even when a kitchen's

light switch

is stroked shut--

like a piano key

sleekly

greased with soul

food.

the sun stays on...

as the moon does

her thing.

impeccably undressed.

spying on her unknown

creatures.

too many lions

are crying--with their

swollen ******* paws

resting on dusts dyed

blond.

as if poised at both sides

of a public library staircase.

retarding the suns that

crash on their heads.

with long-lived licks to

those paws.

rayed manes combed

through by granulation,

held in place by splashes

of blood.

when picking

meets

an unfurled

petal,

fingers unhand

themselves.

in such a way--

that a mutual

scent

remains with

every petal

come winter.

over winter.

he sat at the shadiest booth

in the diner.

sunglasses tinted to the

thirteenth power,

think Christ with his besties.

he slid some random ****

across the table to no one

visible, and grinned like

a *******.

it was death sanctioning

death to put a hit on death.

as an overly eager waiter

walked over.

ever-present.

threads of sound leave

goosebumps on the walls

of a retiring labyrinth.

whose guide opens his

mouth to scream into his

lover's.

supplanting echoes slowly

glisten like excited skins.

terrified harmonics shocked

to completion.

the cut up of a wet palm, in trust

of a wet palm.

destined for something.

the coiter of this dim

flay outlives the animal.

brushed aside with a

meticulous stroke--bade

bright to the tail end of

an exodus.

hunted off lands that can

never show their faces again.

there with the precise moment

when meat goes bad in unspoiled

light.

wet moon-paint drying on

walls that feel against one another

to find their way into emptying

out rooms--whose ceilings are glassy

veils pieced apart corner to corner.

dangling spiders like discarded trinkets.

cut from the womb of webs sworn to

secrecy--never to betray the whereabouts

of night.

with the same lips that soundlessly mouth

how they fell for her.

as horizontal lines are lowered

to disappearance across shores.

similarly an inbuilt distance of

return keeps ones guiding star

in its over-world chamber.

regenerating something more

complete than memory--which

is what life recalls.

death the twinkle in its eye--being

overcome by the throbs of its colorful

attractions.

there's only incomprehension--

as even a Word given

reads like alphabetical order.

to watch its letters burnt

down for poetry.

end to end, as words having

received Word--leap from

the windows of a blue castle.

which mean as they fall for.

fiery encirclets--

ground's birthmark

of night.

ash the skin of

smoke.

long since slithered

upward into

its unseeable

hole.

a purple apple tree abides

on a zephyrous hill.

wearing undone blindfolds

on its branches.

blown naked in the trust of

her figure eights, when they

came of her eyes.

as a pair of hands exchanging

crowns, to marry a Self-contained

undulation.

whose flux will never fade, with

the shock of imagining whose light

has suddenly been thrown on.

it's June###

(if you lie awake,

trying to pronounce June,

in NYC).

****-whacked by flies.

a handball court taking

pains to paint both wall to ball--

black and white.

halved in cold heat on impact.

with a glop of grey.

sparing players with a stroke.

as the backs of blue buses melt

and bumble, into a wealth of streets.

sanitation blowing those types of kisses.

with wheels going round and round,

de-ranged with reup and rot.

through spry sticks assaying

trees--wolves are being disseminated.

fur locked in bone, held together

by the howl of the gut--incontinent

with roaming country.

showed blood in blind tastes--squaring

packs in ravenous circles.

wearing unmuzzled ring-marks

of blood.

a fast has come

where the essentiality

of food, which comes

to mind with all its

delight, is waved off.

for the spine to align

against its brood of corner

walls...and watch night eat

well into day.

nauseous with sight come to

the fore.

the razor's edge of a

blackening wave rises to

spread its salt apart...

finely slicing a sky with

no particular height.

as an errand boy of

nothingness is fitted for

a crown.

an unblinking

series of boxes

listen  to light...

midwifing dark,

as not to hear the

sound of its child

trying to play out

of them.

compassion is an

undivided word.

made out of a poet's

boxed paper.

a study of angelus

to the reachable Heart

of a fresco.

overexposed with

new colors beating

off a purifying white.

as torrents outgrow

their own hands,

frothy-white.

stones go at their

turning, to compel

the force of the rush.

as a mending man

made yogi, joins his

hands together.

hyphenating light

in a breaking Heart.

the softening gyres

of silence...comely as

balloons around the

wrists of tree limbs.

reviewing the terrible

pull of a string let go.

a deflated head made

of color.

spotted by a solitariness,

that wind rushes away

from.

as it moves it.

the skeletal roil

of sped light,

is a solution to

be imbibed only

when eyelashes

meet like feathers...

and the body becomes

a rendezvous.

as dandelion spores are

hysterically grafting finales

in over-bright air....

a snowflake falls at the

center of the galaxy.

that will never melt.