so sleepy now… but with all engines running into turmoil
too busy to be redeemed. more longshanks than swine.
with too cumbersome a soul
to be Actually with...
as long as the angle of my descent
is the square of my somber Fall.
Joy lay saner, where the crazy began
because hoofprints
were brisk shallow
for all the sauntering
to an abysmal
collapse...

soooo sleepy now… the Bedroom’s the outskirts
of a private Diaspora. with Charlamanges cookies
and a dearth of impoverished -
harmonics. sleeping through the worst  
Conspiracies… So Songs still sound
Like Nothing, -
with just a pinch of Thought
where the Salt
should Be
Unanimous

And Lost.

As ever would
Be.

wake up every day. On Deck.
yawn at dawn.
ain’t said **** -
Still, put a fool in Check.
lick my lips where
the Morning Moon
left lipstick.
I wink,
Then It’s On -
to the Next-Extraterrestrial.
I pack Light
when a Knife Fight
is one of the
Variables.
Can’t be Seen
At the Scene.
But “ Not Be Heard? “
Unbearable!

Whatever Wit
you’re with
is stitched to the roof
of your spit.
Wish varmints
tipping hats
at a Bar mitzvah
tripping over
Ambercrombie
till a Finch slapped
and a beak hit’cha.
can’t fit my flow
in your creek
then let your
******.

sitting in the chair by the window. very tweed.
tamping a pipe that’s just a pipe. orange rind
for a sun. heavy lids dazed by dim delusions.
swimming in a sea of profound sitting. urchin
in a tidepool of earnest journals and pressed
flowers.

the kind of flowers that never forget to stay.

In the Tall Garden where Wisteria propagates
a thousand arrows of soft in a torrent of breeze
you can listen to the world nosedive into peace
and swear to god you love it.
these are the perks of a perfect thing.
woodpecker pecking his noggin in the morning fog
lifting from a plane of Eden as lazily as maple
a choir of underbrush phantoms, chirping indiscreetly
as the sun rises to her perch in the ***** of heaven
as Blue conquers the night and chickadees hasten worms
to the Otherside, with black eyes as innocent
as snow.

enormous fronts
life gives me lemons
too many
I just add *****
and get wit it.

don’t want no daft
only the super cheese
of my elective accurate
spoiling for a fight
with some actual Has-Been
spouting wind like a beam
of something less
factual.
i get to placate the drum
of an enormous plume.
shunt funded by short sight
as long as every afternoon,
is plague ****** gifted,
that’s how we do
in the projects
that have only to yearn more
than esteem less than you,
clipped where the wing
is sky blind.
soaring solo in a fog
of fetching
regalia.
north of an absolute
choice.

in the blows we come to with soft arms and a dozen novas
so many rags are well worn in nothing more than a mirror
we Narcissist. Amen.
too deep are the shallows things we get into.
bunched in the fervor of our Usual...
soaping steam like an actual thirst pirate
choking on a Stream of Consciousness
where it hurts
it’s more like it sings.
But worse.