Loose teeth rattle like fireflies shaken up in the jar - concussed against the side of the glass

We drip juniper boughs into the river
like
Pastries in
Warm churning
Brew

It’s eat or be eaten. Beat or be beaten. And I’m not on to lose
And I came out with a buzz/cut and a badge

Lookin to bash in some soft heads.
And later in bed, I look to the ceiling and think
how lucky I am to be good.

Gun-breath kid .
Petal heart to the wild expanse
Resting stone shoulders upon the axis of the earth

We dig deeper here ,
In search of the birthplace of cold rivers

Finding only veins of gold
And nothing flowing in those of the living

Miner for their last   exhalations

Belly-walker’s daughter

Blessed alter to dna.
Origin.   worship.

Beaded rosary ******* kiss the lips of
Holy men.   and their
Descendents
.
Hell is inside you (only)

The real thing
is       outside

Forever yester-ling, we will not
Bathe above the sea -
Nor where the light spreads its long fingers in first inquiry of future mornings

The mountain’s root
Will be hollowed out before
We are found

And we shall drown in still tomorrows
Before
News of us comes


Silent, somewhere
Between the front facing earth
And the
Peridot      stew.

The best laid plans of motorcycles and minivans
Fall to pieces in between the  long yellow lines

We zip like skeletons down the well
At sunrise
Returning to old versions of ourselves
And playing catch with bad intentions



By dry riverbed I bury future aliases
As offerings
Rivers will stay dry in my time
But someday
Rains will come down from mountains
And wipe the town away

Creature feature
In a Double sleeper
We wag our tails at weeping branches
Dragging feathered knuckles against the softened earth


Inside this house.
Beside me,
Head-like
And thoughtless ,

We
Dine.

To seek reconciliation in the swarm of water droplets suspended in the air around your storm-haloed head

It’s breath and thunder that keeps us .
Still lifted up in
Wonder,
Even now


In time, re will re-condense -
As always - as the natural state of things.
Always falling hard at the end of it all


To the passenger jet in the rain
We salute you, 163 lives waiting to be lost
To secure a spot
On the evening news
And all the poorly written web articles to follow

I’m getting to the thick of it
I’m
Getting
Really sick of it.

I’m going
To
Open

Up