little dragons scuttle in the barn and Neptune deceives a comet.
Spring is all the carousels rolled into one balloon.
anthems and Time Bandits.
sharp loops in a spiral of deciduous Labyrinths.
groping for snow on a flame.
where the wrong gods go, you have all the whalesongs
and the honeycombs...
you have just enough actual delirium
to kiss a comatose Mirage.
with lips to polish a glyph of moonshine

in impossible medallions
of remorse.

on a Cliff.

all those miracles at your dainty feet
have all the naked and the marooned
in a fathom of kelp beds on a spool
of Saturn.
We gather at the dearth of our perpetual
diaspora. Long in the wrong tooth, where the stars
misbehave to get to the harsh Truth.
so many moons left unconquered
a spittoon of tombstones
believing in raw bones
and Abigail's.

II

just a tooth in the Sun, hooked where pavilions
congregate like hot salmon clouds of Destiny, forked-
where the Anguish Blooms like a tyranny in a Night Poem
gloating in the Pond of our Ponderous Conundrums…
slumming with pearls of impenetrable disarray
where our open ghosts are bargained
on the altar of a too distant Star.

And
sleep has the meaning
in its grasp
but nobody knows
how to sleep
when it
counts.

where you're Not
so much at
last.

i am
a pen

afraid
of loving

like how
the ink

kisses
the blank
paper

but dies
and
leave me

for
my words
to live

in poetry

I come upon the winding road in the thicket
with a candle on my forehead, forging ahead
in the delightful remove.
Where the curves of the world
have cobblestones and ivy.
Briarpatch eyes and lazy ravens
painting the sky
too Blue.

I keep my leaving in my stationery hive of rain
and long mourning. Happiness chips away at the frost
of a dormant grove of beleaguered charms…
where hornets sleep on spikes of spun sugar
and canaries  are more yellow
than a laughing
Truth.

Fearing Death I had polyamorous flowers.
Kept them occupied for hours with April showers
wisping in the muse
of my torrential
Minerva.

Slung low in the hip of dawn
I quake with ankles akimbo at sunrise
in my Night Kingdom.
So many blind Butterflies
to never catch-
sipping the Nectar of a Nod
where I kept It
seeping a
Dream.

Looming over sunshine wrinkles in the front lawn
on my moon patio, in my house shoes.  
Morning robe rumpled and comfy… drooping -
from my frame, as I shambled standing still.
Like a frozen scarecrow with a nervous tic
because of the Meds.

And it’s Wednesday.

the lawns are on pause as the light lathers
a hemisphere of manicured magnolias
and apparitions.
some joy is slain, and yet
the decals of Spring Guinivere
as naked as pollen in a breeze
of mirage. intermittent.
like a long day of extraordinary things
that didn’t happen
until you looked.

I saw a little Peace of me
in the War. slept through Grad-School
like a mad Fool on an Honest Quest.
speaking to the cheap seats of our Honest
Orchids...
I’d rather the Moon Mints
of an average Average…
slum ****** sick
with a Beautiful Algorithm
that No One can hammy galump
when the fade spark
is Actual.

Sunset gilded… the horizon’s orange vapor is capital.
Long pigs gristle in the clinking wind
of a thorough typhoon of God’s
Rapturous Apathy.
But my Horse knows my Name
and cannot Die.
Not without a Canyon of explicit Cul-de-Sacs
as Viral as the Common Cold.
Perhaps a riveting ascent into the Aries
where a horned goat is throat prone?
where a slice of banquet is a Sacrifice-
to the Unknown?

Perhaps...

my hands
bleed
poetry

i write
her
miseries

Knee deep in the brick stew.
Marmalade wasps with cast iron cashews.
born of a nut in a spoil of iron
gazing at the hard light
love locked or lovelorn… empty banquets
Calcutta my teeth,
and i have too few tomorrows
to arrive at your cul-de-sac
with a grape punch
full of open hands,

i startle the pigeons, yes -
but never the Fates.

Keep joining. It will hurt,
but it will Heal.
So saith the
Noise.

Bent like all trees in hurricanes
with curious fruit in my mandibles.
a manual crank spark
for actual Variables.

So saith devoid.

Our beloved
Noise.