i am not that kite

the road is blocked.
[temperature readout not responding]

foggy, light mist.
the upturned vehicle lays quietly under its long woven blanket of moss.the discarded mantle of each season’s worth of canopy cover_
restful,
like one single ***** glass left behind in the kitchen sink of a foreclosed family home .
violent, like the passage of time.

she’s steps out across the gravel in front of me,
crossing past my left shoulder’s grazing shove :
kneels down
and grabs at my belt.

one of us is a kite .
and the other, is a pile of jackets on the bed
in a memory about a family gathering.
//the ultimate goal of recycling remains
black plastic clothes .

there is healing
and a sky to pull on the
sea.

b ronze  a ge

gone alchemic .
plasma fiat .
foundries of blue-white light .

b ronze  a ge
morality

I feel like humanity is loosing a war that’s not even being
Fought

Of
Man .
The inherited
T h in g .

mitochondrial moves
make out . dance steps
by the stairs

i push past your cell walls
grinding on something sticky ,
that
in that
basement brain
is
storing stories .

like
a promised need for later;
like a cupboard full of (china glass)
:lipids in love


performance .
red shoelaces .

concert for a clawfoot tub .
*** in the hair .

bath, breakfast, breaking ******* .

eyelids feel like wet aluminum
gut stitches shut
bad knee re-bads.after years of ok-ing
spasm of the foot


poison
Poison

path in the world.


/

skull face under face face
face face, facing the truth

pin me to the wyrd of your world .
[and i, you]
doom.doom.dawn.

a yawning, gullet-bound
tug


and
under the leaf-litter and each sedimentary band of
a rolling thing

resides a
muscle memory
wound up like
(a)

spring

world swallower.

that
the only way to love
is to hate the other side with
p e r f e c t i o n


.

you say to me that the stars
are out
tonight .
after years of
hiding

i watch and am
blinded by pure
glow

under the burdens
is pure, crystalline /everything-you-want./

it’s already there.
burning so hot, as to give motion to the locked-up places of this world.

force of nature,
(my) tectonic heart.

moves like
the dusty, irradiated world
between
Us

seven days a week.and
a quiet honor amidst the
loss

sad sisters
sad Sis  . /

//my hollowed out coyote heart .

Both freeze atop the cliffface’s edge to
stay
Hard.

Joyless
Path.

Path.

Taking stock
And making judgment calls,
All.

We are that chemical burn in the world .
Monster in the woods .
Sober-suited in the mad house .

Dream/drag

Middletide.Equinox

I take three sips of water before looking up to meet your fragile gaze.

You very deliberately dribble lukewarm coffee over bare *******,
Thinking to mean something
By
It


—-
You say :

The Underworld is a plane of understanding at its rootmost lv.
The unseen sketch behind the painting.

It’s the bottom of the ocean.
1st sedimentary layer of that which may receive attention.


It inhabits the same 3/4 d places as we,
Yet shinier things cover it up.

//

Excavated  out through archaeological digs,
Through layers of
Carefully structured cities of daily tasks -
Crystalline life :
The salt bricks and landed footfalls of
Each
Generation .


//

An ugly, honest answer - under so many
Pretty
Lies.

eating over the chipped plates reserved for
only /truly// honored guests
we don’t care what we think about eachother
because it’s
             like
f e a s t i n g.

the greedy void hurries away precious, hoarded vapors into a quietly latched  chest    

     full of hours. days. weak-knee, stormfront months and whispered lore of the return of canopy cover to the pewter forest .

the same paths traced out with each rut in the road lines
a cycle of scars in the world like the thirsty, reaching tendrils of a dry riverbed

the skin bunched across my finger bones
splits open.in pious sacrifice to the nascent frost



pebbled gully,
shambled stone hands trying to hold up the
wholething

how do right things get
done_



a  calling card
comes
home.  the mouth of a dollhouse.

a department store with all the lights turned
off.  

the sound of splashing without
source .oh, what  
mud
we
    might     have
       been.

rather than wait for the worms to spit out our formaldehyde soaked flesh /
when you hear the
Hum,
make the new jazz interval
//


thought monger.
steeped in the sabbatical

eroded
love ///


a
roundtable :
without the
mirrored
orb

a
pantheon of
thinly veiled
veils


a
waking need.

and the whole of the world
shook
like a box of
vipers

it’s enough
to cut gemstones out of that look
in
your
broken eyes,

string a string of beads to prey
upon our
Hearts

a perilous mess in
matter-land

a clock to make you
mad

a time to enjoy the
art

from within the serpent gut, have you seen the fangchain gnawed through -   as  
   if
they watched on, in [wolf-loose] wonder ?

rumbling down stone //
in radials.of cymatic displacement


how do we make it
right?

roaring now.

With triplets
Drinks water from the
Faucet

There are things to care about
Left.

special boy
worst messiah
greed beyond sacrifice

Back of the fridge .

Clay handed Ghost
Dabbling in self-
Preservation

Not just anything.

Not,”just”

tread down pathways on your
tongue
like runoff from the
hillside // the drips are
dancers of casualty towards a promise of restfulness at the
Bottom

no more potential to fall from .
no more
mountains //

we,
gullet-bound into the.flooded
gully


the vision of peaks to either
  side
bound to other
rules,and to

eachother;

mountain-breath_calling

their kindness


    is a kind of lobotomized love.+pushing paper around.like making everdistant promises of delivered goods

//:scarring dragonbelly sized trenches into the slowchurning flesh of the world.a widening gap between
actualized.v.abstract justice .            1t’s virtue on credit,
paid off in laundry loops w/o a tangible exchange .



   choose
   now!


or find these heart-sized boxes made of an entropic eventuality:this habitual tug into the center_towards willful repose _laying down.beside
the fluttering lashes,glazed over in the cool bath of dawn
///
waking too late
loving too late
******* too late .
***-slung beside the driveway sun.

i lift my soft scale belly to the yawning expanse,
       aim now !

aim now ! !

                                aim now ! ! !



?:

//



_thought   that i was  m o u n t a i n
but
i have been
       the zag of air
screaming pinholes into stone


thin, raking gust-prints.across the impervious, disappearing
    w o r l d. .

these tired seasons
of rot-gut mornings / swallowing sore.belly_fulls of pride and other
virtues//
but all that’s swallowed turns to **** in the
end.
and
a call to chivalry is broken tenfold
and rained down
upon
a
thin tarp, hastily strung up over the collective human campground🚯

like tasks that will be accomplished //
_my newly distended belly stakes me to the
  ground , having
overfed upon [virtues.]acrest  this
        windblasted highroad
which exists ,
     t r u l y ,
nowhere upon this
Earth.


our hands
drip
out from hiding
and into eachother’s hidden place.

the desert sand
moves through our eyelids
like other peoples’ problems that become
our own :

each woven loop, a desperate handhold of precious cargo
each intertwining thread-arm
shoulder to shoulder ,
dry.elbows locked /
@ a citystate’s walls
a crystal cathedral refracts the
prismcut pathways of the bright
   shawl slung over her neck like a
yolk//
   shivering at the tall gates of
this
****-farm for the ****-hearted

they turn her
away.
they turn into
men and **** the boys.they
fight back the
desire to love and
burn houses for the want of
                night-
                lights
on someone else’s
lawn.



hey, be. hey, be ye.

Doing nothing
Doing nothing
Doing nothing
Doing nothing doing nothing
Doing no
Thing like mantras to repeat in the
Cold of the open window, young
World leaking into the vapid room like
Smoke up the flue
Slime across the bottom of the old. Bedside cup
It’s the cloister up
It’s time.
It’s about to get very difficult
What lessons will be taught and
Learned.

The loves and fears of
Mankind
Make small mood-rooms
To bathe inside .

Like an egg w/o a chicken-road
Like a path w/o a pacer .back-and-4th
A ghost-mouth  mother of _memberships

Dogfolded maps of exotic lands,where
Its people still have
Hands

is a scale-less basin for memory
sebum goblet . bedside cup.
eyes are a
worldnet for sweeping.the
lost-aloft
and wing fold/ed
:things

Catch.
Catch.
Store.

like bugs on the windshield //
like the pesticide-genocide that hides that
History
from clouding
our road-bright
viiew  ever again.

pretty
skin on the screen

pretty much ***** the real
away.

Dishrag.heart
Heads back,
Homeless.

Faster than  the  speed of bad decision
The light bounces   off the hand and into eye s
When, the
Hand moves / it
Shutters all around
And encroaches.       Into

Billowing stacks of molecules , roaring up
With a  purposeless ,and burning
Desire.


Feed, heart. feed

humanity
belongs to the mad.
only
the sane may die
         unlived

unga bunga ,
and other short stories about everything that has ever contributed to what it means to be
Alive

become mud soap
as the mad wraith
tithes the
Land
tell your heroes
not to
come .

Indigo earth
Breaking tiles in the ruined home of
The
Ancient people
Stone moments like
A
Wild
Dream-fox running in swirling shivers through the inky clouds of
Dispersion /
So little love left over
After
The rains
Are
Pushed out
By the
Distended belly of the moon

the hydrogen peroxide heart
denatures to simple, harmless water
in the light_
failing to
challenge
the evil army of living filth assembling attack ranks by the back-edge of the bathroom sink .

it’s a fake creation myth
for
fake inhabitants of a
real
Land .

it’s a
promise, undelivered
by
cells, dividing into oblivion, breaking oaths like
bread  
in a story about
  outlaws and
the
murderous state .

it’s
good - or
as good
as it’s gunna
get .

  as
mold minds
inherit
Us all : We, the spoils of an un-fought
War.

By a lime-green poison dart frog bracelet
Glowing in the black light

This lowgrade fever
Unfoldslikev.rareflowers
On a particular
Night

Deep brows are rustling
Through
Her

As
Microwaves scrape the panel-sides of the
House,
Even in the
Dark

I have only the touch of my hands
Left -
And the muscle memory of
Something  
That almost became
What it was
Supposed
To be.

//
The ladder of ribs
Up along the skeleton, there.
Bones made of shame (and milk-myth),bleaching under
Sun and
Moon.
//
Tanned
Leather pouch softens to the morning,
Fallen from where a neck used to
Bundle sinew and rumble out
Something made of air
//
Still stuck-frozen to the hard soil and leaf-
Litter .


Ah oom, ah oom .

Turns in a wet hand
As the other holds the leatherman
Preparations for a dog’s breakfast
As the earth and sky
Also