soak her in...adjusting her ***

on her tHrOnE, biting her nails

and masking the mask.

kicking away like a newborn

Christ, modeling the couple--

rallied, tinseled, and ribboned

round by the support of family

and friends.

spine sending apologetic signals

all over the place, both friendly and

unfriendly radio stuff.

as a patch of snow splats and

melts on her crown.

yes, This is Christmas...

a vinegary ripeness dabs fall's thirst--

an unnervingly tasteless demeanor

prevails over trees.

the strength of passing facts at their

feet, unprotective of experience.

what witnessed dwindlement looks like,

without appeal.

as for the rest, that stands to regard--

an understanding without imposition

will move across a prior transparency.

winter nears.

an archway with ivy bangs, glass cuts

another archway with ivy bangs.

dangling from the foreheads of a gothic

tunnel.

magnifying feet that have masticated

undergrowth & path.

the metamorphose of a human animal,

whose keenness still rings in the ears--

while ****** into the pressure of the tunnel.

a soundproof & sound-enhancing paradox,

that spacewalks limbs.

coupled with the aerodynamic windbreaks of

cars, riding the back of its modest overpass.

then the emergence to a connective forest

path--as if cleansed before a consequent

afterworld.

a red moon crusts on a right

hand--pulled from blankets

that shift into folds.

spread cleaner than the Face

of these.

all the matter kept, a

tutelage of flocking

black birds closing their

schoolbook.

a soundless penmanship

of two withheld bodies.

words are very difficult

when they come alive in

proximity.

serpents trade bedsides

in deep sleep.

their waking eight coincides with

the slowest fathom--dousing the

legend of a heart.

it's so strange when it follows you

around.

the awful fatigue of leashed wrath--

the devourment of all other emotion.

one of the most frustrating & loneliest

primacies.

a lion's infrasound shaking the housemates

of organs & bones.

a reiterating plain, onward straight to onward--

a massive drain at its center.

stymied blood let out, down it--a red waterfall

transfusing the earth's gut.

sprawled 'cross a time,
and 'gain...
birdies-peoples ...kept as musical
bars...nondescript angels
of yore.

stick to tree, marker lost

to the forest.

ariadne's spidery verve of

weave, threading cities lost

to their applied logic.

dense enough to entrap flies--

zigzagging against these

gordian knots.

her mind-eyed computer

graphics unable to simulate

disentanglement.

deep breathing for clearer

intuitions, ariadne breaks down

to the squeaky laughter of spiders.

who thread without threading--

feast on the dainty logician.

Carted off to who-hears paths
doubly deep of our weathers.
Keeping armfuls of guts from
spilling, un-wed worms uncoiling
for their native soils.
Saying loudly our slippery peaces...
to break with surface light.
To trade ravings hinged on absence,
moistly noodling context in place.
Freakishly conducive to metabolizing
the essence of otherness.

a circle is now drawn,

a golden-white

outline of nearnesses.

a round completed at

every turn, emissarial

whispers of angelic phylums

catching fire.

in skies too acoustical for any

church.

The spectra of superimposed motions

continue to creepeth forth.

Think the beaded string of a raindrop,

strung over since the first rain.

Similar to the cut of silver chords--

sounding the arpeggios of a rainbow.

Beside the birds of A Feather.

As Maat weighs in--Once & For All.

Mephistopheles sticks out his throaty

tongue--to sample the lineaments of

an artist's brushstrokes.

his overactive salivatory glands leak

down from the finishing touch--an

artist prematurely committed.

standing in the way of what the artist

knew would become a whole other

painting--with the possibility of a

non premature finish.

the conjuration progresses--art provenance.

hanging in a place of honor, someone's

home--a matter of acquisitional record.

the very spot of their chosen wall, feng shui.

with no visiting hours imposed, the obsessive

collector is slobbered on by the barter of that

brushstroke.

so the painting is lent to a museum--where its

viewers find themselves in front of other paintings.

though viewing the same one.

by sheer force of attraction, they all end up

in front of that painting again.

as if the museum emptied out in a single

viewpoint.

brushstroke.

a dragnet

comes up--

a sample grid of

shorn simpaticos...

waiting to fit into

the ripples.

of an unreleased

maritime report.

as if fore-harnessed,

by the indisputable

anchor of the Atlantic.

A rose of glassblowing transparency...
air-born as the color eyes see
when closed to the sun.
Petals pressed open shatter in place...
as red silk intermingled.
The color of passion and alarm,
that an earth transpires--rose...
occasioned by that transpiration.
Put to amnesiac white wings--
aftershocks of contrast...as blood to
snow, and all its angels.

a sensorial Kingdom transpired

along: Ocean City, Maryland.

its village shops rang the bell of

a scent that any verity of incense &

ginger, long to touch.

shelved starfish, baby sharks in a

jar, (blue-eyed) along strung shells

in the shape of a spiral cone.

twirling.

a serenade

in and of itself

is the melody

of a saint.

so in love with

the unrequited--

that there is a heart

for every note.

as the
ground is hard,
and the sky is
soft...
ashes fly
from flesh.
floating
streaks
of bodies that
stare at a sun
with no country.

sap has to sway in

stiff wands to meet

a white beyond weather.

as high towers well

pitless raindrops.

to satisfy the most private

thirsts.

way greener goes a pasture

for a newborn black sheep

laying there for a belly rub.

They saw to it no one asked where

They were.

Their absence may as well been a

handheld camera to the sky, shaking the

focus to indicate They were still there.

Tidily odd as peace's indifference, a

season ago.

They've made of it, does it show?

Now animals simplify spring fashion--

the smell of heat taken from its source.

The wild commands: DRIVE!

Come out--COME!

While reflections are saught as often as

unobserved appearances, like self-image

in coitus.

A skewed trance.

as of his greyship...

Gotham a smattering wore,

granite tone, pick a hue and

play it.

Self--possessed, samadhi some

say.

founding flowers, saxing

jazz.

finding their voice, wowed

by improv.

beat boxed to a pulp--that Kid

that has it in him.

to straighten out his guts, for a

walk on some tightrope.

from here to here, name the place.

deferment of streets.

the alone kindles the alone,

desolate fires that aspirant

nights sit around.

already ash to the cracking

sounds of wood, revealing

the vagrant faces of a single

step.

from and toward a journey

that betrays itself by name--

remaining forever a stranger

for daring to show up.

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.