Disintegrating integers returning thoughts to ether
Distill my Wednesday morning
into
Para morir;  primate;  Genus: mammalia
The universe explodes every atom I
include

So much then for the coffee,
This indigent soul revving his bloodstream
My body cannot rest on this earth
All life expanding to fulfill the dream

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.

I will leave on the bedside table my workout schudeule
and a catalog of Tiffany's winter inventory
and the social registry
I never return and she will sleep
with the candied apple smile glazed on her French cut face
and a trace
of Camille perfume
she must prickle in the ****
in some erectile phase dance step
her mother showed her even  before her first driving lesson.

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.

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

The star’s last breath is
Everything of consequence, it’s
The matter man scattered
Into leaflets of title
And the flowers along the drive
My car idles and
The sun shakes in the rear view mirror
Every step the discarded symphony
That keeps time with her
The cancer is God and he grows nearer
My heart

Sentamentalistic
The braiding of the universe
Black hair bronzed with the earths sun
An actor reading lessons of heaven
Hope unspun

Thump thump thump of color
Rhetoric is the chemical burn of man
The actor gets away with ******
The honey yellow of isotopic historians.  

Cause is the Gravity
The woman is ground
God is the elements
Stirring woe into renown

Every
     Place

A      Trace

   Of
              His face

BILLBOARED

Coarse, no .. REFINED dining.
Mined for charm and croquettes bronzed
With sunset
History, I regret
Is written by the sold
(And they never get old)

The Devi's Thumb... Bacchus, Heaven
A Mass for the repose of the souls of the dead
Desire, emotion and knowledge
Pacing the tongue over what’s said

The Mayans wave from earth.
Jim Morrison sleeps, his face the girth
Of creation, unfurled
And turned to dawn
The heart concedes the infinity beyond

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

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.

Lithe, pharmaceutical muscles regulating microfiber hairs
Draw from the primitive neglect and sin
A clarinet changes the chemistry of champagne
Inside Humanity again

A stock infection of planets and galaxies
and their debris
Small enough to be e coli
and atomic dreams
Beading with the warmth of breath, persisting,
Naming dragons and archers in the infinity,
The cocktails brew people at the seams
Their sentences clapping the breeze
Into a day, or a season,
or her hand leading

The long whine of the universe degrading the mind
I give to words that thud and grip, the rinds
Of the conversations my brother and sister blister
Bottles of Percocet and ***** … and Persian limes

A limber, reticent arithmetician,
Our mother divided us by Time, the magician
Our mother and the lessons too deep to swim
All our lives forgiving sunlight for getting in

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.

Where all languages cohese
                          heaven is their belief
The universe fills with lost souls we breathe
We hope for the broad brush strokes of angels
Baroque candy corn music and eternity

Retrograde Monday
Irregular conversation; distressed axis
Sunlight riveting autumn leaves
Dance out of step, distract us
Shaky shapes of the holy mother
Church lips; sin-tinted sigh
Only a God could love her
Hedyloidea: a caught butterfly
Of Slink, sinew, childhood rhymes
Hers a pressed smile, run by Time
The Stations await, the cattle call
Shuffle on soot planet, entrails et al

Irritant is
Bent intention like a moon
Undisciplined
I am just Breath
And Consequence
Of spun water
A Dance ‘til Death

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 stainless clockwork of my childhood
I was born with impossible skin
Life is a symphony until you hear it
And you set the typeface to Gin

Alcohol is the ignition of minutes
Every molecule burned to charcoal
Emotion is the universe unmasked
I regret the infinity of my Soul

What but bells sound the universe
The toll of time unwrapping verse
The sentient smells of alit glory
The sun of man reveling Story
The card houses with clapboard feet
The candlelit favors indiscreet
The archangels, hair unfurled
The manors of war; the avenues curled

Lessons eyed blind the mind -
Shutter the daylight; leave the saints
Those freed from earth
Their voices faint
Adrift as the last boat
Sighing with the tides
Into the depths of midnight
We’ll glide, glide, glide

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.

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

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

We wish for words to work with us
to enter and leave as we believe all religioins are
And touch and taste are never disappointed
and the weather is always October

I Love for love to liven the colors of conversations to
bright red and crinkling silver
and tomes of poetry are hand delivered to the bored.  
Toys are no longer just for children
and everyone prefers candlelight to cinema
and Time finally admits its accompliceship to God.  

I weather words well for a kettle *** rung with flavored tongue.

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

A paleo-socialistic dig; a regression of vetted meat
Slapped over the shoulders of eternity
Set in a rowboat on a re-digested sea
The butcher, the slayer and the speechmaker…
…the birth of humanity

A terse, muscle livery sack
Dear Christ, Life is just played back
Numbers cantilevering sunlight into three
Time, the Songs of Solomon, and HeartBeat

And where all hands fall to earth we piece
The iridescent architecture of the Holy Trinity
And the poet as Argonaut flung into infinity
To seethe, seize; seas, trees. To please.

Remember to breathe.

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

Gravity, gleaning from me the symphony  
Of where everyone squirms to be
The acts that fall between
Our splintering personalities
The actors* never land and
Murderers grind into stardust
The soul unstrung will wreck
No weight pulls harder than lust

Trajectory
The dance of Will between you and The
Notion of planets, the poetry of gravity
Endless erosion of Time and peace
Still our skeletons must move and breathe
The leaves of autumn are proclivity
Gods and Demons, Roman hierarchy
Professors in dust jackets screaming from eaves
To the tick of my heart turning the ***** key

Endeavor is the weather
Of the human mind
Torturing reason
And Razing in kind
It is the embarkation
Of the human spirit
That itself an element
To **** what draws near it
Animal and plant to rot
Beneath rhetoric from towers
The human endeavor is
God’s deadliest power

The ****** ruckers ran through
the twilight I drew
outside the blue room I, collegiate ransacked and threw
into the glib, laughing mouth of the universe
let the damsels skew from stars
and reverent Catholic bars
the revenue of childbirth and sinew
of thoughts until men become the shrewd

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

People are princes
They are revelry
The Skyscrapers scraping traces across clouds
The Bones where wings used to be

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

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 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

Impetus of the day:
What is weighted below the SAY
And the STEPs filling BREATH  
UNIVERSITY days and my death      
Then ear hairs they did sew
This nubile corpse for sleep
Shrove Tuesday and a hangover
My cadaver has a secretary

Some sack ration
Basted, Nation
Clicking limbs
Seraphim
The bow swung low across the strings
Heaven was created with memory
Jesuit chanting; hymnals ripped and
Hung beneath His fingertips
Queasy Art; Wrecked hands
Seminal beats and terminland
Catch the sokoreal
Spawning chests
caelestis, heartbeats; the first sunset

That way she taps you and grasps, says
"the universe is moving me too fast
And I need to hold on"
Every half second God rebirthing (imagination)3
(imagining)3 the (imagination)3 of imagination’s (imagining)3.
There’s something about standing before the sea
and a picture of a solar system,
Something about the bare heart of youth
daring Gravity for the poetry

Lungs the rungs
Aesthelete,
Every ant antennae
To the same trade winds
Blackness, twilight, outer space
Cordially, the same face
We must address as Mister
Court or we may disgrace
This rattle box of hymns
In the child’s hand, GRINS
Sepulcher (ˈsepəlkər/) : an anodized note
Lungs hum the begins and ends

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

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

Whistle-ical light,
If sunlight were like gaslight
Then the universe would drive
Past my window, the crunch of snow
Under night.

Hades escaping the first leaves of virginity
The realm of Io scattering molten silica
In degrees
Water drops from God’s shoulder burst and buried
Her eyes at my scar;  she stops the bleeding
Sucrose sun whetting the crest of a bee
The dutiful molecules of my shirt sleeves
Zaccheus in a sycamore tree
Her words on a southerly trajectory
Crawfish in my grandmother’s stream
The Battle of Moon Sound beaching infantry
A northern gannet nesting her babies
The decibels of smoldering wood beams
Flesh constructing hairs in the breeze
Molecules muddy as I try to breathe
Ghosts approaching the Andromeda galaxy
Stars floating to the top of the stream
I      N      F      I      N      I      T      Y

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

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

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.

The sun peels poetry from the writer
His breathing is a form of symphony
The rhythm unlocks clouds onto wind
Ash tree seeds are called the “keys”

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

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