In 2020 we are the motors of the mechanics we drive
in the bed
of other work days
as the bees fly less

and
the drive of somersaulting mad men, calmer
than a pool of iced days off
after the pool boy
cleans up
start screaming,

although it’s universal when you rise, and my limbs burst
through these elsewhere tossed things, and elsewhere bones
that have no succor in the middle of the sun’s dance, as if:

naïve butchers in the street are sleeping on the bus and
there is no answer from the ricochet dream apart from
keep your **** together
keep your **** together…

and the world is well travelled when you’re smoking beside a dog
and the obliterated silence of a room has a voice,

but the turnstiles open when the poem begins, ah!
the weekend again-this, envelope of random orchids that rustle
and
open,

in the haven of a ***** flat where we find the best corona jokes
new cities
these shaking palms
the way the world works better at 10 am
and the humour of a crazy snake, checking KPIs
again,

and when i wake
i will love this zero
hour
contract
more,

i will worship you and say
yes
yes
YES!

The trees grunt around 2am
my bones shatter yours
among the lawns and miles of river
half-shot from the lung
jesus knocks over his beer
it begins to hail
better than our words or guttural dreams
among the early light of cars arguing
and the stare of dogs in haphazard light

Dismayed enough to bark with laughter
that rolling hymn of bone upon night
where we rattle space together
gripping it with knuckle, palm, fire, and distress
opening the lightening to our day
that remind us of seasons between
better made for the shadow tax, or
whatever days we owe.

i sit my **** down
and feel the office nudging
a bored embrace inside an over-lit room
hell drooling on the back of a flea
spewing and rubbing its stomach full of bloated dead waterfalls
one eye standing up and looking down into a smile that i send back up
a joke is cracked about local *** around 11pm and our screens twitch
enough to ignite all the hatred and desire in the world
and if i stay here
i will finally just call you up
and ask to borrow your tongue to write my will
all hearts turned sideways and sleeping
so
enough room to dance about it all at least
even if all this will come later
the surreal worships of speed
baked in heels of bear trap misery
enough to drink another coffee and sneeze perhaps
or enough to turn over and become a beetle
where sweat becomes each other’s air
without choice
death flys by our eyes like so many commuters moaning at the same time
and a buggered cup of sun pouring into the arguments i’ll never know
where a timed **** allows me to exhale
and a sly nudge brings me back…

time to go
time to go bud
the tap says

even if it’s time to be using my hands again
where if time repeats
i’d rather it was this way
and gladly

another world becomes.

An arm touches my back
as i hassle through traffic
i turn
and we stand still in the avalanche
and stay alone in the street
and it’s not a hand alone
it’s a part of your scent
reminding the cars and *******
to stay at home
or awake and corral in their own way and elsewhere
in a gaseous dance of steps beyond this time
we smile at disgrace
and walk back to the world
where the street has emptied itself of talk
and the day grows back our limbs.

Torture would be worse if i kissed you
then came back as you
and we did not dance.

The waterfalls are maddening
although
only because i swim like a shark
& full inside the bones of old moonshine farmers
they're the ones who really get it
fully full on their own fruits
slamming hell with laughter
begging it to come with each sip
then when the deep punch comes
belching
embracing a lightening love
and knowing that the next batch needs to simmer

lest the roof comes downs
and sings like a poem
fermenting angels and all.

Our mongrel hearts are born inside the sun
yet the pleasures of solitude are greater
i engulf ten leisures of life, in a bar
then think this, your attire enough to make me sane
then insane enough for your limbs, transforming
regardless of life or the prices of love & whiskey

I am these days as i work in an office
where the birds pour & pour
or near a Pluto named fire
my head glows redder than my dog's tongue
since all religions are made by flesh
and the only one i see is yours.