The universe sounds like Bones thrown off their tracks
The makeshift riffs of some ancient ruse
The yellows and reds aren’t even real
All molecules running insane; laughter bruised

My grandmother was a mad scientist
The chemistry of her; how the acid turned
My sister was caught and now my brother, too
Her ghost grips my wrists with a friendly burn

The indignant mantle of an idiot
Shorn, wooden shoulders rotted to bone
Dusted for flavor; dentil houndstooth coat
A book on plural morality and a scone

No rhyme, no meter; no whim and seether
Wingclipped hair and a fingered smile
Through the prism of Penchant spun on axis
In the dictionary he locates G for guile

It feels as if next year’s Christmas
has passed us by
Autumn is a sweater
Sewn from Lullaby
Remember to breathe No matter who leaves
We’re all trying so you must try

Smudge lanolin for film transition
from the color of conversation to night
by streetlight,
by the unrest of the kicked up dust of the stars
about our bars,
our clothes and our baby lungs still pink
with the sunset for which we seethed.  Let every moment heal,
singe infection and congeal the menwomenchildren
so that tomorrow is not a requiem but a dance,
a stumble about the reservations of the monied; broken finance
A new social calendar diluting earth and sky
beyond such contrivances as fingers and eyes.  
Just flight.  
Try.

Gravity’s ills
The weather of the mind, seasons still
Wreck every scent with the cinder
Of the universe traversing devilish render

Their words are worthless
A shameful repent before kicking a dent
Into the roar of the planets’ evermore
The Autumn ruins of a family misspent

My brother and sister,
Heirs apparent to tinsel and grave
Clamour for the womb and its porcelain  
Childhood is all that they’ve saved

The rinsed stars shimmer with the love
Of a newborn beneath a tinsel crown
Molecules as cicadas in rivulets of dawn
Chatter a new birth language gravity downs

The fervor of a Kiss until it carves
Jupiter red pyro igneous Hieroglyphs
The butter whipped June peppermint seed
Brewing ale, casting poetry; restoring Myth

Plant your timber limbs of thistle atop the mantle
Ascend the feathered plane of interstellar nurseries
Wrest with the havoc of Euclidean measure
Conversations, constellations; and we all fall to infinity

Opulent ****, the crystal of
Poetry, the pings of piano keys
Pyroclastic hearts wrenching symphony
From between the shadows  
Trees cast as alive as cicadas
Entreating the streets
I mean to keep everything I see
Holidays and the sear of sunlit memory
Gathered as petals about my feet
Our love as scripture
Wrapped with palm leaves, Soaked in honey
Preserved for eternity

A framed memory
Of the red of the crackle of leaves
Of my feet, that’s me paused
I didn’t dare breathe
Other souls stammer about
The winter’s eaves
Their shoelaces whipped free
Sunlight ignites our hair
As long lost words we speak

In pictures we are fantasy

Childhood is a shelf
(And I just disqualified this poem)
What is a sunrise serves the self
(And you're wishing for a line to throw em)

My grandfather skirted summer on a skif
(Here's a captain/sea reference)
What childhood knows is gods and man
(Insert visions of blonde teens covered in sand)

Humanity is defined as persistence times grief
(See, stanzas are just the principles of belief)
I never became more than a child wanting the beach
(Emotion for me is just out of reach)

Cigarettes tease tales of bar scenes and new rooms where adults seethe with celebrity
The stupid of youth, so fluid in shapely steps unburdened with
Success
Regret
Forget
A pack of Camels, no
Marlboro Lights
And a lighter and
The swirl of amber unfiltered ghosts forming
Our nights

Delivered as Child
I am to be a son
I am to become a man
I will cast the role of my old age
I am rage...

...not unfurled, curled or the world’s it is just another twirl into the vapor of godly entrails hopping bartending spirits remaining aghast at the cross firing back sparks of the universe, the remarks it takes for granted, the relationships it stains with the revenue of heartache and the generosity of the insane I remain uninterested in Time, in the mind of nature resting itself between the toeholds of gravity on the breeze, the wheat, the fleet of glances I cast her. The ever after crafted by poets and thieves and the deceit of my pleas ******* the gaze of eternity...

Life seems longer as a kid
you swim deeper into recompense
Every word comes from a deeper breath.  
Every shadow, consequence.  
The soul struggles
when it feels, you know, the
drunk slipping away.  
It was promised eternity.

Words caught under teeth,
grinding the dust of heartbeat,
stars, the bin of planetary rubble collected by mans
rocketeer tin cans.  
I am a failed star, too small to sustain the fusion process,
to fuse the hydrogen isotopes
atop the delirium of mad cap humanity unravelling its fertility strand.  
My days just land
and will for as long as I can stand

Will to live
To forgive the stars for gravity
For the Time taking you from me
For the roll of blood beneath our skin
Chemical notions doing us in
For the Light that takes us from our dream
The click-clack of mankind; the dusty machinery
Forgive Love for making itself necessary
What Gravity becomes when loose from sanity
Forgive Her face and Her touch
The pull of everything a bit too much

Thoughts, ideas, inclinations given to gravity
like all other heavenly bodies,
their declinations rendered by the shift of Alpha Centauri
or 666 Desdemona or the sudden texture of a moment whipped with scenery
like scrubbrush or unintended asides
there is no place for a soul to hide,
                                             not on any plane

Mathematically,
Our souls ≠ the stars (that drew them)
They cannot be considered
Functions, Sin
In the same Proof
As ORBIT And Collision

The Cartesian coordinates of a sisters’ picture
by a beachfront restaurant chalkboard menu
the refracted sunlight a cosign of the attraction between comets and stars
The bar top is wet from margaritas and laughter.  The camera setting is .63R
The poetry of Time, un-rhyming minutes; words heavy with breath
Ellipse the gravitational pull of death

The shame is that the dead hang on to us
Their fingers the streams of unstrung
Thoughts between our salvo breaths
In The shade of lavender death becomes

I wish For a universe without gravity
To wrinkle the sunlight before it finds me
The wrest of the seconds only sung
No quiver of a noose memory sprung


Sent from my iPad

WHIM

The Perseus Cluster declination
650,000 light years; 54 billion degrees
Her day is ladled in breaths
Sawdust of stars encircling her feet

The sun in Minor A; a wonderful remark
(For manners lie undisturbed in the dark)
A need for a poem to define Celestry
Her heart is lost to gravity

Kick along
Soul wrenched; set, test;
Unfurl the ocean’s breast
Undulating mother rhymes
Dispersing horseshoe ***** in Time
Sticks figure in the sand
Underwater forests with foreign bands
Of kelp and chemical sisters
Twisted into *****, blisters
Form along my feet, the cool of the breeze
Whetted with salt and seagulls
                       Screaming with heat
Tease us with this tempest postcard
Cartoonish starfish, loggerheads
The genius of Mother Nature
Ripping herself to shreds

The spirit to the body:
“You cannot fall in love with this earth”
Gravity is not caress,
Breath, or the jest of birth
It is the yearn of worlds
An untethered God, Time
The insanity between the seconds
Of every molecule; delicious crime

Hands tire, expire in
The thump of the stars encircling the world
The lust of atmosphere, caring for the waters
Nestling in the dark soot of gravity, it curls

That memory, we drove into
The mountains, Autumn unfurled its burnt
Tongue and we lingered in the Us
(What God hoped we weren’t)

I’ll miss your touch when Time
Cries ENOUGH, the symmetry of hope
Grasping at my shoulder, my face
If only Life weren’t a forever *****

Constellations fling stars through
What becomes of me and you
The echo of colors; the first we knew
The blues and reds of avenue
What song sings the drunk, the
Bleary eyed shrew
That wretch with sizzling breath
Staring us in two
What but Time is the disease
That wrecks the view
Swinging with Gravity until
The choir sings Hallelu
Tick tock, tick the menus
And klieg lights and residue
Humanity is a sunset
Its venom, true

We live among kings and sorcerers and plasmic sonnets
and serpent-lined oceans and speed-freaking comets
breaking left around untapped worlds of ether
and crested hawks and tales of Caesar
and acetylene-soaked music (and the guitarist drops a match)
and pharaohs and arks and Grecian tracts
and the words of Faulkner and pianos
and gilded lilies heaving like sopranos
and foamy, crashing sunsets and Davis’ “Kind of Blue”…
Why in hell would I care for the evening news?

Time, Sun, quadrants of ;
Consist me, skin; Memory,
Rhythm on worn soles, the
Unfed bone machinery
The planets do not care
Their accidents pleasurability
Freshman, wisteria; slipping bookbag
College in degrees

A solemn mending
The orbit about her staring
Nine years two hundred twenty days
Of my soul endlessly daring
The marsh, or Time when it slows
The bloated corpses arose
Thistle bound, satin and soot
Heaven is worse than it looks

Atmosphere[at-muh s-feer], here the ALWAYS of breath
The KNOW of time,
Farming insanity from the rhyme of
Death, its shoulders doused with the soot
Of consequence
The spindled boys trapping crawdaddies
In a creek the
Singe of honey crusted meat
The scent of honeysuckle
Stained yellow with summer Sun
Their words undoing, undone
The poetry of mother’s sons

Ebullient field of stars throbbing with nectar;
Startling the void,
The hum of insects rising as a voice
Searing off the thromboids
My bent chest, arrested with the weight
Of heavenly urchins Time and Scene
Wake me from their undulating chords
Explain in plainsong what it means

The air is never meant to prince
To the king, Leaden Gravity
Nor the light let loose its leather reigns
On the chariot’s calamities
Err to the night, its frozen breath
Sing over its shoulders, undertow
All gravesites crown with fresh bouquets
Everyone who will never know

Rhythmic decimals, Euclidean architecture of
Proteins
Resisting with each breath, measured against scales of grain
Maddening with insolvubility with the sprit of things,
The peace of stars left alone of gravity as
God intended but for the drinking
Mankind, or what is
Divined from insanity

They are homologous critters pasteurizing the
Air we see
Arrhythmic, ******* blood sausage
And unmanned celestial destinies
They are doctrine,
DNA eroding along the edges of print
The cast iron machinations of envy
Untamed eyes on canon flint
Press on, Press your
Emotions tripping on fingertips
The banal brigade  
I resist;,  A child holding a fist

Childhood, a delicious vision of swishing hips
Resisting time with a telescope’s persistence
Distance is Age* (*the Rage of
Existence)
The Calabash Nebula, its bipolar
Remembrance
the fisticuffs of proteins
Insane with the interstellar
Insistence
of Conversations, and our minds each wove a;
My brother, the medicated super nova

Maybe venture there
Where the irradiated dare
To speak, to spike, to writhe
To deny life to children caught inside
These editors of scripture,
Hands removed and tongues blistered
With thyme, sulfur and rosemary
The words as a thin runnel carrying
Wonder, Fear, the clink of crystal
Loomed etiquette diluting the Vistaril

Maybe dance,
Create a universe by chance

Nuphar carlquistii; disheveled parish; her dynasty
Deoxyribonucleic barcode, celestry
E Chord, timbre and thunder
The moon is delicious, burnt umber
Whose tomb, Venus
What heir to the doom of ,
What plant pruned, sheared from
The bemuse of the dead, the naught
The wreath of fig leaves, the drum beat
Frought

The winch of excentrics emanating cross hair dares
The layers, childhood and sound and her scent
The cinch in this fabric, Memory
From which all temptations seed
Euclidan Butterfly, at which point God
Supercedes, not breathing so
No words; rather, the pass
Of Mercury until it becomes glass
Like insanity,
The pupae aches to bloom, fast

Inner centuries of settlement
Avuncular anomalies
Ridden by Death
Sing of me, sing of me
Carotid arteries, Islands  of Langerhans
Accidental poetry and
Hollow earth
Bound by disease
Folklore, legends disperse
We the universal revelry

The rebar skeleton of a hymn
Celestial rust sifting in
Skin and its architecture
Oh, the tectonics of Sin
Thrush lashed to husks
Lungs dipped with resin
Wine with gall, the Synoptic gospels
Recolored lithographs and
Rhymes of tinsel cord
Lost palaces of Tangiers
The Late Cretaceous fossils
Vibrate with fear.

Hazelnut oribts,
The laughter and spindling limbs
According the key of youth
It’s my turn to spin
Atmosphere breathes in
Car accidents we dream
The schools parcel calendars
Square dances;
If childhood exists, I mean

Brass portals,
Simmering with her
The wonder of conversations
That never occurred
Logbooks of crop seeds,
Party liquors and champa
Solvents; she seems
Like lilies
And memories of
Summer days spent
In vacated scenes

I wish for everything

Hear them sing, the comets
Hung from gravity
Flung among the trees delicately
Reaching for you and me

A congenital rotation of Time
Topographic damage from the rhyme
Of fingered activity, blame and climb
The grist of Humanity; disease, ragtime

We’ll meet  again as the Boatman’s guests
Our clothes wet from the ocean’s crest
The shadows indicating our trip west
From this world my heart I wrest

I am a reflective adjective
Of the universe
A TITAN spurned
The surface of water resealed
Bones, turned
I am DESIGN
Deoxyribo Helix nebulae
Memories of the taste of snow
Shivering, sailing Boggy Bay
I am my grandfather’s hands
Teasing the keel
I remember
And my brother can’t heal
Our loved ones now vapor and
Preserved teeth
I too hunger
And will meet relief

Patter the standards of the universe chorus verse,
Poetic, dirt dispersed
with fingertips singed from Orbit, Dec·li·na·tion
His breath oxidation, rebranded the "Memory"
we seize

Fold and fold - endocrine leaf lets the wind
Unwrap and re-blend; the butterfly begins
Cram, dance; a league of sin
Reckon the world rolls away - The End
Death swept into the recycle bin
Smiles are sorcerers freckling the skin
God is the mandible and chin
And She is the rhythm that turns me in

Pigeon holes in parkay
Table manners setting Time to
Silvery blades tuning the leather
Strap by the cackling fireplace
Spitting as it speaks,
Slapping his back
Dear God, she rasps
Her dismembered finger
Wavered above the page
The sage thickening the air
To a sack with no end
And no way back
There is no saving the Flesh,
And this, sung
Hung above his ear
Left on the floor
Revelations 3:16
The moon drifts past the door
The Roar of the minister
His arms settling thunder
Shivering burlap wraps
And more buried under
The scepter fern
Burn these pages, she skeets
Between pulled teeth
The rot of breath
Eating its own meat
Creep, the Time and
So her biding
The knots grow, and tighter
The Blessed Unkinding
A rhapsody, not a Hymn
Begun with Amens
Ending with a *****
Soil, and my arms in

Rainfaring
Seminal beat, “.08 BAC
phosphorylating proteins
β-adrenoceptor viral
disease”,
He wheezed
In the driveway of
The wrong house
Cabernet Savignon
Telling him now

I wish for him meteorites
The horror of disastering
Interplanetary play
Setting him alight
With angel soot on solar wings
Soul whetting

There is no residence for
Artistry
No hovel to weather
Irreversing streams
NO declaration of
Habeous means
Simply conversation
And the corpse’s watch, ticking…

Mercury, dissected poetry, and lacerated harmony
Plucked on rib
Singed face from Jupiter’s whim
To entreat battle; Time begins
As Transit, horse bit
and scythe cradle
A sun driven,
whipped to stave
The seeds of gravity, spurn and ladle
Golden linseed per la nave

Palatable gargoyles dip the moon
In aluminum acetate
So it shows through the moods
Of God, a mantle for Grace
)If only He believed in cancer
So it too would seem out of place)
The manor house, relevant
Guests like Time and
Wind wrestle with the manners
Of Evelyn Waugh, Mannheim;
Euclidean space

Hesperian Period(Hesperia Planum):
Where tidal palms carried the sky
Rocks churned dust with anticipation
Of *******, sing Halleluyah

Amber rivers,
a tome of time and grace
The soft intent of neoprene limbs
Stepping in and out of gait

Raindrops sing al-be-do
Criss-cross-ing chords of rage, ‘ate’
Simple cells rotting into culpable hoes
Sorting star dust from anno dominae

The pulp of brandywine leaves thistle with the dew of dawn,
the strung lights accorded bronze
sashing of the crumbled brick sacrament situated beneath the crack-
break of December 21st, Christ, Nativity,
a triptych;  Wrench the whetted, gold seed the steed
of the Order, Clementine garland
and extension cords;
Altar of Santa Celia, burnished walnut shoes,
polished silver fillium.  
The wanton hymn of baritones and wisteria hung
from candlelit pictures  pressed
between rotted chicken boxes. Merry Christmas