Tilting head side to side, trying that

sickly crick, a frail crackle swimming

pricked up ears.

Not to free such finely embroidered

tension, but what a dog does with its

head when presented with peculiarity.

Mixing the swirled nuclei of brilliantly

colored marbles.

Your high strangeness puts the tick

in my nervousness, supine-stalemate we

protest for full disclosure of intelligent life.

Sine wave knuckles working the

cab interior of an elevator, thunderous

blows  story-ing up, down.

Cramming all those voices in a voice box,

a moral imperative to release them.

Exorcising a city riding a dungeonesque

shaft, all those broken by bread, crawl

my lungs as if trying to pry open a chasm.

No feet to my name, animal space for an angel's

consideration.

Thoughts like bypassed gut-checks of rats

crossing a third rail, vivid as Buddhist visualization...

modicum of composure, the elevator doors open.

People press in, as if finalizing the final frontier.

Disturbers of dust,

shedding your peace

compensatorily, capering

through eyebeams to

become real.

How else achieve ideal

ugliness?

Russian Doll nakedness

opening to the possibility

of beauty.

Exhausting the pretension

of its arbiters.

Seabed steps balancing an open rhythm,

hardwired horizon, Basquiat cross-out head.

Sparking concavities of globed trips,

causeless smiles, here~wear one too if

you want.

Off at shine in the make, steps supping ripples

to helices, empyrean's safety cords

vibrating fast enough to shake off

any spell.

Eruptions of pigeons,

from the loose teeth of

buildings, hacking whirlwind

romances sharing the thought

of flight.

Leveling with streets shrinking

and enlarging life...outflanked

by urbane sowers.

Shifty to the seed in rootless

takes, spur of the moment,

sparring impressions.

The strength of strangers driving

home the impossible arbitrariness

of pass, and be passed.

The canker of count in loss--rage

to the wall that's hole, from where

they know one another not.

Up ahead, The Empire State Building

stands like a towering depersonalized

roll call.

Plush me purple--

your lap,

take this head in

my memory.

Send down your hair,

I can't climb up--I'll bite,

hair clip me Ma, come on Ma--

hair clip me Kali Ma.

Don't know where my body

is girl...break yours in dance.

Throw me off, far off...

air out my tongue,

**** the lullabies from my ears,

lick my blades of hair.

Let my eyebrows crawl into

my eyes...to be inhaled by my nostrils.

I only smell you till I get passed the fear.

What's in a push of rain

on a window?

To clarify the attendant

perfection of a glass sheet?

To rinse out eyes,

with the world caught

in them?

Or to leave droplets for

the sun to pick?

Or to frame thirst?