cement slabs and coils of fault with
vast artistic possibilities.
these skate-lords from their heaps, their clans, augmenting
& rattling bone masks
grinding themselves into meat-bit heroics
& death.
their teeth are yellowy awoken.

this is all seen globally,
via tele-cast-com-core-mind-warp-tech.
or video.

dreams impact reality
impact dreams
in such
that the cathode cortex filter, invented circa 2222,
evolves into a demi-god, a solar charged demon of unlimited knowledge.
& it mutates the psychosphere  of our mainstream public mind
with countless projected memories.
        [streamed alternate realities]
fills the belly and the brain,
but all those unhooked are skating.
sweet meat market.
ghost harddrives.

poor leftovers called children of the once-was-men
& their poolside parties.
they leap the rubble of centuries old plastic icons,
their boards, their weapons, their seeds and spit.
they hang chains from their necks
& spew black flame from their sunshaded boot-click
lickings.
they drink from large bottlesof elixer distilled
on old flowers
& worship archaic cassettes.

cults of cyborg women with gem-tipped-blade-additions
carve wooden planks from
groves of great oaks.
great oaken powers.
their creators chew gummies and bend time
to uphold
a proposed history of perfection.
they master pong from their crystalline towers,
& hire mathematicians to write
conceptual skate-deck algorithms,
solely for fun.
non-profit.

who is this
husky?
shedding luck and fur
down by the horizon.

town tips in snow
& breathy-fog.
the mountain tips and prays
on bowed-knee,
to daughters in pursuit of happiness,
& trees.
she’s out there looking for the best in mother
madness.

a horse’s bangs, sprung
moon to ridge
to purpling autumn-seared fields four days lit.
this ease into living,
carousel,
carnival of lights
& love.
the rolling of a family unit.
the sound and punched beauty of it.
like when we were birds, or kids, or
humming the sun
strummed hills.

          [ catch a dream. ]

open your little eyes, bear cub.
see small pools of sulphurous heat
& repeat,
let go the smoke to breathe.

she’s the girl who sets a room on fire with laughs or real flame,
         and she stands in that same flame; ranting about herself
         with blissful intention:
                        aries.
she’s the girl who mows the lawn all day to throw a memorable party
          on perfectly pitched grass; but then spends the entire party
          with that one guy on that one roof, just the two of them:
                        taurus.
she’s the girl who ***** you fiercest only to then display sudden and
          crippling bouts of madness; she’s one of a kind, or two of a kind,
          and she means some kind of love:
                        gemini.
she’s the girl who you fall for so easily, and she falls for you so easily,
          and everything is a dream; but a dream transforms, seasons transform,
          and the peopled cities with them:
                        cancer.
she’s the girl who steals the show every time, and she leans on you
          when  she’s tired and lonely; she reads science fiction books
          and tells you all the endings, strange planets fixtured in her dreams:
                        leo.
she’s the girl who thinks too much, drinks too much, and weighs you for all
           your words; but words are her demise as she digs her arms deeper
           into the dirt to catch that feeling:
                        virgo.
she’s the girl who piles a shrine of shiny occult objects and spools through
          men like shiny other objects; she has a beautiful heart, holy or not,
          but without a doubt, entirely stylish:
                        libra.
she’s the girl who doesn't believe a ******* thing you say but kisses you
          harder when you say it; she takes you up the hill to her folks
          and they sacrifice you for blood mana:
                        scorpio.
she’s the girl who knows you best and knows even better she’s far beyond
         the depths of your league; she has deafening dreams, with or without
         you in them; for ruins she will climb or create:
                        sagittarius.
she’s the girl who buys the popcorn and eats the popcorn and sulks on
         the couch while tonguing kernels out of her teeth; she will never
         truly love you, just the idea of you:
                        capricorn.
she’s the girl who saves your life with a tracheotomy when you nearly die
         on that plum street seed; she will leave you for a another man, a man
         with a good rifle and a warm little tent:
                        aquarius.
she’s the girl who sees synchronicity in all things, all life, all dreams
         and emanations; she will love you until the smell of mexico drags her
         away upon a neverending weekend:
                        pisces.

most mornings are devoted to staying in bed and making love
aka
morning *******
then she leaves
or i leave
or both
and there is silence
for a little while
there is quiet
or at least until later that night
and we do
we **** all night
love all night
all hours
and
into the morning
all morning
until one of us leaves

mean beam bottom ***** without reluctance.
\ air above \
since forever baby boy: since forever liquid sparkler.

he has sense
& peanut butter jelly geography to his page.
his romance is of the west.
his eyes are of dandelions kicked & to the wind.
he moves like ancient turtle migration.
reaches feet to sidewalk \ sand to depths \ ride \

night:
velcro-tightened mind withstanding.
party lights, ***** willows, retro punch, he
is orpheus descending: with all the elements positioned just so.
\ jellyfish electric \  
he says he likes the loneliness.
he says it’s the water.

& so he moves \ wills himself into the next measure.
liquid resolute bits.
so move \ orca \
curl of eye \ so ride \ black rollo wave \
basilica \ & \
coral reaches below \\\

he likes to tell it, with warmed exaggeration.
slow-motion buffalo stampede. ride the railroads free & easy.
orange glowing bars of elsewhere. oscillating seal calls.
oily portland hipsters howling on the beach. those
juno cheeked rosy-red lips.
somewhere, sister getting married.
spring, summer, fall, winter, spring.
africa ******* a branch of a tree of a forest, overlooking elephant burial grounds.
color & white material:
plantations, gas stations, diners, & sharks.

this is the morning lunar \
sweet blue beach of the old & awakening.
he crawls out & into her breaks.
her deep heights & bombora reef. the serotonin
functions twice, exposed between thin tissues of warm-blooded neurochemistry.
human, shown.
he is as a raw page, blank, yet
dipped \
\ so ride \ bulbous waves of air mother agua \
ride \ &
\ ride \ &
brew by light these occurrences forever.

somehow all neighborhood tribes & tribe lords love you.
somehow you beat my score on the nickelcade spaced invaders.

we leap fences
in escape of party befouled
cops. crusaders
of mustache & veiny hate.

you rip your jeans
& lose your artifacts in the creek. into
convenience store warm lights
& makeout mixtapes.

eloquence in this. kiss
& cough.

from dirt to
light to
love.

days begin
with dreamcoast, cast, and chase the air,
or rhythm of rain.

raygun.
& flashpoint to ember.
to knuckle.
to cortex.

she smells fantastic.
she she she
like, a
sweet kind of thing.
like, a
nice incense.

& i feel today is a holy day of the week.

i love/    the water.
gonna set my sights
on a sunny californian day.

thought of you,
oxytocin coursing the grooves of my brain.
and you/      in rising colors.

i love/     that.
that polyeurithmic song of again and again
our bodies.

dark parked cars.
neighborhood bedroom lights, on then off.
we continue/      in tongues.

i love/    the sand and scent
of life. of finding ourselves,
in ourselves.

the only thing i can explain, is loving you.

the only thing is dreaming.
is feeling, that wheeled feeling of knowing what love was.

it started with an awkward hug.
it ended with an awkward hug.


i took you to the river. held your hand to the washed and out. breathed the smoke of your body into lungs of new days and danced to thoughts of escaping the empire with you forever. so forever. waited while you biked into far-fetched and distance places. american girl. beautiful creature. creature tessellating; growing; enhancing into a starry-stepped woman. i leaned on you, made you stumble to walk. now most days i stop myself from calling you. the space. the only thing that ever made me so dizzy, so good, was the space between us when truly together. close. utterly as one. wrote poems about you before i even met you, like a dream girl, like a premonition, which you were, a dream girl, a preconceived notion of one and only love. and there probably will be none other. none other. because i fell in love with you long before i even knew how to say it. never really knew how to say it. blurted it. bled it and yelled it and dreamt of it endlessly.


[still dream of it. endlessly.]


slow down, slow town, taking minutes. city of trees. city of good and bad and a little love that grew and bloomed and boomed before our eyes and died. and perhaps dead isn’t enough. reanimate. zombify. walk the dead. the dead and idaho life is american dreaming, drunk. us humans walking, texting, breathing, dancing. i would pinch your ***, smack your ***, so silly, so object, so mammalian and animal and bad on my part. sorry about that. but then again i loved your ***. still, sorry. you deserved more. deserve more. more to the picture. and i love your smile. your deep sweep of happiness. could devour me whole with just one laugh. and this is all so stupid, you probably hate me by now, somehow, seeing as you disappeared into thin air and here i am writing this bombast of love lost and still plan on sending it to you by mail or carrier-pigeon in hopes of simply expressing something. texas chainsaw massacre 2. totoro and the miniature crystal glands of rips or roars or sour patch sprinkles. burnt underwear. that stream of consciousness sweet beating block of love you ink-stamped to old paper with some kind of fierce spirit, just love, i love, and can’t help but love you so ******* much all over and over again, even if you broke my heart. the heart is strong that way. or i am simply doomed that way.


howling. howl. imbue. rimbaud. & urizen. kien. class, and when we skipped a day or two, once or twice, to make-out by the river. true beginnings. rock piles and bonobos.
my kind of woman.

you loved me before anybody loved me.
and i loved you, because there was no other way.
lost that somewhere. somehow.
life and days taken for granted.
and i’m the fool.
the stoner peeling off layers of clothing
as i prepare to be blood-sacrificed before the ancient ones.
while you are the girl.
the girl who made me forget what death is.
the girl with that last blunt.

                   new soul, spelled in crayola crème.
                   new summer, spoken then lived.

                   you were the love
                   of my life.
                   plucked my heart like
                   squishy fruit.

                   we once turned night
                   into paintings & poems,
                   particulates of
                   a golden time gone by.

ghosts of slumber parties past.
just a haunted betamax & a stack of oreo sandwiches.
sisters braiding eachother’s hair far past the witching hour,
contemplating life without supervision.

blue house. yellow lawn.
silverback gorilla in one garage.
two garage: empty.
three garage: a woman entombed in exhaust.

          [her bloated tongue]

a gang of bmx boys pizza-fed and friday-high,
hopped up on mountain dew and trading card collectible rituals ‘n rhythmics.
they conjure a demon just to **** and dismember it.
     for funsies.
     for keepsies.

a fang for the shrine at the foot of the old oak tree.
history on the skin, long history, long thoughts, long in the nod like a calm dead frog.
bubbled, boiled, toiled, and troubled.

the woods aren’t haunted.
you   are haunted.
you   are the conduit through which the darkness displays its vivid colors.

          [treefort aflame]

the seasons furrow/
                               / the leaves fall.
little plots of land etched out – subdivision and sprawl.
on the avenue, heaven
& hell made tame and tangible.
built, re-built, and refurbished – a lawn and a lantern.
a mortgaged glory of sparkle and decay.

          [dead cat is a new cat is the old cat ran away]

pictograms of morning light display on mom’s face
as she instructs us on the gusts of love       [scrambed eggs]
& teaches us the truth of nettles sprung
from violent pine.
                                      [toast with raspberry jam]
the television.
the microwave.
the blender beverages.
hymnals of an electric kingdom.
one mom dances, the other expires.

          [restless armless girls in orange sunsets]

girl with a gun at the edge of her lawn and selling lemonade.
girl in an old wicker chair.
save her horror story for another day.

boy with a bent frame bicycle limps his way home
from one end of the avenue to the other.
his pockets full of sparkly rocks found in the lime quarry pit.
one boy in a long line of lost planets.
the driveway.
the refrigerator.
the hum of a saturday night commercial-free cassette.
where’s dad?

                         the glow of an eerie crystal
                                                                     (continued…)

there is a camping trip planned and preserved
on the reservation of our hopes and dreams and summer sweet nothings. we
retreat upon an open-toed weekend, cooler gemmed
& ready.

there is a place in the mountains
& on that wooded ridge it is waiting to be seen and witnessed. lived
upon, lit upon,
seedling.

sure, i love you.
& sure, i’ll die. and that is forever.
& forever is -
no worry. no bluffs. no sweat.
because this life is right, and right now is everything.
yolk.
to become a bloom of love more than just words and digits and plays of
time. this time
is ours.

is good beer. great beer. &
the heat. the her. her soothes and sovereigns
on this land in which we live with the whole tribe and fun days.
we are our own dreams.
good dreams.

meet her on the shore of a river.
& she is listening and speaking and sung.
with an urge
to love and let begin.
take precedent. take my nettled little heart
and crackle like fire from it the nutrient of lonesome ode.
& from the strum of that
we begin.

we end.
we cog back into the existence of small time
small town nobodies. worked little we.
service and cinema.

thus
busting gut toward town and more weekends and more movement.
there is motion to this curve of time, kids.
curve of pages expressed
& exposed here in wayward traveled poems.
truths of some sort or hallucination. here
we daydream.

there in the wilderness
all things go to live
and all things go to die.

she stole my shirt and hatchet
and took to the woods.
                           hacked out the heart.

traded one wilderness for another. city into
trees.
she needed to breathe
and wring wet socks, relax, and study the mycelium songs underfoot.

she she she, like a marvelous
new love.
the grass and green stuff woven.
canteen replete with wheat nectar
         or half-batch whiskey.

needs nutrient,
the seed so new.
needs space,
the daughter as she grew.

what tempest breaks the trees and old heads
of mother timber?
         perhaps deep-winter,
         to test the fiber of a florescent forest fleek.

she built a chikee from fallen arms of a sprucewood soul,
drank water from a clay-thrown bowl
and granola to heat her bones.

new fish.
the river is cold on glacier blood.
new day,
driven beyond the random access roads & cobalt blast-holes stretching
gulches bloomed in chaparral.
up they crawl along monumental spine and shoulder,
giants sleeping.

she she she, live a marvelous new love.

the wonder is seen.
the wilderness lived and remembered
by girl or elk bugling their high-decibel poems
when ready.

boy coils in the lawn
& early air.
grass touching him wet,
smoke crawls from his lips,

into the blue awoken,
or sky before his face.
there it dances like wild life lived
& falls away with breezy.

dearly herb to glossy reds,
he purses, thus to inhale.
sparked ember, spark clench, fist to fist.
life given to life encapsulated.

the sense of it goes steady,
goes patent cool.
he exhales, and looks to the south,
where his legs once were.

the world is a wild and weary place,
fully sunk in spiral ******,
fully strummed in skin water waves.
bound by death from the very first verse:
first love.
first this.
                   go forth my machines, be fruitful and jettison.

color says hang at the edge of our lips.
smell the books.
remind us; books.

& before the big blue vast takes it all, that
sunstruck lomographia light,
transposed no-makeup california girl, she
walks before me along the boulders of the wharf.
real summer breathing.
our bodies, piled
and starbleached ripe. [like heap of buffalo skulls]

maybe then a futuristic dinner, where everyone gathers in floating space pods
singing hymns beneath,
                                                       above,
                                          between
               the lights and music.

reality is: blacktop shards against my knees,
something burning as it trickles to my chin, man of me
living the city glisten, city green
& pink.
city midnight and barely breathing.
destroyers, we are.

and what? what am i, father? man of industry?
man of workwelded science?   secure as the armadillo,
armadillo picket fence.
am i of halfbreed phosphorus?
americana?
built on love and hate and television.

  nat geo channel:  [a gecko licks dew from its eyes
                                                                ­  on the coastal sand dunes of namibia]

money. women. go west young man.
be a hand tightening ribs.
be a quaking echo of mammalian design.
a paradigm of seed my fire.

quest for fire.
for uncut diamond; like foggy strawberry rock in the africa-boy's fingers.
or cut steel; phallus of toyish death between a brazil-boy’s fingers.
pulled teeth; bits of wet fruit in the young afghani’s hand.
& icecream trolley; pedestal etched iron; denim and ***; and
microwaves  ::::::
white man: what I got ? what I got ?
manifest destiny: gold bricks and beer.

blood soaked socks.
cyprus burnt umbers.
tribes decomposing at the bottoms of styrofoam cups.
like coin-op wormies.
& eighteen inch circumference blades make round rolling high pitched songs deep in the skin of old mother earth.
old baby cakes.
old life in slow motion, all motion, all
of particle cannon treatise.
40 ounce bounce.
watery us
below.

shapeshifter, son drunk
& changing skins.
he digs up skeletons of a spanish battalion
buried
by tigers on the garden key.

suncresent
spray of blood & oranges.
new-fangled sailors once soaked
in madness.
now just starvation.

the viking speaks:
in limericks of new world poise.
his antler woven mask,
set nicely upon the shore.

seod, turtle lord
of space & time, appears only once
every lunar eclipse. bound by treatise
to the jellyfish triumvirate.
his acolyte,
bolivar t. shagnasty,
wanders the mainland in search of water
or meat of trees.

kindness
of men turns to dust & belly worms.
forgotten, the plants mutate
into root-rich empires
of fish & figurine.
million year armistice.

dr. samuel mudd,
shackled years to tide-slab &
fort jefferson. he
purifies the island of its yellow
shivering death.
hospital key.

fastforward hundred plus years
through mudd lifeline:
battle weary sneakers,
spokes sung by strum of card, the bmx
stridden boy & his
teenage mutant ninja turtle mask.

even teddy said i got the sickest tricks brah.
like my abilities source from some kinda legendary liquid
                                                                ­                      / praise the lord /
monster energy should sponsor me.
a kickflip over the king’s *** hole
& a halfcab for the looky-loos.
i feel so tall when i climb that heap of asphalt trimmings
& see clear from the water tower to the bluffs.
gimme a good day, any day at the bluffs,
bottlerockets & girly birds.

her body brings a swarm of worms.
decomp,
said the f.b.i. men one by one with tweezers.
not quite the homecoming queen, still
wrapped in plastic.

look up.
see that great mess of wires, nest of powerlines and owl bones?
it crackles and croons its electro-spectral purr
all night and day.

new neck tat &
cody spends his paycheck on a crossbow.
we target practice on a bull skull.
wet cigarettes and turpentine-soaked socks for a good huff
in the dry of the roofline as it dumps.

there’s that little boy in a ghost mask again, tap-dancing
in puddles below the streetlamp,
& oversized shoes.
his grandmoms always be watchin’ from the window.
[whispers] she’s teaching him magic.

lucky unit 19: where our young dead damsel once dolled
herself up, you see
men and headlights would roll thru thrice nightly,
maybe more.
& i remember her punch red lips &
big whicker hat; while she weeded and watered her garden of begonias.

the sheriff’s deputy, hart? hicks? hogan? well he loved her a bunch.
stole her clothes in the middle of the night,
& sat beside the river sobbing into clumped fists
of bra and blouse.
i bought ******* from that guy once or twice.
harold? howard?

guess who showed his face today?
josiah, from unit 08.
since the incident with molly’s beagle, he’s been rarely seen.
took a bee line straight for the mailbox.
a package. a prize. a decoder ring/secret map sweepstakes
to be seen and deciphered.

hammock and a stack of playboys.
first emerged,
boy.

feature trees and teens and punch drunk lovers.
chalk murals,
girl.

into the quiet density of love.
quiet city.
dance party, usa.

we end up making movies about our fathers
whether we know it or not.
home videos.

we double down on arcade tickets
& spin for a kite to tangle.
climb the town hill and bury our warmth.

kiss to forget or remember this bliss
& strange language.
strange sprawl of lights seen.

the homeowner’s association melt a pile of plastic flamingos
into an idol osiris.
dead god.
& wait,
wait for halloween.

our parentals diligently sweat.
they are conjurors of snacks and supper.
they are creatures of the ritual routine.

we ritual.
we homework.
we breathe easy, waiting for nothing.

   (except for more holidays)

the men end lunch with strands of glowing spit
webbed to the tips of their boots.
they huddle and coagulate, chanting as one,
then bloom with loud whispers into
heat and steel beam ******* meat to the city grid.

my father once stepped on a nail.
he turned yellow
& his leg disintegrated.

earth boy.
air conditioned and living.
/or
following the light of something far from home.
begin:

old town and lovely she.
loved she.
love she like there is no other she.
the one and only she.
she dumps him.
finds a new he.
has *** with the new he in a far corner apartment complex peak
beyond the tracks. train.
troubles;
like screeching howls of love spit and ****, city
at midnight.

he buries his hopes and face in pie
at the café
volta.

new her,
wiping the counter calm yet tired yet cute and soon to close shop.
she tells him -
about the keys of lost lovers.
the doors to remain open for the sake of dreams and all possibility.
she tells him -
of the pies at the end of the night.
the cheesecake and the apple pie
/entirely gone.
the peach cobbler and the chocolate mousse
/almost gone.
but the blueberry pie, always
/untouched.

he’ll have that.
some sort of broken in the heart have that/love that/eat that/pie.
they talk for hours.
he rests his head on the counter and sleeps
icecream on his lips.
she almost kisses him right there.

and she remembers him.
attempts to call him while he’s in memphis
/or
some other southern city.
he's on somekind of journey.
he works kitchens for more money to motion further west.
westward sweat and burgers. see/saw.
little money, little love, little city
and onto the next.

she remembers him.
attempts to call him while he’s deeper into the glowing desert dome
/or vegas.
/or, you see the stars above?

she writes him letters.
and he writes her back, and in return, they fall
toward a thought, a light, a lit-up little idea of life full
on good something.

return.
to new york and old scents. old town.
corner apartment complex peak window and memories of a once-was
girl.
beyond the tracks. train.
troubles no more.
return/
to pie.

to café and concept
of sweet-tooth, sweet real something, sweet blueberry nights
and icecream.
and there she is.
with warmer winter/spring smiles than even dreamt.
and her words for hours.
she almost kisses him, but kisses him.

something perpetual
is love.

/or my *** dealer.
man alight with gemstone glands &
sticky at the tips.
each finger
pressing wet pampas cure.

the touch and study of
high-fi royal matter. (rose galactic)

savannah, hand
& fleshing meat in the heat of mother cradle.
africa man, tell me how was it?

details: the nature of today
& of tomorrow,
of pleasure kid.

t-shirt, he
prepares an atomic roll of autumn magic and smile, friends
or simply just
a spliffy belief in holy hallelujah man.
wild this.
tree of knowledge of good and evil and all in between.
tree of

the modern mystic noon
& in it is energy/vision/like midnight
but throated in such
humming beautiful light.

the sky breathes endless love,
said sun and fun,
marooning us onto an all-day sigh.

mom betrays us.
headlights into the night
& up the breakneck boulevard bluff overlooking town and terminus.
she brings his heart in a ziploc bag,
an offering
to that old burnt-out oak.

                     [husband\father\corpse]

front porch blood trails forever. she
claims self-defense and the camera-eyes caramelize her
fame & fortune & stepdaddies & book deals & ziploc pb&js & dead dog omens.
when did the heartache begin?

heir\son\brother\body
racing car ****** and fluxed up the boulevard in a ritual reach for daddy and the oak.
the girls are waiting. one two three, seeds.
brakes sabotaged. he
bursts into death, a molten ball of mazda.
father and son laugh there on the brim of here and hereafter.
apparitions uncoiled.

                    [home movies]

where mercury avenue ends
the woods begin.
& those woods are evil, an eldritch place, she laughs.
even the indians wouldn’t bury their dead there.

america.
caught between the whir of spokes and windshields reflecting
sky and skin, the blue hue
of television flickering on the hands of a family.

grandsons conjure grandmaster demons
on the ply of their treefort high.
the heart of grandma in a ziploc bag.
jupiter and saturn are in conjunction,
twelve past midnight on a tuesday in september.
a school night.

            [the babysitter brings over an unlabeled video tape, says its scary]

the children watch.
slumber party screams and pb&js.
ghouls blunted by pungent neighborhood inertia.
son, a ghost returned in rhythm and electronics,
hungry for pizza and pure vengeance.

the sea is cold,
but the sea contains the hottest blood of all.*

             killer transients.
             people and whales.

             he needed to see his son smile
             & he did.
             a blue-trucked boy, hometown hero.

             he loved to fight
             & he fought to love.

             died in afghanistan for the pentagon boys.
            
             blame them. bomb them.
             submerge your vestigial limbs in days and home
             & simple mammalian living.
             wage and pray.
             little hours.
             little sweet nothings.

             people and whales fall older.
             think. write. ferment.
             the good deep.

             the hottest blood of all.

cracked nose &
watching moose beside the river,
on video,
he cocoons himself
in room and drug elementals.
boy pupa.
boy biking thru fog
& urban light.
city mystics, city-wet faces.
primates.

he works the grill and grins
in back. lollipop jar.
he pours grease into trap or teeth of great beast.
bucket cathedral.
corpse of bird,
decomposing in the alleyway ravine.

he packs luggage for the exodus
to northern california.
wicker owl
burning in the woods on a solstice
drunk, or moon.
the fire & the girl & his tongue to her neck.

bathe;
drain the dirt and blood of weekend off
to porcelain.
combed hair.
to appear in the lawn of withered fruit.
he wheels his father to the zoo. the old man
is bent beneath a blanket and tapping his fingers
for elephants.

montana yellow dress, the highway looked bitter sunday fit.
she knew the land given,
land taken,
thunder walking west.
met a friend. stopped to talk.
he was a holy kid or dog, both songs of kindness.
trickster cool mountain calf
waiting for the water promenade.
deep creek good old boy swimming smiles,
rose up
and shot like bang with the buzzard sioux feathers.
truth is low clouds flashing, dreams burst
in the earth room.
doused sheets of chaparral and canyon grass
a pretty laughing bird.
wet things watch the water-log, and a frog spits whiskey.
charter bus barefoot leather and a father says kids, smell the hammer,
see the hammer touch its words into the world.
work-tale living, fools bled.
river gal cut, oh
fishing.

she lay next to him at night
dreaming of a ghostly icon, gold
little-headed monkey god on an island nigh the cape of bone marrow.
& now
she bounds into humble years, house cat, domesticated
little smiles, little daughters, little
flowers at the supermarket.
good morning.

pull her hair, as if to tree
& family. seed shoved down her throat
& diamonds.
she remembers the jewel runners, their chunks of wet rock.
& birds
slipstreaming away their days above africa.
slug to the chest &

she awakens in a hyundai
under the beaming heat of a vacant strip-mall sun.
gravity feels soft
in this lesser pungent life.
dreamt only, of choking temp and humid archipelago nights,
the gibbons & the thieves.
the treasure chest lairs of chieftains and tribal nobodies.
war profiteers.
men of fang island fantasy.

fake it.
p.t.a. and butter spread it, to toast and/or corn.
the sun is rising
& falling
& truly just travelling ‘round.

       marinated artichoke hearts.

[baby dreams] of waves
on shore and handshake, of altered mother moons, she
is hidden in reflection
& time.
happy with the furniture.
plentiful on extra lunch meat.

the skull and spine of seventy seven men, extracted.
retribution far past putrefaction.
a pile of bones in the center of town, at the corner of washington
& rochambeau.
gather around.

           do you believe in the boogeyman?

a glitch in the darkness.
an echo of rage, high chroma bacteriophage.
every faithless father,
every sister spared,
every ritual sung just right, a brief blackout,
reconfigured pixels of outer night.

                     [bobby’s sega genesis awakens on its own]

thirty three years to the day, he
died on that suncrest boulevard, returned today just to say “hey.”

graveyard family tree and the moon.
first as a manifestation of electromagnetic phenomena
            in a videogame’s cpu. 1993.
second as a fully-fledged entity materialized via videocassette,
            hungry for pizza and pure vengeance. 2001.
third from beneath bedrock, the quarry belly baste,
            a body buried thrice, undead toxic tumescence,    
            a walking corpse heaving black plasma. 2020.

the sequel.
the son.
the spectral chosen one, he
rips out a throat or two, quite fashionably so,
a man about town throttled and disemboweled,
as friends and neighbors stumble and sprint to escape with their own godforsaken skin.
let the bone collection begin.
emerged in afterschool hallways to **** old classmates turned teachers.
emerged in afterhours offices to devour old buddies turned bankers.
emerged in the quiet dark homes of neighborhood flesh and folk.
blood soaked socks.

why? you ask, must all these people die?
vengeance?    no.
that was a lie.
he killed those people for a laugh
& that’s that.

bottlerocket,
ski click &
shoot.

         [empress impressed.]

petrol souls drift the skin & aetherous
of our holy mother lake midday.
by alpine,
lymph node,
spine of glimmering fish;
i never truly thought that love could destroy.

       [to display the paradise boon and boom salute.]

her knife atop the stump.

*

yon machines construct art-form of reservoir (yon being short for yonder),
knee-boarder-boy wake to wake, he wags his tail when he dreams.

        [lakeside.]

tribal the beach: a family drunk on juiceboxes.
rolling rocks. tall boys
& boulders/ bountiful canyon kids
with their beautiful gasping dogs.
****** knee **** and gallop at the foot of a mountain/mound &
sugar ants stomped, longing to empire.

mom bunches her fists into sand
of stolen crag, listening closely for her childhood in the whistle
of a casio conch.
margaritaville will do.

          [to **** or kiss beetles.]

kiss;
the bitty prince.
maintain a steady alliance with all lifeforms and flora.
life is programmed as thus;
algorithm of love.

bright honeydew soaked slabs of wood,
or plank, tabletop treatise.
wet pile of seeds.

young small birds hoard seeds for winter;
teeter into spring;
& upon summer find solace in swift slip-n-slide daylights.

.                     i was ******* when the earthquake hit.
                      i’d say it was the best ****** i ever had.

an animal!
a multicellular eukaryotic organism of the kingdom ingesting other organisms to progress!
a well-organized kid of chaos strutting his stuff and puffing his puff.
rifle, duffel, falafel, phil.
fully blessed and stressed to strum forward for the sun, or fun
and fandango.

we are the people,
and the people are merely material,
and the material breathed and breached the darkness, for more.
we are man and woman and dog,
beasts screeching in a field over nothing, over everything, over ant-mounds and the sounds
of seasons meeting.
we think.

eat, drink, wine, woman, song.

he thinks
of nothing but her.
and so in the name of her, he acts, he reacts, he attacks the momentum of weekends into weekends into rhythm. he rolls
out and the words roll off and the days roll by, but this is the unfolding of life,
right?
strife upon strife upon struggle to eat,
and repeat,
and eat her *****.

he was a well-spoken yet savage young buck,
evolving to confide and subside with these friends or enemies and imbibe the night away.
repeat/
he was a rise and shine early type with a mug of hot brew.
or the dream and shine late type with a bottle of cold cider.
repeat/
his blind date is a troll woman digging through the dumpster across the street.
he is a goblin boy gritting his fangs toward a girl, on a dancefloor, in a club, and bubble go the texts.
his texts are long and resolute.
she doesn’t respond.
she does respond.
she is seeing someone else. others
from a tall tree or lineage of men with strength and material.
a tall line of men and misters and teachers and tongues, all men obsessed with death &/or glory.
and by rite i obsess with death &/or glory.
and the dog, i want the dog there with me.
and the girl.

[sweet pungent synthesis]
always with dank hysterical women demonstrating the distilled liquid elixir of their many years in isolation.
they are the nitrogen-rich followers of an ultraviolet shrine, such is
a photosynthetic life-form, reacting/enacting/enhancing.
they reach for holes in the moon &
on four-legged fumes carbonize seeds into sons and daughters. birth/
life.
all flowers ache forth to display color and/or
their varietals of hairy oil content.
to dip psychotropics, thus the worship of brain frequency and light.
fresh progress,
the sugar crystal compounds impacting, intact, and swollen.
trichomes, like huddled little masses of grandbabies bowed upon the ridge.
she drips
in dance and derives her form from properties plucked by time,
by moms, and pops.
to discover is to find purity in a moment.
pure travel/ pure
death.
this growing force,
this apparition of sound within me. organics.
organisms bound by great beauty and failure.
sense not the vivid panic, or the shock of last black, but hold true
to an inner joyous/outer motionous, tessellation that is, this
fluttering of us.
us suit of hearts.
suit of leaves.
the fusion of two bodies far beyond substantial pressure.

i’m boy with broken jaw
my face and flesh of citrus
fingers dripping resolute

by weight of sweetened tendon
the motion to which i descend
i last resort upon thy tenderloin gloss

touching me under sublunary breath
he melts darkness to sugarfisted ******
i taste of all he ever wanted

it’s a dirtyparadise out here behind the neon nickelcade
day-glo slithering below my belly
just ten bucks, and you’ll get your turn

dad is in the garage.
days into spark-light and piles of polyethylene
etched.
soon, he says.
as grandaddy laughs,
rattling the icebox for more beer.

dad’s homemade android:
  the thing.
like a doll polished
& grinning, it
dances for us in the kitchen.

the dog barks, chained in the backyard.

the thing,
do-si-dos for a laugh, catches a glimpse
of the trees beyond the yard,
overheats,
circuits popping into a limp heap of pieces.
  dead.
left to mold-over in the garage.

the days.
the rain.
the cats tiptoeing along the edge of fences
across the street.
the dog barking, chained, &
snapped.
  dead
beneath a truck.

dad is in hysterics.
dad is in the garage,
weeks in and his soaked red knuckles.
mom is drinking with grandaddy.
they rattle the icebox.
  the dog.

the dog dances for us in the kitchen,
reboots and sits.
it digs a pit all night and buries three cats there.
it sleeps on the mound.
it never barks.
it waits there in the backyard, still
& staring into the trees.
  the trees.

truck-bedded teens smoke leaves above the tree branch cathedral;
treefort,
& fumes from her lips. her lips/
crush me oh my.
climb down to the street.
snap into a slim jim.
smash into a television.

            skateboard kids:
blackboy bent into dust and old motel.
whiteboy with fireworks spitting modern mallrat jazz.
girls of stuffed tiger and bottles shattered,
by blood
by beer
by now. she dreams
of the coast henceforth
& grips glass to imagine it like good futures.
    /****-hit.
    /swallow the pizza.

into the arcade ******,
like denim jackets and the mohawked-heads of foul foolish boys.
like little sister vanished into the music.
she presents her flesh before needled ink in the neon-rung afterlife.
she tongues flame.
she thumbs for fame and a highway to california.
she speaks in tongues to win enough tickets for the big panda bear.
her boyfriends punch faces in parking lots.

their generations gather at the apricot tree.
they pull at the seams of eachother’s tricky slips,
& watch hyenas tear through the trash
in the lawn across the street.

old factory:
old shrine of sky & night & bottles & bottlerockets
& her hair & us.
take the bus, or
walk the paths of backyards, home.
sneak thru the window,
cracked lip and shower.
to appear,
in a sunday dress.

drunk woodland children, we
ask so many questions, we
firefly skin. the picnic table beneath
our lamps, our ouija board, our girlfriends
next to us warm and laughing.
stories:
we tell stories to scare eachother
before descending into our tents
on the outer darks.
sweet night nothings.
& everythings.

i’m consumed by dreams of you;
somehow running;
somehow ******* my way out of my own inevitable
death.

a lady bug wing half-yanked and humming.
wind scorpion.
mosquito
in the early morning buzz, and i roll over
to see your puffy little sleeping face ::: sunlight there.
limp beyond the tent and zipper.

we eat mayo sharp cheddar salami wheat sammies
& take acid.
everyone one else goes on a group nature-hike,
but i stay behind
hallucinating of my dead mother in those sequined clothes she used to wear.
::: we play scrabble and talk,
until she leaves.
like love.
like guitar strummed chords and many hydrations later –
my tribe returns,
with fish.

the girl i love.
you/she roll joints in your lap,
in my lap,
in a chair and i mirage
the faces of everyone through glass &
slosh; through campfire
& lemonade.

i watched the slow death of MTV.
the music palace impaled and heaved
onto a coal-hot pyre of cool kid consumer trash.
pregnant teens, range rover birthday bonnets,
& ***** jungle-sweat challenges.

smoke the spirits of stolen leaves.
traverse the cineplex stairs and exits
glowing. mammoth screens,
with their long shadows, long teeth, long
celluloidal gods.
death to this too.

set a heap of old chairs and furniture on fire
in the backyard, hoping neighbors will gather
to drink and laugh. or at least one of them to yell
and grab you by the collar,
violently whistling.
wait and bleed.

“some say love is a burning thing. that it makes a fiery ring.”

so kiss her.
or don’t.
and always regret.
always bike home thinking.
always think of love.

she’s in a parking lot somewhere drinking cheap wine,
balancing on the bumper.
he’s on the river somewhere drinking cheap beer,
balancing boulders.

a dog sprints by and forgets all heartache.
he is happy.

the town and the people and the job and the dreams.
the nothings
and the everythings.
and the little life this is.

to slipstream years gone by.
one fire in the sky, or another in the hills
just west of town.
something said about the smoke.
we take a weekend to spool through the story of your folks.
film cans or video cassettes,
or home re-sets. rewind.

words and faces scrawled in a tome of note.
spoken little memories,
little mysteries.
stories to tell no one.
stories to tell those who will listen.

the boys with dirtbike brothers.
the brothers with drunken fathers.
the fathers with dead wives.
the wives with ancient mothers.
the mothers and their children.
and the children living well enough.
living calm, then free.
far away, then close.

an empire.
of highways and histories.
of songs and the souls they swing.
of old money/new money,
betrayal on the horizon.
blacktop jamborees and assassinations.
driveways and nicely neighborhood lit-upon lawns.
well-trimmed trees.
a never-ending tree of lovers,
grasped and gasping for the sky.
listen and wait.
for the sun to kiss the moon goodbye.

                              [a family and their dog.]

this chrysalis.
this coincidence that is us, on one good gust.
from heart to hand to sons and daughters.
synchronized to die and revive and imbibe along the ride.
a tableau of animalia.
feasting and sleeping and awoken
by the wide little world all around.

“we are fires in the night. let us bathe you in our light.”

those outtakes after dusk.
those you & me girl / high on the distillation of living trees.

we balance our bodies
over the edge of a creek
******* for minerals
&/or wet peels of gold.

fruit of pine
& animal fat for flavor,
you jump stumps &
stretch lungs to worship.

one thousand shards, my crown was built.
not of thorns.
but bubblegum legos, saturday morning stuck
to the carpet
& days gone by.

crept out of fold and gut/   kid living
& watched by trees.
autumn watches us fall like leaves,
born of the belly and the mother.
mom quiet/

dad loud/
  men hid behind blisters and god.
  men hid behind tall towers and the bomb.
  men bled for immortality,
  warred and ****** resource for more, the door
  to an endless life.

dad taught me how the heart and brain behold blood,
& how the body manifests it/    
moves it/
follows the sun.
son follows father follows god follows ghoul.
dad taught me about the machete.
           about how “our fates will dominate us blind.
                               so man dominates the jungle.”
he told me a story of love and more glory.
of poor men and dead men.
machete theories.

he carved wooden chairs.
built a lodge.
fished the river,
    & reeled to forget the war.

harpoon the river gods.
the heart and brain behold blood,
& the body manifests it.

he was a man
no taller than an ox.
he was a galactic, well-tongued to express
love

         & liberty.
         by blood naked hopes.
         he sat shackled back and dreaming,  
         chanting for smooth justice.

                   i have come, today!
                   we have come, all days!
          
                          brothers and sisters and people before the storm
                          this you must realize…

                                   your freedom
                                   is inextricably bound
                                   to our freedom.
                                   we cannot

                                               walk alone.

she’s out there on the ice again.
holy night &
positioning the gas-tanks just right.

joseph is her father, and his father,
even if not by blood,
raised flame.

foot to throat, brother remains
in the city working.
he is building a rocketship
in the basement of his apartment
complex.

back to town and dying houses.
foreclosures and fences.
lake of fire.

lights: she lingers in lights.
something so true and alive about the revelatory
of color,
of the world when lit and hit by sun
or our artifice.

her lovers: one dead by heavy
lumber, the other rewinding videotapes
in chasms of the library.
she thinks on his lips.

her dog tracks wet prints
across the carpet and floors.

wish list:
        mittens
        huckleberry jam
        iphone solar charger
        explosives

rotting horse carcass.
green glowing filament by moonlight ******
& mistrust us.
radioactive drums of waste &/or dreams.
boys swimming.

fistfights at night
by headlight & tooth crackle. (spit) then bonfire pallets
lit & danced upon.
plumes
of gas-can outcries.

the days & abuelitas
& ghosts
pinched cheek - pinched cooler - grandaddy
on the grill.
his gasping yellow dogs.

judy is in the underbrush with a walkie-talkie
& a p.b.j.
desmond leaps from high rocks; he
descends into another world by way of molecular-mishap.
dove deep.
riding the portal boar.

wasps hover above spilt wine
& declare war upon brothers with b.b. guns
& firecrackers
& spf 50+. the saturday/sunday sagas
between beams of heat laughter breakdowns
to knees, to bees,
honey.

homecoming queen dead & wrapped
in plastic.
body found with
turtle bites.
fungi.
the slabs of granite.
old iron tractors bent & held by tree wives.
toast.
jam hewn hwedges of crisped bread.

prepare for the high gates to fall.
for the great bowl of us
to submerge under stolen soul waves
& atomic guts.

the seven year tribes; or
fissure of statehoods and broods and brother against brother.
end drenched in whisky blood,
& desperado cheese.
fungus.

[the rebellion kids] with their drums and sling-shots,
get their throats cut in the open street sweet heat
& blitzkrieg.
all first-born hearts plucked
from atop the great pyramid, preserved, and in
frosted time-capsules.

yet the leopards remain healthy.
while cities plunge into putrefaction &/or
radioactive ****.
from **** to corner to tomahawk
in skull death note.

beaten back to the parking-lot of a best western;
in the battle of sacramento;
is an ammo-less infantry drummer,
& a bleeding medic.
they laugh and snap morphine tips
in the revelry of their final formations.

moon crescent
slows and all the woods liven with flocks of small children.
they live on plant sugars, wild
mushroom and boiled water.
they hide in caves of ancient etch;
old time-gone man & woman & buffalo.

they hunt owls with homemade crossbows
& cook the meat on holy spits.
grinding the little bones
into tincture rubbed beneath their eyes.
this, to exhume an astral essence.

like swirling colors, we begin at a party.
at a school
in a town
and a time on earth with the people and the streets and the trees.
tv’s/

like swirling oil of holy alignment. we begin
as a glob  (or embryo)
tiny little me/you/each
   (organic ******).

as children, involved and wearing warm hats,
we wait
on furniture.

the home stretch is free
unto college,
unto seasons, moss or mold, to bud new spells.
boy dunked in the river/
baptized.
transformed into horror.
(summer slash winter)

little brother,
little baby orb of water / air / mountain(s).
fish.
my son becomes a stoner.
he puts a giant-squid on his head
& dances the cha-cha.

star ghoul &
star-calc, skull of light/
bits of she beaming through and known only as the sky at night.
charted;
astro-logically.

in goatsblood.
& the mathematic sacraments of babylon.
meat and feast on forests of tall city steel beasts in beams; towers;
with the blood of men to raise them;
molochi.
(the consumed one)
(consumers)
swallowing dreams and family force nutrients for more and more and
more; as said to sustain.
for life is to devour.

you approach the house in zebra-print pants, wet matches and ice’d driveway,
you stumble to ignite.
spark to flame to enchant the neighborhood with midnight light.
you of the timeless once-was,
of grass or great oak,
you held the family together.
you tried to scotch-tape a butterfly’s pulled-wings back on.

                 [the momentum of love.]

teen boys breakdown in vacant lots
thinking of what you were to them. they
drag girls up and down the hillside, thru holes of the old factory fence,
attempting the ritual of you.
the aluminum hum if wind and night,
of highway lights on the distance.
*** on a tomb of plastic curlings.

you appear in pixels and dark bars,
face painted clown-like.
hydros in your palm, knife in your hip.
you were that girl lost between city sprawl
& old woodwork,
old wooden chairs carved upon and passed back and forth from *** to ***
class to class.

bell.
pizza delivery boy.
grease-ring soaked box and to touch his knees.
the channel changes, and he holds his breath for years,
in the wake of you.

there is a fire, somewhere.
the sun/sun making mad love to the mother earth like hey.
hey to the water,
hey to the waves,
           & all bits below.

            endless mad love.

& electric, sing the youth.
swung the tooth of photosynthetic children trickling like tributaries
into/onto/toward all worldly tufts.
prisoners of the wild.
prisoners of the city, yet swords of something like the heart.
           like an amber ale popped spare
& nowhere but up,
baby.

old cassette-tape
as bottleneck netting. this is
stellar
fishing.

            who’s wet khakis?

mine.

visitors from the great stars and lush.
tall nettle, tall tent-
city &
popping sap campfires. acid-
dropped and cooler cocked.
rekindle this
                bliss,
                cosmos.