i’m pretty sure that’s us, babe.
stay
spooky

out there .

Themselves,
Are
Darwinian .
Not just arms races - though, they are that as well-
But more so : direct byproducts of the environment
Shaping the necessities of continuation_
Not just in sustenance of the body
And of bloodlines /
But also of the required toll of will that must be paid in adequate measure.

The corporate office ,
The slaughter of peasants ,

The tv writers room,
The pursuit for the eradication of a neighboring people ,


All the religions   ,
Scientific principles ,
Moral codes of conduct ,
Feelings of oneness with the earth,
Pre-
Flight checklists,
Favorite routes home   ,
Tomes of philosophy,
Secret dreams,flickering close to the heart- just barely
JUST BARELY -
But still there,

That which erupts spontaneously ,
That which is handed down by lessons or cell-memory ,

That which calls us to act,
To cower, or to dream ,
Or  
To yearn out
In the self-measured sense of appropriate
Orders ,


The things that are handed out as truths _

The years, the miles, the skull-buckets between     them all
That flip.  And chip away these absolutes  over and over
And over
And over _

Despite all courage
Pride
Or convictions ( genuine or feigned )
Of their espousers

The ideas remain -
Or are removed :

Retain some semblance of source ingredients -
Or are rewritten by force or forgetfulness
Each time.

Here is what it means to live  .

To stake claim
To stand

To rot slowly
Or to combust with brilliant light

All the truth ,
All the reasons


All the best-fits that become clawbound needs
Gripped like seized tendons
And unloosed to the last mud-song breath


Each “Last” is different
With different truths.
All new and mutated absolutes are born and mutilated forever , a million times over in a million parts of a concurrent witnessing of a second .

They fight for that huge gap between “it worked”

And
“ it works”

Until it can’t anymore
And goes away

That’s
Ideas
Baby.

Keep
Doin’
‘Em.

[in hushes, they name him]
                  
and we are huddled together
in closeness_
the life pit flickers
in warmth and
running ember
upon
the stone sky.
the young are ****** out of their bodies and into the air around
each
dancing breath.
the old nod, as
the strong wear too-thin masks
of
feigned indifference, leaning in from the outer
ring.
the story man comes.
and the future is
    woven
in this collective.

.


paths narrow past the breadth of these long-travelled burdens across our shoulders



in the canyon

floods may come .



then
embroiled amidst the nimbus of our eyestains,
the road behind entombs itself in these    
    vibrant
      greys



[she sang to us from stones on fire :

          we, as they, clay

          we, as they, clay]

Odyss in the abyss
blows a kiss
Home

/who the helll are you/

and the reply came :
/a problem you may not fully be able to solve./


the repeater traffic
went
fuzzy
and
warm.

and the night breeze was like a half-remembered book about wild boys named after horses who die in the middle (who well know of such things.)
you banked the median HARD like the worst kind of skipping stone
and spat a small bullet of gum out at the ******* pickup on the other side of the road.

the 58% waning moon, cocked
like leaning one arm way far out the window .
the shed petals and leaf-buds hailing downwards from swaying canopy-archways into somewhere new /
pelting the windshield like softly homing drone-strikes upon the cool, black and yellow world.

when you had to take out the ©0₱ for his gun, a quick knife-draw cut away the body cam and went in hunt of dashboard tendons after finding his driverdoor unlocked.

-you filed down the numbers and naively measured the clinking paperweights shaken loose from the clip with calipers for later reference : to make sure you ordered the right ones when they ran out.

she cried

and cried
that night,

the getaway was clean.

the night air was
Perfect.

for just a [world’s-ending] longer

and the sand ripples with approach / in a story about the origins of a land



Possession v. Belonging/ left in the stairwell


an unclaimed thing : the nature of pantheon, revealed.

we’re all nan goldin now
and all the little microbial worlds will
devour us
from inside out


even just as they as are now

say                                                  ch

a                                                        e
n    ­                                                    e
g          ­                                              s
e.               ­                                        e.

too special and not special enough

go do something better and talk to me in about 5000 years when we chance by eachother in some deep pit of whatever next hell welcomes us so openly

what’s left of of a girl
/
i’ve found her  

/

won’t be giving all
won’t be missing the wisely dog-eared
places

:

the moment the portrait
became

cauldron

.
evermore



.the dreams, as they were
.the un-scrubbed, literati-***** genius


a trial-and-error machinegun lunge-forward kind of loving

a kind of loving .

  



                a kind
            of loving.



//the sound the housegutters make when they beg the rain for mercy .
the rain .

/the well-threatened promise of “now” .
the softened blows of its passage.




the blacktop, swimming (and the music.)

the wind is doing it’s wind thing again
you know - whipping hard
howlin out there

lights flickering .
trash bins groaning out back with their baritone wheels .
windows rattling like kneecaps in a traditional story about skeletons .
the legacy of human detritus at various points in history careening down the road with projectile malice [hunting car mirrors to knock right the ******* .]



the bathroom door slams shut,
like a war-drum

doom-a-room-pa-toom-doom-doom-doom




all the good stuff

very on brand

where did these virtues come from?
the law is there to protect old money.

peace beside your thought, nation
god is a Gun.
so what is Man?

shame to isolate them
fear to motivate them
love to move them as necessary .



power likes
predictability .

the paint on the door holds more history than the minds of the populace it seems

am i humbled
            as i cup hands to the drip
                                              machine
  of _wantinglessness

am i listening to the horsehair-plaster hard enough

to remember
her hematite cough
                     [ of love ]

strewing gun.mites across the room
like seeding the sky with flower-futures


concatenations of ****** dread
casket basket
            rumor of
            the next thing.

scab fingers
ring diggers

shun mirror
you skim new menisci
                     off of
                       the
    locals’ strange traditions
like parsing down handmedowns
                  into piles of
keep.              and.              get the **** away
from me.


       like the stories cryptids tell
             their children about us
  ( so that they don’t stray too far out of the
                           forest )

unapproving dissimulatiors
                yawp
                  and
concentrate
on etching
pathways for the unendeared
             amidst the
moon.trodden regicides
   of that which is loosed unto the
   aether


footholds, findless.
in pursuit of esper footfalls within the ambulatory shroud of
             that which becomes
                      instant .

a
wisp of the homepointed . a
flick of the
wrist-grab, willfully
a
  fissure
in
  fissured things.

the scramble-dark iris
the         way
that hipbones throw : music
        as wielded by sorceress,

wild in trembling macrodactyl      
                 prestidigitations
                               .








the grandmother of conifers keeps vigil ,
                        as always

the wolf is wild
the coyote is wild again

R O N S O N O L  fingers grasp
Bindings like
A wet beast’s gum-saw upon the last breaths
Of a slow thing’s tender partition between sky and
Lung


Lest the prey not be mistaken

Lest extinction be a fetish worn like cruel pendants upon the uninsignia-ed

Lest fear not be politic-ed to the
Hacking of hands holding hacks to our
Own

                        Claw
           While you still have
                     Claws to
                    Claw with

World shunt
Against the
Bile-hearted wearers of these ugly badges
Of different colors but same shapes

The godfearing and godless will **** you all the same.

mellow fed fun slide
help ***** slipped
slop neck chipped
huck gunk up through
dry and tired
mouths

like foretelling sirens for the twister
but, sister- it’s better that these blisters
from the still rot riots
from tired auxiliary habits
the meat ****** hammer table hungers
the hinges in the same doors like ugly, earworm-popsong-poisons
the scuffs in the rug
the runs in the tapestries torn down to wrap/lug loot from the pillaging of the castle sanctum
like these cold towers
like nights with out night watches
like a starless mind

like what he said about hemlock
like knocking down the mysteries hanging like static from around the corners of your eyefolds
like skinrolled maps to oblique stations of new and hipper torture device forms

new **** walks in with purpose
here to speak ugly and true

the tufted rafter-huggers whip stares downwards at the

hate-*** hero

all cowboy, again
but this time - good.

and the songs are as hungry
as their calibers
allow.

cyber-book-burning on both sides.
when did erasure start passing as
love

is this place’s version of Simon says .
Question is : where’s Simon?

Do you remember the importance of flower arrangements
During the greatest times of War?

the greatest sickness remains
fear.
so much in the way of ill deeds cemented new realities while the whole world hid away in long hibernation

do not go quietly this time
do not go quietly.

|the porch door|
is not a set of words
it’s a thing
   a sound
of slamming shut
the rolled aluminum rattle
the smell of wind , maple buds , and
days that have beginnings and ends

i can see the grass
back when green was still a
color
i can hear the creaking piston-hinge
and
the
reckless
slam

of all the futures being
shaved  down
to the
core

||

out there:

burn on

is your own animal survival instincts
it’s not for medicating away
it’s for acting upon
                To
S u r v i v e
                  .

Think the truth is invented so that they don’t feel left out

And the other ones
Feel like truth is invented so they can do the leaving out

Why must either be accepted

middle management
for a cruel and misguided cosmology

with a fetish for the poorly-struck pose of kindness
while seeking to eliminate undesirables between
breaths

these are the stewards
where are the kings

are when your fingers are peeling
and bleeding
but you still reach into the ***** water

to do what you can

drumming out claval basins
in bruised thigh meat

in cuneiform
        claw marks down the
rib-collapse path(way)


embalmed in slurred
                wish
as the slush-rushed
                 outflows

        crystallize
       slikker than
           waning

stones
not lain to

carrion cairn
hillsides

food for glaciers
belly for trinkets .


_a clearing [mound] for mourning its unmourned nature

legs for
leg things. (and catching teeth.  .. ,..)

Apolo comes dressed at the night

They call him, lantern holder
They call him, light bringer

He comes
He ****.

Was cut
A long time ago.

im the cold thing
no van full of legs
no passed skin
  . v unfortunate

Japanese beer in the snow

sung longer lungs. bromide cut
sun sought - sight asunder
save for later slaughter

smug ****, of
var.
necromancies .
push-pin, him

he who swims,
he who begins
with pointing out the
wet opacities of the
        churning
        sky-sack
inside which, we are
tossing
like a baritone rumble-**** of dreamfood.


all garnet and dark, now.
all garnet and **** dark .

threshold thrum thrasher
belly waster
a
water gun kind of hurt