dog wire fury in the rough hewn sun
and the mild disasters we come from
and the wheels of squarely nowhere,
yup.
some of our broken
English
sinking a  
King's Ransom
in the hard pan
and
polishing
the mud
of a Drought....

in the rain.

[From Fragments,  The Following...]

... so it was that the Urth bled less. The Birch Moot was becalmed by the Anvil Cloud of Impending Deluge.
The Young Gods made sport of Their Names, and aimed to Oblique the colony of clever flesh
groping at the tender roots of an insipid devastation. The First Ones had vanished.
But Time was born and the Mortal Whirl released the Hounds of Change. Transition fused -
with the Eternal; and the offspring of unloved Spirits, roamed the Tangible. All Suffering was amplified
in the diamond lungs of a divine corpse, dreaming.


... for when the iron heart of The Cast Out was retrieved, the Legion of Heaven poured unseemly Grace upon the Fathoms
and the High King of Doubt, forced his blade ' Nimue '
into the soft palette, of the First Mouth.  The Stars were born and The Void overheard the First Naming.
A solid drizzle of enchantment cloaked the oaken Yggdrasil
and The Pattern unleashed the folly of Pattern
to mask the virtue of succinct Chaos. The Children of The Lower Sky ate their Masters and thereby swollen -
gathered in the underbrush of the Fecund.
They came to Know Regret by Answering Prayers. The Kingdoms of Wane were waning in the fearsome riot of Creation
and not a boy, a man from no woman
and no woman
a man.


... the siege lights of the petty stars, babbled in the wake of yawning eruption and nullification. the ****** theater of blood
was made Holy by way of forcing camels into eyes of needles in constant dystopian joy.


... and that's how the rain gets in.



[ From the ' Kingdoms Of Wane ', a Lost Tome from Antiquity and Dada ]


What ?

drowning in your absolute **** me.... i'm less alive !
I dive into the waste of our Time misspent on my older youth
to squander the audacity of my bad faith in you.
how long ? Long by two and then some. held for no ransom
my handsome gifts, fetid in the breach of an angel's unsound siege
[ a little late in the day to be  ] but your love kills boys on the cusp
of manly things with a soft heart -
and twice ******. ***** fiend, no more !
more of a joke in the clog of your humid rust agenda
in this war.
my friends call you " ***** "
but you have ever been -
called  " you ".
what creation has installed
into your core, to most corrupt, distinctly more !
a bath of false in a sea
of course chores
for your Herculean
false adore.
i Love less all
the more !

now
prowling your disconnect, we fret, but you slay best
my dragons at the door.
you strive ! more alive when
this beautiful is more defiled
and your culprit ******, lapsed
in fret and guile.
you amass the serene
into pits of unsworn fealty.
you pledge the wretch
of your false
to the Truth of my Cause
and Defect.
Yes! Yes!
Yes!

and I find you wanting.

And found  
no one.

the farmgirl with the green flecks in her anime eyes
is snoozing in her van. it's afternoon and she's lost her ruby slippers. she knows not where.
she charms the water fleas with her clean teeth.
she gropes through the ampules of her ample *****. where her heart is like a fox and hound.
in a glass forest. the otherwise, warm porridge is the cruel gruel of her next poem.
she gnaws on the nape of her next unborn. the naked rube of her snipe hunt
on a night with no moon.
she doesn't mind either.
her kites fly, un-flummoxed in the effulgent. unchained in the Quixote of our windmills. distilled
by charcoal fences. a net of screens, nimbly deployed across the hinterlands
of our possibilities.

now " who could that be ? "

agnes is calling and i know she just wants her computer fixed.

there’s still some music hidden
in the burst of noon
I can feel it in my lips
the Man you are
you ****** time
when you forget to blink

make me your Woman
embodied certainty
doorstep within
pillow for dreams
uninterrupted

I’ll be your road back
into childhood laughter
fill me with poetry, commonplace,
raw matter-of-fact
I’ll wear the day for you
fix little surprise
in the cup of tea
let you play true love
with my heels, dormant

twist the mirror inwards:
I’m yours.
you stranger,
behold thy Woman

You live
for no reason at all
and that's
the worst
Joy.

Because.

summer is a fool.
sprung from the unctuous
couscous
of a witless bloom.
the too long reason for a plausible ruse.
a dumb chump, whupped and thrashed
but never told otherwise how down
the below goes... but well informed
how the formless reeks
of damp
No.

the worst joy is slumber
when the wind is kissing your dessicated kiss.
when the whole emotion
is half the feeling.
when the real thing is just false enough
for poetry
but real enough
for dreams.

i want to kiss her. not because i want to feel the softness of her fair lips or the warmth of her breath as she exhales against me. i want to kiss her because i can’t think of any other way to fully express the beauty that she is. i want her to know that i see her as perfect. that she is perfect.
- bzq

stone ground mustard Venus burns. She's not concerned that constant falling
and orbits, elliptical - are the same thing.
Her eyes are deaf. My eyes adapt to the pattern
that rattles the chain of events.
my Spartan theories dangle in dubiousness.
I find a trap, and call it Seattle... for i see cattle -
grazing a state of mind; north, north west of what God meant.
washing tons of pocket lint by hand.
chewing their cud
in the dark. meanwhile - outside the ranch...
My eyes refract. ***** and un-***** in the black lacquer that came -
with the oblique miracle. they sustain things that would sunder a doll-eyed bovine
to ever breach The Fence.
my hardened arteries jangle like numinous. I pine and snap ruinous barbs from Death's
prattle... for i see battle, razing the Grace of Time
more at war, than at our best. more -
bereft of what Reason defends.  
tossing guns at bullets
by telekinesis.

[ undefined ]


i come from where i've never been. you were there. and ewe were there; fleeced and bleating
in the snow that fell as soon as shearing ceased. i recall, you were never there. but remember
passing you by... shilling an ocean roar you swore you'd plucked from a Seashell -
salvaged from the divine dry sockets of Poseidon's skull.
you were hawking your unawares. i played a flute made of question marks and glass drum skins.
i went where my stride was inclined, and never where i went to.
i never arrived by approaching the destination. only by always being somewhere else
till i got there. i came from where i'd never been and -
ain't been Nowhere since.

but i'm sure i pass
through There

ever since.