can 2000 EM26 come a little closer tonight?

because the next time the quicksand leaves the pyramids

it’s lightning in the brain for me

forgotten names, confusion, white clothes, sipping tea

the lightning would ****** the sand into glass

reflective and clean, a coo of lithium’s past

and, in the cracked hands of rusty fishermen,

dead, caked salt and an empty fountain pen

i can only laugh at my heart now

an eager bubbling mess, like red and black watercolors handled by children

staining walls and faces

too “something” for this world

the kissing dogs are gone, sleeping long, chasing fancy in their fog

curious, a girl with a pocket of amaranth

always fresh rain on her lapel and neck

and eyes that become fixed and smaller in pleasure

an image that remains un-graven in memory, a mystery still,

like a candle stolen from a windowsill

sitting at a bar, drinking ***** with lime

seeing people i know, yet alone in rhyme

"this is how it’s going to be", said the picture of j. edgar hoover

"i’m burning you, feeding the furnace in your belly.

'you'll meet the devil if you haven't already'”, said the *****

"it will all sour, everything. get a taste and die

knowing one heaven”, said the lime

"you want to melt. the heat of your desperation touches me. you want to become a lone liquid and disperse into the clouds.

you think you can travel the world that way, maybe be tossed around

in the clear tide near fiji. but you won’t, look at me”,

said the ice in the glass.

in this world of orchards mound,

exalted thoughts and want unbound

i will lasso the stars and bring them to your fingers

soak them with rose water as they linger

but i’m not real

a phantom seal

of grey dust before the sun

a fallen orange peel

"and when you feel,

it will **** you every time”

a fatal light peeking through nimbus clouds

deep azure, tears collecting in the fount

i will stir the halcyon seas epochal

pour them in the fountain of past festivals

but i’m not real

a trembling hand, puerile,

before a golden web spun

to the ring of a peal

"and when you feel,

it will **** you every time”

I can see your skin in every pane, as a sheet of candied paper reciting poems from a sandy dream
The moon is out eating clouds,
and is writhing in blood-smelling peat,
gnawing at your sleepy feet,
I get to eat the earth and cry again
April, May, June, and the lantern moon
and one day, outside, the clotheslines and orchids will grow and tickle May awake,
I just feel it,
and break from want, from Hell