the best vanishing techniques
done w/ mirrors
or so I have been told
set to spare the glance
of any foe so bold
to rescue all the monkeys
in the vast mountains of China
there are few wild
undercover panda bears
we are headed for a strange future
where all events are known
whose contours undiscovered
reckon towards the fact
every so often the world pauses
& rare blossom is shown/sewn
then quickly extinguished
this age is at an end
& yet
maybe it's just me
my day in sunlight
burning in the grass
eating little purple flowers of springtime
my cat searching for aphids & robins
squirrel assaulted by sparrows in humidity
I am annoyed w/ everything
manic w/ guilt
last night I drank 4 beers and masturbated
not in that order
smoked 3 cigarettes--not much there
days but still--I feel so guilty
I am so lazy I can hardly make myself

drifting from sea to sea
there exists an unknown
magic nature
the familiar that I've severed
love or what--I don't know
who can say--I am sorry for the pain you carry
not which I've inflicted
guilty of something--I'm sure
on the slow spiral down around where you are
I am envious of the bears--watching them in
perfect isolation
free in streams splashed w/
salmon blood--tied only w/ metabolic impulse
humans are the strange ones
looking out @ nature w/ mirrors and cameras
& grins
I do not understand
this odd voyeurism
slow down and be born already
too much caffeine vibration
sunken shallow to the form
anxiety worries--for god's sake
already burned up

When I get that itch
To not sit straight or still
Not to talk at all
Have I got something to say?
I don't know--But I see
All that you see--All alright
Don't feel bad about it
But feel it anyway
Maladaption has it's limits
Your situation not at all
Rearranging

To reveal a face
Is to disrupt
The gentle slow roll barrage
To show a concealed instant
The mask dies away
In old growth misery decay
When hair & belly
Like a costume folding
United with unknown cause
Who has invented
The receding plaster
Mindful eyes
Wet portraiture
Individualized
Self-conscious stranger
You are  a repetition
And a contradiction
Cells bloom like
Palm patterns
Maps limited in form
Without whatever
Mimics Henrietta
To intrusions
Conscientious tales
Who told from
Up on great heights
No reason to imagine
A resistance
Painful recreation
Sell me your blind light
I call you out of mine

Your festive ululations
fill my mind-halls
with bird chatter
bending from your
broken beak
in ten thousand melodies
hung up in the air

Don’t you want to
Achieve the vision
He said with eyes
So crystal blue
We can see it
Written on your
Face I sense
No connection
To these people
We can all be
Top performers
If we elevate
One another
Hey your onions
Cut too small
This is me
Elevating you
I smell onions
And tortillas
And vegetables
Oil dishwater
Carbon on the
Grill top scrapings
She has got some
Vague expectation
Written on her smear
Life is like a
Postage stamp
Her makeup is
Too thick crossing
Over leopard print
Tattoo underneath
Her left arm
Message managers
Are wondering what’s
Wrong with you
My gentle restaurateur
You and your wife
Are wondering why
A child this June
Another restaurateur
A new store opens
Every two days
Like a virus spreading
Smiles of cold blue skin
I dreamt last night
My breathless image
Of being caught
Inside an elevator
Of an old casino
I was parked on the
28th floor security
Was out to get me
I want to be
The tired reason
Your brand new magic
Realization
The dream you
Don’t wake up from
I want to fall into
Flesh disappearing
From the white spots
Of your eyes
No sounds heard
Settling in your head
Spread out among
The cold far reaches
Of your yesses
Coagulate like
Hot black venom
In your fingers
Be drawn into
The cracked corners
Of your lips like
Raised beds of
Cacti in the sun
Holy stolen
In your boots
I am no sinner
Cast me thru the
Farmlands of the
Black seed
I am going
Home to where
Your eagle’s waiting
Eyes of plenty
Vines that
Creep among
The tangled people
In their fever dream
Announcing lampshade
Shadows holding
Form from in the
Broken molding
Here I watch my
Not-self wonder
At the wretched
Timeline of reactionary
Heroes
Tired old mothers
Wandering up the stairs
To their misfortunes
Glasses brought back
Full of orange juice and water
I am drawn upon
A silver second
Lost into a fog
She is obvious in
The way that she is leaving
I am almost out of
Oatmeal and songs
Silver for my floors
Time evaporates
This instant
Like a clean and subtle
Memory of everything
You say or do or wake to
All your riches and your fables
Are a lamb sworn
Into custody
Of the same slate asylum
Battered boats near docks
Knocking water
Into snake holes
Wandered under
Painted bridges
Holding no collapse
Spending hours and days
Washed up on drowsy
Shoreline nettles
Chipping flint stone fire
Extinguished under floodlights

I am to tell my friends about the Little People with their eyes all green + needy for their Firemen Daddies spent all their time looking out of windows/ locking eyes/ opening car doors/ stereos and cereal bowls. I can’t be held responsible for what’s been published in the Upanishads, creation myths and scripture—better send me up to that little coffee shop in Ireland where the rat-tailed people go and wonder/spell ubiquitous lessons out in the snow. I am tired—tell my patients there will be no more tomorrows. Tell them I am cold stranded in the produce section—lecturing to Thomas on the fuel pumps. Send my mother a letter of sincerity & stamped with all the times I went out looking for images. In mirrors I was hungry for the cool essence of weightless sight. Tell my father mime out my appearance live in perfect unison. I am no agent of response. Just an eggshell hard-on gawking at the puddle markers blessed in disguise.