Take no more of Kronos, in guilt
he speaks his secret name.
Shame on you, the brute who gave us wings.
No longer reaching for our halo,
I let forgiveness pass and regret to feed
the marrow.

And he, who finds himself wise, casts
a shadow on another day-- One who
does not pity the shrew, the innocent mind, a
naivete of perennial seasons forgotten

when the Autumnal blaze of fire and gold
became the death of Eden and
the birth of another ivory bone.

(ehyeh-asher-ehyeh)

As the apple

bursting bellies
beryl tides and

as the apple

lucid blue, a
wasted gut and

as the apple

a stitch of skin
of rude thoughts and
obscene gestures of
****** fingers of smiley
lies of cats in graveyards
and bleary eyes
of ***** misers
of the foolish ***** of
the four-legged wanton
silver tongued and

as the apple

a boy sits
and worries after
my ugly twin.

On this day,
paper planes
white ribs
mellow dramatic
fowl.
get lost or get
going
get treading or
get drowning

drift
on this day,
this comatose
wind of
graceful banality,
get crying or
get laughing
get saving or
get burning

this
is the liar's limbo, the
obscene outrage
the thoughtless
minds the voiceless
tongues the love
without limbs sobbing
over some ****'s Hollywood
half-assed production of
that idiotic sequel
to some vague kiss, this is
the masturbatorial
let down of your
little brother that
safe *** ***** of
half aborted embryos
good god kid get lying or
get dignified
lick your elbow or
lick your ******

On this day,
children breathe
adult bodies,
naked limbs
running
just to wade
in the sea

with the fearlessness

the blue neck.
the lonely echo.
tomorrow, in the light, where
a gurney is perched, they will
mourn the coming doom
of cold silence.
the ethnic way.
the soft blonde, tupelo honey lays
lifeless with open eyes and
weary hands.
a eulogy for the fair.
an effigy for the unborn,
and those left to live
in voiceless absence.

here, the merry men play, dancing
suede suits to disguise
the cigar, a facade to hide
what the crooked, blue neck won't

an hour hand that spins
faster, faster
loud, louder
as the whisper of a youth
bleeds the ears of 10,000 demons.

Soil, like velvet
black and charged
claim the footfalls of
a steady steed

Of muscle worn
and waxed, the mask
of thin skin

Down, down the jam
jar of innocence
The vagabond of
rich intention and
subdued space

Enveloping, coiling,
the bursting of birth
posed and poised

of a faded nebula, a
dying sun.

In the night hour, hills
he descended, like white
elephants
burned a trail of flox
when all were waking
and heavy breathing.

Playing piano at the group home,
Le Grande Staircase
I've composed a piece for recovery,
next to the glass-room
with cherrywood

(She was talking on the phone to her lover),

I have small hands.
But I manage to hit the high keys,
despite their objection.

My grandmother
has a chair that sits
in the shower-- a tile
throne for loved martyrs,

her hips have disintegrated
as has some emotion,
you say I don't know
sorrow, you say I don't know
sadness

but here I am again, naked in your chair
letting the hot water
bead down my face in
substitution for tears.