What I’m choosing to choose is the Nightworks and Star fizzle.
I come from an uproar in a dour calamity with all the panache
of a sweet sour moonrock on the tip of a tongue
in the mouth of an exuberant mute.
Arms akimbo in the lighthouse
of every mind.

I ask questions when the quest is no fiction.
My unrehearsed position in a galaxy of lies
is a stunning Astrology bomb
with all the Scorpio a Cancer
Can Capricorn
in an Aquarian state
of mind.

I love the things I have lost
and have become distracted
by the gravity of the
very Next Moment.

So I Love You

Now.

And I play video games
with my lemon trees
delighted.

Halting in the frenetic thalamus of a Monday
I recoil into my finery and fluff my mittens
just to be sure.

Outside
the wind is a yowling glamour
of crystalline shuriken.
searing into naked pink
at a typhoons pace
but with all the stalwart
nostalgia-
of a White
Christmas
you Slept
through.

I open the Door
and the air is Spring
on Laughing Gas
Like a Windmill in Don Quixote's
Fan Fiction

and all’s Well that Ends.

I’m coining a phrase in the cheap seats.
On a balcony behind the projector.
My wine flask has red names for Polaroids
And fishnet eyelids like a wizard
with a joke face
at a serious
party.

i snoop for books in Unpolished eyes-
and find them leather-bound
to a howling calliope
of hushed gods
in real time,,,
haranguing
the flesh
in bouts
of unbridled
Clarity.

I encroach upon a node of conspicuous samadhi
with all the fearsome brittle of my inner destroy

Something Creates
where my Null sets a coarse by a star
coughing up a lung
in a Cherub’s
Song.

I keep my Puppets
in a Sock
because that’s
Funny.

and that's how
you Pretzel
a Butterfly

for no money,

i get the hives when my mind Zens in on a brand Knew.
my Ottoman Empire is a footstool in a plush Rumor.
at rest in the best humor that genius can buy for a Yen
when the Yang is an awkward ruby.
i steal from the vaults of a common supernatural
with all the aplomb of a minnow in a mouth.
sleeping on the hillocks of a rust moon
acned with meteor kiss and fierce serenities
the width of Space between notes
in a deanument.

then poetry assumes i have something to say.
only then does it open to the introversion
of my extraverted inner Hermit.
I leap out of conch shells
on some kind of fire
that slakes a thirst.

i knit wings to eyes
and abandon every photon
to my Will.

then

I have metaphors I keep using
whenever I try to be Original-
and i meta-criticize the artifice
of my chosen pearls.
but seldom do I confess it.
the unseemly devices I am left too.
as my Id designs the Ego
of my Indomitable Heart
with the schematics
of my Lost Architect
unhumbled by my Illusions
having spun such webs
as to conquer a Fool
and his Guesses.

I eat stone wheat and the wet essence
of dry zephyrs on sea errands
to blanch dunes
to Beau Geste.
i consume the ridiculous hubris
of my epileptic Angels
and squander no opaque verse
to tadpole.


I Swim In A Yes That A No Dreamt Of

like a ferret
in a healing
scar.

In the Village you get the tang of dead pennies and vinyl
spinning on your Bourbon tongue
and everything’s ***** Roscoe with the jump kids
on Broad Street and the Blacks
polishing rimshots off of stars they can’t see.
Hubcaps vanish like wallets at a crosswalk-
and the rain smells like iron
binging Detroit with fume Kabuki
as falafels alight upon the caverns of asphalt
like a flock of agnostic Finch
migrating to the Temple
of your Migraine.

She’s gone now and nothing can stop you
from becoming a ghost, unless your letters
were never written on purpose
and your absence was the
Plan.

The Jungle is a
stainless steel fog
of Blown Cover
in a war on the
Senseless.

You can’t catch
a Breath
without Catching
Hell
in the Bargain
with a Devil
You Know-

Will Leave.