and where is he to be found?

alabaster wool over a lamb


           bleat like a tinseltown
earthquake

flailing water wings down by the riverbed
because a sun drought treats you colder
  whistle the names of the tight-lipped
  ghosts whose hunger pangs    
on
     and
on

Worthwhile reaching out
Hellbent on riches

No One
Believed
You

and now you believe in nothing.
What else is there to believe?
Smoldering giants in the undertow
thats what!

Draw a gentle rock and pry it from
its gums

          
          flying was the greatest mistake

I'll miss the days when we weren't
supposed to ...

Airing out most inner thoughts
in a can left for an ashtray.

Nuance on a string
bringing out the sun gleam on
your necklace.

When words are too much
and the moon splits the sea
spilling light all over me.

Digging at the core:
"The Skin that Wore its Welcome."

"Does it make you feel small?"
"Well, I always feel small."
Pebble tumbling over the cliff rocks
praying for the tide to wash me away.

I will miss you.
I will miss you.

Every broken heart screams for someone to see who they truly are.
Every day I step out in guise
wondering if they here my crys.

Very few do.
I love them dearly.
I wish they knew.

Vail tied to a weathering mask
with a child in tow
who grows swollen

And swells like his mother
from which he reluctantly
reared his head

In what was called The Cadaver Twist
A ******* accident, no less

No virtue in a conscience yet to breech
A lesson likely learned early
If only ...

Paternal instinct as the peripheral
responds autonomously to the bottle
with intervals of grease pouring
down the gullet

The rain decimates in torrential strife
Laying in bog known as
What Once Was

The second circle the seventh time.
Assyria busting at the seams.

The cantos of infanticide,
                              
                     ­            breaching
                                    
                  ­                    brackish water's deep.

Caught in a tank
with the chimes bristling above.
Slime hanging in the tension
that breaks bones.

Fair maid with a
stiletto pick.
Stop pressing, my dear.

In fear of looking up
anticipating two lungs capsized.
A plummeting vessel praying
through the facetious clouds.

Dawn takes over
and we refuse to stop.
Locked in embrace:
A false foot embedded
in the substrate.

Kelp explosions
holding us lightly,
grazing as we float
toward the surface.

Skeletons tangled in a mess
like that summer when you looked your best.

Take the last breath,
plunging the depths
to find at the bottom
a two-metre
tube worm.

Squirming as my lungs burst.
Post-partem.
Pre-historic.
Fleeting in the tunnel light
thats eaten up by its
benthic brother.

There has been
oppression
further back than
ball and chain gangways
in droves
as doves flew freely before them.

All the way
up until today,
when anonymity is entitled
to the one who
delivers this deadly recoil.

Think not in terms
of tones
bestowed upon us.

Some of us welcome it.
Regardless,
it is.

The most ****** up thing
before the trigger releases rounds
into your intentions to be
is the thought:
"She is this,"
as you take.

Us and Them
make us black and white
with the same hot, red blood spilling on the concrete.

I am filled with cancer.
An endless senseless sensorium
rather than anything tangible.

Take it all through glass liquid flashes
of an extant place
that lives inside.

Why?

and I come back
and everything's sick
and all that matters
is crumbling slowly
so so slowly
that I no longer know that
it is

But hey, on a bright note,
I wrote today.

Sadie’s leaving, feet dragging on the old red carpet.
My last apartment was shared with a stranger
in apartheid, separated by the
very same carpet.

Then she just decides what’s best is best,
that summer dress blowing linen waves.
What’s lost in jest is often for the best.

Lists are old and now I’m left to remember yesterday
while planning divisive gestures for a drunken
muse tomorrow.

She asked me if I’ve seen it all.
Befriending mask before the fall.
I see them as they all abandon.
Granules of sand in gravity land.

Summer lies while river rats gnaw on posts
weathered from the reverence tides.
Hunching over limestone slate,
picture ******-eyed states of the caricatures.

Loss of limbs in dissociative fugue.
St. Anthony's fire up along the coast.
Ergot Dreams: Such splendid things!

Waking up in a pool with callosum yarns
spinning words of concern.
And i've come so close
time and time
to find the pinhole tube light.

Words keep seeping out,
I hear my mother holding me here.
Frozen solid.
Stuck in a cot.
Letting the little ******* off his chain just to
hear him stream

How many lives to burn in the ecclesia pyre
while jesus sweeps the remainders
off to sea?

Maybe I have died again,
living in this ferrous skin.
Seeded fledgling after all.

Lifted on a wheelchair
while trying to stare at the toonish heads inside.
A bright light appears.
I'm hoping I can tunnel in.

But my legs won't move.
Every time I reach for the light
a large hairy arm restrains.

A smooth utterance follows.
My muffled ears and the seeping quell.
This is as close as it gets.

Fold the sheets in toward you.
A cold that won't leave the bones
keeps up.

The old brain governance was a relief
until I realized I was back where I started,
with a makeshift ash try
and an innate sense of urgency.

When we look back
there is nothing but blotches

A faded remnants of the
brown-eyed school attendants.
Uprooted like floating log houses.
Convergent whims of the ******* children.

I'll be sure to take you down with me.
Down deep into the cellar.

Gaging your spot in this world with acid-burning insides.
      
                      A hazy head.
                      A faded sense of everything.
                      It seems that this isn't working.
                      You feel no passion;
                                       that's on you.
                      There's something that you ought to do but that thing won't
                       stop the burning.                                      
                  ­    Admittance won't clear the haze.
                      Action won't bring you closer to what's (at least) functional

                      Let's not talk about realities for a minute...