an uptown scarecrow debuting

downtown birds, browses convexo-

concave storefront windows for

a costume.

stuffed with a sun's harvest of fully

lost hair.

more unfamiliar than any creeping or

flying thing.

venturing into daylight, where one

image winces into the form of all

images thereafter.

an odd vengeance running out of

paint, still wet--yet dry.

as a mouth's penchant for words,

once uttered, forcing the most

well-adjusted hypocrite to situate

Self.

just when it is shown to its very own

space...things unravel.

intentions are breaking their

backs while paving hellish paths.

the best of not saying at the height

of meaning, with no where to go.

even too final for the last push.

intersecting like crosses with

light speed visions of forsakenness.

wrought with the motions of what

is promised to pass--but does not.

left with the inability to sit with

breath, nor the poems it generates.

as all units of time are

being poured into the perfect

round of a black hole, relieved

of their span of standing.

a heart turns over in its deepest

sleep--knowing it has been

misunderstood at the most pivotal

moment.

where lifetimes met to be extinguished

by a love too glorious to withstand.

a droopy-eyed turtle

dove hangs from a

golden thread by its feet

like a  bat.

cooing to the draftiness

that knocks at the corners

of a room.

inflating the notes of its

tangential silences to cartoonish

size.

a redundant gradient helped to

bursting, by the freshest recruits

of an open crown.

intermittent death

gains on its gasp--

the way the mind

you thought you had

loses itself.

a grasshopper trying

to slice out of grass.

seated by the bedside of a

said street...a flower girl hunkers

down a misreading of color, that

claims family to spring's own.

Chaplin fidgets takes--wala, and it's

ramifying  light years in black &

white, yin and yang proposing to

one another at the same time.

rumpus of a penguin-footed mage.

production costs haunted by the

obsessive revisitation of a moment in

time, that only the right take could

liberate.

rheumatoid arthritis of bad directions,

as skyscrapers nicked by forwarding

motion.

a car door interrupts soundlessness.

the syllable of a first fold--emitting off a local

screen.

Charlie's obstinacy from the first flit of onscreen

voices.

the flower opens...the flower girl smiles.

more overpoweringly than she weeps.

supposedly confusing Charlie's purchase,

offering change to an unwitting elderly gentleman

that enters a car whose door slams, startling

cinematic history.

too spare for the things she thought she

couldn't see...

as it were, Charlie could not abscond

from the blind flower girl.

he actually fired and rehired the same

actress.

she finally doused him with a flower ***,

as he attempted to sit beside her.

as faces barge

in on their cellophane

wrapping...

a phenomenal candle,

an eastward giant melts

them slower  than WaX.

nothwithstanding.

crowing batches of light

on unfamiliar walls.

an ether glove-glow

solidifies around

your hand.

as you catch a

fortune cookie.

the eephus pitch

of  a master.

a piece of night slouched

over--swiveled in the silk

of anonymity.

its emerald sword impaling

the earth.

to the degree its core became

a bud.

no Sun--

no Moon--

simply a cave.

holed up, and there.

just there, right there.

unseeable.

both of the wings of

nothingness torn apart

in flight.

stupendous magic--

Nirvana keeps its Word.

its Word will never go

extinct in any wilderness.

a fabric

is slowly severed--

its stitching bumps

porously.

its amalgamated hues

blur a dream sequence.

an incumbent world

edging towards slaughter.

swearing it was there at

one time.

emotions drift away

as broken continents...

seedling stars buried

in their soil.

that will rise as the

puppetry of deities.

never second

guess the wind,

it travels lightly--

yet can rip

locomotives off

their tracks.

the walls

fold neatly

like a napkin

on a  prepared

table.

spoons resting

more indifferently

than knives that

will cut meat.

there have been

many horror

shows beat to

death by the silver

of screens.

with no audience.

who ever

wrote

poetry on

their spare

time?

no such thing.

strike forces

of energy

come to lift

the banner

of Suns

become

One.

crept over

by the most

transparent

clouds.

there's a

thimble that

pulls spiders

thru.

they lose all

their legs--

but don't scream.

only reconfigure.

i attended the funeral of an angel--

not an extraordinarily virtuous human

being, but an angel.

it lie there as a solid beam of light.

wings condensed to a blinding soar.

then the demonic condolences came

rolling in, as the space around that

beam of light transfigured.

thick and hard...the nausea of no way

home, was captured by a flailing incense.

that flowed downward, emitting no scent.

spring breezes

& absolute dead-weight...

chisel the cheekbones

of Christ.

accentuating eyes that

will be left on forever.

growing a starker white

sky.

a black curtain

is pulled a-cross an

inoculated landscape.

an inert knot

sped to unconsciousness.

the last figure to number

a hellish essence.

as the colossi of oblivion

operate feverishly.

untrue north's

chronic darkness

sinks into the

soft spot of the

newborn savior's

skull.

a beast growing

thorns from his bones,

depetaling a rose-mind.

picking up on the scent

of rot.

lets out a muffled cry,

hidden among the latest

twist of crooked trees.

there's a desolation

that's lost on place--

a distinct body of being

consumed by nonbeing.

the excised Heart of a

mirror.

a thinning air that draws lines

of transparency.

where if one's existence

is reflected--they will never

be seen or heard from again.

stained a dark

purple, the parch of a

cast out hole--plastered

with scales.

a serpent stiff as a staff,

lither than the cookery of

of mid made noon, made

desert.

got drunk on poison spit.

wintered ethers that clapped

warmth out of its trance.

gliding down & up mountains,

while memorizing skies--dumb

to total blankness.

dark on course with purple,

purple on course with dark.

by default, there is no clever

line for a serpent.

where it is impelled to inhabit it

again.

as a shed skin.

& ex-pire.

though it does.

super 8 film

of entwined

offerings left

running.

pre-opened...

though at rest.

more overarching

than what films

their inevitable

opening.

a crow & a raven

meltdown into the

hollows of a jack-o-lantern's

eyes.

as an overthrown flock

of blackbirds hone in on

an orange blip,

over a rooftop.

leaking mascara down

a jack-o-lantern's

hollows.

kernels of corn

detach themselves

from the cob

of some kind of

Sun.

to necklace the

over-shed of

moonshine.

circle-yell,

full.

October is more

than a recurrence.

as land left

off its wilt, growth

in tidal surges.

forming pyramidal heads

of mountains.

any vista is a clarity...

too suitable for a discerning

mind.

She's one hell of a dancer...

strong enough to remain on

the ground with no one around.

till lifted way up.

paper mache wounds

drive into their

porcelain doll.

fetches of deepening

red--making Rose.

profuse.

applications of hands--

shattering.

right before bed.

mercurial illuminations

pray over a space

for you good people.

put together

in some **** good

time.

snap, snap.

splitting jungles to

our cipher.

rationed twists pacing

this boney rock.

tense gone passed

it's penultimate

passion.

littering streets

with the discarded

masks of assembled

misery.

the vainglorious changes

clarity on bedsheets,

after leaving them there.

celibate scales choosing a

fine stone, to remember

what comes of accusatory

skeins.

itching at any serpentine

shame, with the whole house

up.