there are words to describe a planet, yeah
but the muscle behind the muscle is covered
in deep black grease.  When I say
"you" I don't mean anyone at all
and there is no "I" unless there
are three people in a group
staring at each other and the
thing in the middle shakes and wiggles
like a dying snake and they laugh
fraternerity giggles. the end is near,
the near is ending, I can see her now
or no the magnet is there and I
AM NOT STRONG ENOUGH to push it through.
the paint behind the paint,
the tension behind the tension
this is how I truly move you
only the ways that you can be moved.

burnt morning. the breakfast was gone so I had coffee. The details of dolphins were the bathroom mantra; turning the eyes inside out.
Refolding the socks I realized a smell I hadn't in "years".  The gas must have been avoiding me. A smell of butterscotch. Why I haven't been able to smell butterscotch is unknown to me.  
I remember a turquoise flame when the bonfire burnt the old tire. No one was around so the fire was for me and me alone. Me and me alone.  
I used to force the ***** down my throat and it seeped out my eyes in paint thinner tears.  A faraway howl of a wolf--how bad ***.  I was like the very-peak of a glacier come to reclaim me stomachspot in the Wild.  Fortunes came and went and I began to melt.  Ice cream in the hand of a toddler. Pink icecream in the hand of a giant who wouldn't take care of the courage when it looked so mediocre and small.  It's about time the dark ghosts come to reclaim their nest, so come on, I'm waiting.

There were still little words grated in the brush, ourself riding around, a great black horse,

the eyeliner, and an iris forest escapes.  I am the flowering fire, a sunset westcoast in the twinkling

airwaves, or radiowaves, and so we can breathe the literal mass of wind.  The green carressed and

aerially blessed, deepness and depth; what is truly grey.

The powerlines stretch hungrily for days, we see the purple glow and thus it exists-- we graze like

ghosts or bugs and try to find the blessed.  We wind up and clear the smoke, and blindness is only

black until death peers through, and calls the bird call, a shrilling through the spiritual silence.

I can see you on maps, you reoccur the same, giant and all. You are the same story and dwell

in roles through my brain.