a black marker ricochets

in a box.

signifying.

uncapped to the noxious

sweet of vandalism.

an outdated television...

a still of watching.

a split screen triptych

drafted to a finish.

on sight.

an attic box, sniffing a

roof.

as the river of Lethe

strands the flow of its waters

with immovability.

their source reintroduces a

rain, that meets the surface and

circles.

interrelations of vesica piscis

are fished out of memory.

undone in fine swims.

the skeletal roil

of sped light,

is a solution to

be imbibed only

when eyelashes

meet like feathers...

and the body becomes

a rendezvous.

hecklers occur...

during a live poetry

reading.

as it's put down.

amplitude's broadsides--

lined.

reportage of faces, peppering

porousness.

popping out of ziploc bags--

with the refractions of a

magnifying glass.

shaking off the feathers of a

crow.

free diving on emulsified

leaves.

whose skeletal remains

live up to the legend of

other Crows.

is the omission of

highly pertinent detail

what eats away the: I, that

stands for silence?

that would be to move water

without creating ripples.

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.

having dealt meditational

applications of paint to the  

foregoing walls of a bedroom.

a more youthy white cracked

open over aging eggshell.

all the same, as if uniformly

sheen.

try as it may, a paint roller leaves

a frumpy stripe from corner to

ceiling.

begging for brushwork.

it's an intimate little chat with

striving perfectibility.

down the main aisles of a movie theater,
cranial malformations of popcorn are
crushed.
the brittle knockabouts of a cannibal's
unstrung necklace--left to the ritualized
red of Hollywood's carpet.
the flashlight of a theater attendant stretches
out its beam, to pinned concentrations.
just as the movie screen becomes the bubbling,
gaping hole of burnt film.
the projector let through, flickering back its raw
form.

the Atlantic fathoms the bloodlines

of raindrops now.

shown to their lighthouses as watchers

with sleeping masks.

their cloudless searchlights circumnavigating,

resubmerged to stand the trial of:

who among you?

--catalyzed the element that continually

drowns the final frontier?

spawning Charybdis' insatiable hunger

for ships.

whose whirlpools confiscate ripples,

that downwardly core-out their bodies

of  struggling saltwater.

myth making pokes

at the navel of gods--

reminding them about

the import of an unfastened

umbilicus.

then tearing out their guts--

holding it up to the god

created therefrom.

wisdom

doesn't know all

the dots have been

connected.

when it reaches out

to make a point, only

for proof it still exists.

there's a dimly lit carving

station--eleven silver blazes

shy of a disciple.

too abstract for a fine cut of

meat, till a line strands a

dance floor.

it's the sound of birds drowning

in pockets of water--the gossip

of music.

something continues the rise of

an occasion, a reception area of

body languages too angular for

bones.

those that have shown up, resolve

in very private ways--when & how

it is they will make their exit.

before they know it.

sleep broke her intervals

disproportionately this morning--

so i held her hand as this body tired.

it was when i came across my mother,

and thought from her truly.

kicking inside that belly, breaking our

heart--my egoless globe.

i part so many ways with my daring to

say...i realized her this morning.

'I thought I saw something', is all she

sees--as moonlight, so her shine moves

indirectly.

the heightened allowance of two trees

appear as if they escort a satyr from

cover.

while he steps forward wearing a biege

trench coat, like Robert Stack from:

Unsolved Mysteries.

horns as rogue branches deformed by

blows to cycles, the dance-broken

amorata of his crown.

an ancient boyishness layered over by

sudden curdles.

deepset overread eyes, ruthlessly

sideways with a goat's revelation--

cheekbones defined enough to anticipate

a fish's pucker.

outlied by a copper-colored beard, thick

with nervous curls as of the rest of his

body.

his hooves' harsh prints moist-test the

mud.

he stands there bracing for the cellular

shock treatment of ringing a colossal

doorbell, not knowing why.

he is as he does--which are two things:

step forward from two trees & back, with

no memory to offer contrast.

Selbst the satyr doesn't know he's dead.

spring breezes

& absolute dead-weight...

chisel the cheekbones

of Christ.

accentuating eyes that

will be left on forever.

growing a starker white

sky.

The fog was a cheek to cheek slow dance--

in step with the promise that no one

knows anyone.

It derived intimacy through lifting from

what it was never in place to reveal--

but like plight.

Having been as close as it'll ever be, there

is nothing that doesn't hold back as it

strives for the opposite.

Who's lingering on what it drew in?

So close that it's gone.

I saw: evening/blue/sky trisect an

angle--as for their own.

I & the cold let them ahead,

distinguishably alone.

Then came a sussing hiss from above.

A plastic bag caught about thirty feet

high on a Pin Oak Tree.

Both at their emptiest, the wind

almost apologetic.

As they visibly grew out of distinction.

paces apart--

luminosities meander

as necking streetlights.

cuffed aureoles

hysterical with laughter--

slinking deadpan destinations.

as a delivery person leaves

their mind on the wrong

doorknob.

how mouthy--

& hellbent a month

becomes, in standout

pronunciation.

(despite regional exaction).

consult all other eleven

months--with your tongue.

this one wants you to taste

the winter it overcomes.

into ides.

as shoots noodle outta

Roman baby steps.

this planetary dervish, central

to its obsession, sign and seal...

in the privacy of space blackened

with the hum of orbit.

rendering hole fulfilled by that dance--

all-consuming, a Heart's only thought

in the wash of blood.

vital silhouettes of prayer, as sights set in

the mind's eye...bewildering focus.

concrescence of a crown's expansion,

its pride and joy encircling supreme

nobility.

what undoes bend and knee to grant

a repose that need not be sought after

again.

There's a planet that's been method

acting in my head, passionate as a

coloring child.

Drifting like a sign you can't dispell with

the logic you were looking for it.

It seeks to embody the gross

underestimation of space at large,

without grand aspirations.

As if to ask: is a planet larger than the

mind--the planet says: don't answer that,

I'm inexorable.

As the planet balances on a tenuous

black square--for my sake, on an axial

tilt lending itself to delivery.