I do not carry a Bible but I cup my hands
in a River like an armless penitent-
to best the misfortunes
that conspire against my moral Spine.
I wear glasses now, And type, type, type.
And There’s a Monk in my Soup,
Sinking into the broth of my Engine.
Coiled in the simmering
of my liquid perspective
bejeweled in waves.

The gift of wine. My glass cups a ruby pool. And there are moths in the shed
dancing unforbidden in shoals of suspenseful dust. As I court the approaching nowhere
with a Spirit in my Grasp. I debunk the ruin of my days with my casual glooming.
Soaking in the bloated beauty of our constant world
as we blunder on the surface
of our childhood dreams…
A bronze rope
spooling from the sun
has found my
open hand.

Upon felling an Oak.

G’Day, Mr. Sunny Bones. May I prop up your tea
with a sprig of mint and julep your corona with a sugar cube -
bathed in impossible sweet ravens, jostling for clouds?
Might I offer you the pillage of my mind as we stalk the Other
like rainbows stalk pots of gold? Would you like to imbibe
a silhouette? I have Just the Shadow.
You see; Mr. Gone has come to town, and a red dress is darling
on a pillar of smoke.
I love your watch the way a pillar loves alone.

little dragons scuttle in the barn and Neptune deceives a comet.
Spring is all the carousels rolled into one balloon.
anthems and Time Bandits.
sharp loops in a spiral of deciduous Labyrinths.
groping for snow on a flame.
where the wrong gods go, you have all the whalesongs
and the honeycombs...
you have just enough actual delirium
to kiss a comatose Mirage.
with lips to polish a glyph of moonshine

in impossible medallions
of remorse.

on a Cliff.

all of my Islands have honeycombs and harsh bark
where shrubbery blubbers in too much sun
and halfwit Karma blunders in a cup
of unquenchable designs.

Wharf ******
on the plank of the following prank.
heavy like Moses.
Ordained by self-harm
and actual Pirates.

breathing Majong Cactus
Where I Temporary
Go.

numb trumpets on a spoil of whimsical cacophony.
ebony lobes of empirical atrophy… thumbing a ride.
a hubcap dynasty hung from a jagged joy
snagged in the actual grief,
all the berries on the vine
in the purpose
of a spangle
of some
delight
of somehow
delight

without Pause.,

all those miracles at your dainty feet
have all the naked and the marooned
in a fathom of kelp beds on a spool
of Saturn.
We gather at the dearth of our perpetual
diaspora. Long in the wrong tooth, where the stars
misbehave to get to the harsh Truth.
so many moons left unconquered
a spittoon of tombstones
believing in raw bones
and Abigail's.

II

just a tooth in the Sun, hooked where pavilions
congregate like hot salmon clouds of Destiny, forked-
where the Anguish Blooms like a tyranny in a Night Poem
gloating in the Pond of our Ponderous Conundrums…
slumming with pearls of impenetrable disarray
where our open ghosts are bargained
on the altar of a too distant Star.

And
sleep has the meaning
in its grasp
but nobody knows
how to sleep
when it
counts.

where you're Not
so much at
last.