1,




2, 3, 4, 5,
6, 7, 8, 9,




10

This is not church anymore, brother.
I was asked to take off her jacket. The ribbon had
just calmly slipped off of the box.
Was it the snake Mr. Lawrence?
Mom, I greeted her well.
Are you going to be okay tonight?
I will show you the frozen tundras under my fingernails.
Yes, yes
I can recall. (there are times when I wish that the night was older)
                     because that's when you see the future.
That is what everything means.
(When it comes to being,
I am
here) Come
one, come all!
Watch the Magician vanish!
Look,
he's gone.

I have walked
the somber forests.
     (Ha! It is
     he who whistles
     of  love, romance
     and lost thought)
 I was the one who had done it--
There is a gentle tide on the rock.
You understand it; the tired thing
(Life happens again, again
      and again)

To be here--
to be here is to be that handful of dust;
     i knew it
     at a time

To be here is to fetch the women
    for the summer
    dances (hear, hear)

the beach rolls
&
the sand weeps

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we close
ourselves
in, (the books of glass)
I remember reading.
I remember time as it stopped.

Fog arose from the mouth of the house;
A door made of glass had fallen to the frigid sidewalk,
(Red Kool-Aid, the blood of Christ; it flooded all thought).

It grabbed the collar of my shirt
And ripped it down to what it must of been.
Life looked at me as a child
Falling through the air
As some rugged anvil.
O, what it could've been
In the faint of night;
I might have never been true enough.
Nothing could give way to something
So clever and exact.

My perceptions filled this house up,
Wandering the steps and the stairs.
A red hot air balloon that glided above the roof.
Gears rotated inside of the omnipotent grandfather clock.
The feeling of metal skin caressing metal skin systematically.

I took what I knew and I hid it under my pillow. Away
From the fog
That grew with that tinge of red. It was I who lived
For the footsteps under the hazy golden lights
That rang out into the deep blue clouds.

Opulent orbs that shambled and shook
In and out of the blackness in the hallway.
A crook — Fallen on the floorboards.

The air
Was drenched in electricity. Wind almost slithered
From the windowsill. A wooden thing;
Layered with a single coat of white paint. Waiting
To peel off and reveal itself to me.

It is I, the camera.
My skin — a metal slab;
Cold and real.

Time touches me like love,
Feeling me up as if I had slept with it.

My brain is a roll of memories
Embedded in flashes of time.

I have seen life—
**** and unclothed.
I take it all in.

My crystal eye — the grand abyss,
Looking back at me.

Oh do I terrify?
The world I built with my memory.

I have seen life —
Depleted and dead,
Living in pictures.

Peach colored woman — what is it you ask from me?
Spoken with lips skinny and true.
She lay naked,
Spread out upon the staircase —
Like an uncanny form I could not recall
I pass, pass on it all.
Porcelain hands are over my eyes;
Surrounded in the chiming of pots and pans.
Maybe it must of been
The scratches
On her stomach
Caused by the apple tree.

The fruit of creation—
Running triathlons in my veins;
Reflections in the river water.

A nimble look; the unforeseen sight clear——
The windowpane has vaguely fluttered away.