Rain is that raspy Laugh of Time
Returning to Earth still again
It is of and in and sews shut Gravity
My breath is the treasure sunken

Lungs are His cathedrals, on this night A
Boeing 737-7 cuts a spotlight
between twilight and dream
Gods breath carving alveoli with a 10:35 flight across rib bone
and destiny
It is the curse of existence, trajectory
Neither sleep nor sunrise will stabilize me.

A sunny field 1977, thistle-trees-stirring-the-blue-orange-sky memory ripened, beaded up
fruit wet between my teeth.  I dream
Childhood with an eccentricity,
An ache and I wonder
How my mind makes up such things
Why from it I woke and can’t go back to
Sleep

Time rides its great steel grate with
the heavy weight the universes machinery
takes.
Hotter than a call house on nickel night
Cracking the teeth and bleeding gums

on the hate.

I muddy bare arms until I can’t tell them from the dirt
and wait
Life, the gray sound of rolling tires;
procurement, parchment, pamphlets

unlocking the gates.

It’s the caloric weight of a body…
Mineral water minus pillar salt divided by gravitating
memories turning 3.7 % of sea to milk stone
It hoists perception, of this morning,
the overlapping lessons I’ve learned from
waking 1,893,993 suns and breaks port again under breath,
My time displacement,  just 2 feet below the surface of universe.
Movement from the .0000000009 parse of space the  
the planet stood upon
to curdle the place where I was born

Deoxyribonucleic Jerusalem thorn

The course and cause of all equation
is Tomorrow.  And its teeth..
Look at them flooding chalkboards,
like endless petals cut and pasted until the
veins make rhythms the eyes can clerk.
And my pocketful of cherry stems and change,
castoff cogs of Timeworks

My lungs bled from broken eggs;
how does water broker where they go…
What they are a cathedral for…

If only Time didn’t have a say,
If there was no roaring universe washing us away.  
We could spend ourselves in warm blankets, perched in snow
Watching The Clockwork through a telescope

No memories undertoe

The foliage twists out of the ground like sick infection,
and we marvel at the flowers.
Imagine a carousel so old we rode it in black and white
and dreamed the colors
Childhood breaks atop the crease between sleep and history
I am the weights of every day, like stars pulling one another.
Never cowering from the hours

The bespoked branch whips its tendril wrists into moonlit so winded I gave up breathing
Stripping midnight of the exhausted blue atmosphere so poetically I’ve no reason to wake up,
Having heard now everything worth believing
With nothing to let up.

The bespoke branch whips its tendril wrists into moonlit so winded I gave up breathing
It strips midnight of the exhausted blue atmosphere so poetically I’ve no reason to wake up,
Having heard everything worth believing
With nothing to let up.

I swear to Christ and Holy God
I want one more insight like a dog screaming barks in the dark at unknown intruders.
I want to jump so I have a heart because I’m afraid it will break under the moment.  
And then I know I was built
because I didn’t make it myself and so it has a purpose but I don’t know it.
Until it jumps again.

I Hate it when Night presses its depthless face against the GLASS
and I have to Fight the urge to walk PAST the bulbs on the stars coming loose,
like all seas do,
and HIS hands, like they’re depicted in cathedrals:
carved from clubs,
dirt in the creases,
waving in the darkness

and wonder if I will LAST

He imagined her bones were hollow, quaint;
Needed for lift her
Body given to hummingbirds, A piacere soloist.
Twilight was her captor, dreams no one could persist I
Wonder why a childhood rents tenement in this-
Love, and the sleep-deprived sorryness for it

We are us all shards of glass
In death returned to sand for the beach
God does not possess Creation
(S)He was the window to Belief

I Hate it when Time presses
its depthless face
against the GLASS and
I have to Fight the
urge to walk PAST the
bulbs on the stars
coming loose,
like all seas do,
and HIS hands, like they’re depicted in cathedrals:
carved from clubs,
dirt in the creases,
waving in the darkness

and wonder if I will LAST

Life is industry
Because there are 7.5 billion scampering casts of lungs and livers.  
Cogs of machinery.
Greased and repaired and tedious
Like the finest clockwork of the futility
Of money
Hoping elegance is eternity.

Watching trees fillet their kernels of the universe
into inverted green dissections,
the crazy killers.  
I at least ignore mine until they scab over and infect
And I develop quite the vicious intellect.

Sometimes I have to wonder if I itch
Because my blood wants to go
God is tired of me loving seasons
He just lit this cherry bomb and waits for it to
Explode

Distended star matter steams into earthen
Sweatbread because it only knows to wait
Until it is delectable and
What gave birth to bite except God’s
Testicles?
Vertebrae eat
Until they can mask infinity
Behind debutantery
And the seas’ feet where they drink

Lungs are His cathedrals, on this night A
Boeing 737-7 cuts a spotlight
between twilight and dream
Gods breath carving alveoli with a 10:35 flight across rib bone
and destiny
It is the curse of existence, trajectory
Neither sleep nor sunrise will stabilize me.

Eucharist, liken to benzoate uncoating stomach linings for the Time we wait.
We don’t breathe, we itch
We are not angels’ campfire
We are leftovers, crossstitched God innumerates, I mean if Gravity was just sunlight punching clouds for
Celebrate.
And I was anything but the bones of planet and the heartbeat of a Universe
not even childhood escapes.

Admit it
Your heart is an old light bulb in
Your grandmother’s basement
And it will never be better lit
Than what God you believed in
Then

God had to do something with their wrecks so
I rise upon my tyranasaurus backbone and, aloft,
Wonder what was returned as me.
Sediment of unused stardust choked for dysplasia greens drunk on nectar beading from inactivity or steam of the Pacific I pretend suspends above me as a child, my back to the grass
Staring down 30,000 feet to sea.
All of blood, the same salt recipe as such Ocean, harvested for the dreaming.

The emu’s body grew too much for flight the girth of mammoths made their sub planets too heavy to survive
The pull of an earth too rendering me, maybe too lanky to float, To dream so seamlessly with the cross-stitch of Time
to still count words in its breathing.

It’s a goblet of sailing brain
without eyes or spine or lungs or need:
Jellyfish.  It seems God’s friction
deposited a hundred million billion of His clones in our Ocean.
The children of a Dream.
They are there and nothing all at once
Like religion
And we would never notice
But for the pain and screams.

I watch streetlights far below,
like an iridescent ocean
of fresh alien coral and
in the reds and the oranges and the blues I can see flickering,
the wind existing
regardless of
anyone and anything
and I know I see it only because we
manufactured false light and
chemically altered night.  

Distant revelers take up the fight.

When waters are so slowed to tepid
And are infected and
Draw breath, and heartbeats detected for medication
Because disease is self-feeding
And forming nations

That’s the Everything dream
Find wings beneath the flesh
Enough to tear the shirt at the seams
Be the universe that percolates between

Mankind has one chance to bloom
The dogwoods burst every season
But they have roots deep into earth
Mankind is tied to reason

A tree is a cemetery of atoms
much like me
Together we bend skyward and see
Where we, ourselves, used to be

My Yorkshire terrier likes to sleep
Where these particles tend to breed
Within me they stitch a harmony
And he lays his head, devotee

Space it seems is a distillery
Where every emotion ceases to be
And God is cultivated to believe
That we are the vehicle
to everything

I Hate it when Time presses
its depthless face
against the GLASS and
I have to Fight the
urge to walk PAST the
bulbs on the stars
coming loose,
like all seas do,
and HIS hands, like they’re depicted in cathedrals:
carved from clubs,
dirt in the creases,
waving in the darkness
and wonder if I will LAST

I Hate it when Time presses its depthless face against the Glass

and I have to Fight the urge to walk Past

the bulbs on the stars coming loose, like all seas do, and HIS hands, like they’re depicted in cathedrals: carved from clubs, dirt in the creases, waving in the darkness

and wonder if I will Last

I Hate it when Time presses its depthless face against the Glass

and I have to Fight the urge to walk Past

the bulbs on the stars coming loose, like all seas do, and HIS hands, like they’re depicted in cathedrals: carved from clubs, dirt in the creases, waving in the darkness

and wonder if I will Last

My puppy lays her head on the cool kitchen floor
Much like I let mine dream of outer space
It slows the molecules until we can wrangle them
You can float atop breathing at a stellar pace
I
Hate it when Time presses its depthless face against the glass and I have to
Fight the urge to walk past the porch light to guess at the figures waving dark arms in the darkness and wonder
if I will last

“Ever look up pronunciations?”

Stripped of their fleshy chests, words are
just bones and gristle threading teeth that eat them.
Feel time, in its natural twilight, run over the words until
they are just beads at the bottom of a good sleep which  
is all childhood is anyway.
Why you had superpowers and different worlds
and falls and bee stings didn’t hurt,

not really /ˈrē(ə)lē/

We are free in God’s blue lungs to run,
to bask
But there are ribs and muscle above us
And capillaries and aoveoli at our feet and
The words of our conversations are on borrowed air and
Our Lord takes a breath and asks us to sleep
So His Dreams may Be

-wacked revenel,
a Buick laid down, it's a skinned brick
hurled into the third rib
of 18 wheel traffic strung so ten-
uously from the horizon I jump on,
Vibrating with AWAKE, my soul
still separating....

From Infinity stars to infinity grass beneath my feet
Infinite molecules dropping the ceiling to eternity
The first stars didn’t sing
They drew the darkness from relativity
They were God, falling
Like Insanity, a happenstance of a gravity
And so there is a sun
And heated seas that pump me for teeth and symmetry

The moon as a field of headstones placed before
The Flocks of marrow,
Silver tipped 737 searching cloud covers
for the ghosts responsible.
A Grand Opening
Store has a spotlight spearing the night as high
As I can imagine air goes before it
Is space
And I trace the distance through the windshield, hoping everyone
Sees such blasphemy because maybe
We can all finally breathe, counting how many steps
it takes to leave

The grass rises wild,
flowers blasting
from the poets grave but
He did dream of cosmos fishermen
and is casting.

I guess Jesus ventured so we’d have skin.
A difference between water and benevolence
I love the urge to defy a God
who wills such resistance to the fog
Of time, Pump Gypsies, folded trachea, funeral attendees
and the cloveture between of all
Raindrops in the Andelluvian sea.
Time and People dissolving the I Believe.

My thumbnail broke off and the
Shopkeeper goes to work fashioning another one
From Time and wood, splinters and Bone
Someone somewhere has the original schematics
Whilst committees render improvements and hone
what the Dead would call addiction.
Amazing my molecules aren’t tired of me now,
Worry pooling from the friction.

Dip your face in universe until it’s nothing but  teeth and cheeks then hang it back for the reaction
“He’s all grown up and Knows”
It’s God giving Her only forgotten son
In the caliber of a Rose

soul:
(((Heart)448,000mph (speed of solar system))ht)(F)/
(G(m1m2/(r)2)(G≠ God))
or Ocean.



ht - Heartbeats/hour
F - Friction
G - Gravitational force
m1 - mass of object 1
m2 - mass of object 2
r - distance between centers of the known

Dip your face in universe until it’s nothing but  teeth and cheeks then hang it back for the reaction
“He’s all grown up and Knows”
It’s God giving Her only forgotten son
In the caliber of a Rose

soul:
(((Heart)448,000mph (speed of solar system))ht)(F)/
(G(m1m2/(r)2)(G≠ God))
or Ocean.



ht - Heartbeats/hour
F - Friction
G - Gravitational force
m1 - mass of object 1
m2 - mass of object 2
r - distance between centers of the known

Took a photo of Jupiter through my telescope
And it’s moons
And I showed it to friends and they knew of it
A portrait photo of family in some Sunday afternoon
When the world was childhood and creatures brewed

Too deep now to hold my breath to

In the curl of my hands there are
pockets of skin, matter with no more
care to matter but to grasp at straws.  
Other useless, leftover matter peels on a stomping heel or bends the heart in melancholy and forms new flower bulbs in the brain.
And the Rain.  God is Rain which
rhymes with pain.  
And the tortuous “Again”.

soul:
(((Heart)448,000mph (speed of solar system))ht)(F)/
()(G≠ God)(Gravity)
or Ocean.



ht - Heartbeats/hour
F - Friction
G - Gravitational force

soul:
(((Heart)448,000mph (speed of solar system))ht)(F)/
(G(m1m2/(r)2)(G≠ God))
or Ocean.



ht - Heartbeats/hour
F - Friction
G - Gravitational force
m1 - mass of object 1
m2 - mass of object 2
r - distance between centers of the masses

Renaissance art rigors, the designs of an accordion
Universe heaving with circuitry
(Imagine what the stars are plugged into..
We know, memory)
Designed to get me reason,
inventory and

The grass rises wild,
flowers blasting
from the poets grave but
He did dream of cosmos fisherman
and is casting.

Nights render like drawings
When we only have the charcoal chalk and
Make do with Memory...
Except for the sky, where Gods thoughts
are exploding.
I pretend my skins were sails, or
Time’s leftover stitching meant for heartstrings 
But for the bones,
Alabaster dice, stenotypewriter keys machining the
bottom taps of ribs dug up a thousand years on
And thought to carry wings