He would act on hate
But call it kinetic indifference
Like a natural disaster
(Or a budding ideology)
Conscience behind the wave
Some kind of Freudian slave
Imploding with rage
Exploding with love
Eroding the face of God
The blind are out of luck

A hermit crab in a soda can
Evicted from a bubble gum dungeon
Fireworks on the tongue
Licking undertow of heavy sod
Swaddled in laminate pressure
Breathing sea foam
In a featherless sinking slant
An elastic anchored pendulum
Falling zagged
A jelly-hocked comet
With coattail streamers
Fertilizing liquid nickel

She stood quiet, flipping through her moods
Like depression hunting through late night cable
Dutiful bloodhound digits sniffing out relief
They fall on the carcass of something that was killed in the 90's
Puncturing the bloated cadaver a noxious fume spills out
And lulls me to sleep
Nerves untangle, the blowfish deflates
The best self-defense is reason, but it's held me at bay
It's out there somewhere
Howling at the gates

Celestial cataracts, tunnel-visions of the Gods
Gossamer glory and rusted revelations
Ruins upon ruins upon ruins, on the brink of ruin
Catastrophic license, divine influence
Be merciful to the self... Above All Else

Micing conch shells and waiting for instructions
I was drowning in silence
Listening to the fog
Fuzzy-eyed and supine
Staring at the bottom of the sky
Where the shade tastes like sea breeze
And the soul flashes its sailfeathers

She retreated, the slimming distance
Nibbled her silhouette
Until a crustless crumb pecked by a starling
Spun a winged pirouette
Into the sun

And I, pouting in the throb of tactile silence

Most people lead with the jab
But his 1-2 punch was dactylic
The majority of his poems are haymakers
Homogenous mixtures of slurred speech
That rarely connexts

His footwork is nothing special
He still finds the canvas too springy
He's distracted by blinking

Graceless graphite paws
Taking granite swings
Skipping chips of deadweight loss
Embedded in the stream of ink
Now dripping from his brow
The fighters looking up
And the ref is counting down

Out of conversation
Stirring moral gumbo
Squint red-tinted as if
Looking through a glass of chagrinadine
In a surely tempest
Grassed at impasse

Mute in the mind's eye
Sifting through hindsight
Every find was a light
That's already burnt out

And once silence is broken
And patience kneels for me to climb up
I pay tribute to the sunrise
The perpetual ripening
Among the sticky-sweet decay