a gaze into a wavingly
hot otherworld
shining beneath
a monochrome skin,

groaning for its
meat of color;

and in the otherworld
an other-man,
with a gray hat and
face, looking

at the soulless mimic
forms which gazed
back at him in identical
agony,

as if they too knew
the cost of a life

clouds of soundless heat
roil like fiberglass
cotton on our heads;

O god, who froths on peeled
billboards,

speak not,
for who could hear the word
through the
plastic in the cows

and the thick spit of
meatless factories
throbbing with sores;

ours is the sky
of glands,
secreting the
acid milk of a
thousand limbless
mothers

who thrash and screech
and birth methhead bodies
under black birds;

The flat videotape
of the plain erases
these children in cellars
and crawlspaces
so neatly
so cleanly

that
you would hardly
ever know that they
existed at all

a wasp drops into jesus.

Anything you do to my mother
you do
to my mother.

Eclipse, the painter’s toothache.
My uncle

cuts hair wants to go to space and says

Nothing ever became art that had even only
once
ruined
the hand.

Hell had already a garden.

All we see
we’ve watched.

A crushed moth in my mother’s throat is dreaming of a red lightbulb. The silence of our hair is too much. I say to brother break the same finger seven times you’ll hear a churchbell. Eyesight changes what seeing owns.

who was a temple in Great
Cadaver
wellspoken
like a real true
cracky ****** artist

spinning long long
silks out of sticky
blueish tissue

and Temple worshipped
the heads
larvae as they
martyred their caulky

carrion in the bruise
machines of hearts
punishing blood
with long long fists

and weren't those our last
hands curtained in the
strange milks

of the passage
through a
Mother
long-called Death

who might've been
warm
had we wanted to
feel

death-bound
cocked in silence
crouching
all along the wall

here are manifold
starlings
each of a new matter

curling in shame,
shadowed by the
coughing wings

of angel Michael;

I was carved of simple
kings
with sour brains

who tasted of smothered
breath
or spooned lead
into the mouths of
babes

night slides into
smooth desolation;

The towered sky has
abandoned its former
lover.

tonight is an eating night;

it chews and gums
at the dark movements
of our hands

as a spray of flame
crosses the horizon and
bursts into many long
dragons;

the purple
quietude is vicious
in its applause