it was like a Saturday had come from Mars
and plopped smack dab in the middle of Monday...
a cool breeze was roasting in the canopy
and far off clouds, seethed with impending
but failed to cross the Rubicon of whatever vector of sunshine
had found us naked in the afternoon.
it was glorious.

and gone too soon.

Oh, how carefully you chrysanthemum
and parlay with whalesong and surgically remove.
you think of summer as a day, and swing from chandeliers
too brazen for prime-time, and too often brilliant.
you caterwaul at the gods like a pinch of rain
in voluminous hush.
i've seen you halt
while spinning
and thought you
remarkable.

and now.

i feel
the
same.

when i felt time had sloughed off the grime of all minutes
i searched for all meaning, and came upon a deck of cards
floating in the ether, a shuffled deck... and a pair of tweezers
to tease the splinter from the mind's eye
just sitting there, on a book stand
next to a boston fern.

it was when i found a place i could not hide from
and occupied the the nooks and fissures of my actual being
that i came to know the fathoms of deep love
and shuttered to think upon my blindness
as an afterthought
about Nothing.

look at them bones all scrunched up like thorn pudding.
focus on the squid ink murk of your pine fresh linen
and uncork the vintage of your red vineyards
snarling 'round dead posts... on a gently sloping hillside.
thumping miracles.

join me at the temple of the spine, and i will petition
the long lost soul of your life's reason. I will take core samples
of your wet kiss, and slowly ***** the stars into place
that will keep your smile lit, and your thighs unfalse.
i will bark to Love's God and channel the requiem
of your grief.

you will only suffer the sting of bliss, and pirouette
on the tip of a snowflake's tongue.

the day came without the full sun
with only a speck of flame in the iron chintz of the sky
and towers of dust, hovering above the low glories
where the rabbits hid from the fox
and strewn jewels were spent
on shadow coins... and all the worlds between us
clung to the husk of joy and kept vigil
in the stillness of our ungolden
pond.

but one river became two, and fed the placid pool
that slake the thirst of lost men.
a woman there, was standing
and the moon removed
no star.

consigned to the mirth of flame
and a thousand shoes; we waltz into grinding beauty
delirious and unsaved. we yearn for all graves
that open from the inside... that we may embark upon
untold follies and haul our stones to our stars
to smelt a new god that refuses to answer.
but the question is a worm
in His Truth.

the mole in the iceberg
dreamt of spring. and chain smoked.
he thought about other moles
then got distracted by the furniture.
it came to pass that the mole caught a glimpse
of another world. then shrugged it off

like what?

things fall into place, when gravity talks.
as the boats at the docks bob in the sea of discrete rivers
surging in the span,. and you might be surprised to find
an elbow macaroni sculpture
erupting from the skull
of a honey bee.

these days, are now like paper so thin
you can see yesterday, clawing at the hem of your skirt.
but ghosts are like daffodils.
and in a hundred years
you'll be old enough
to pluck one.

the ink has set. and the knives forged in the clutches of butterflies
confound the weather. there is nowhere and where you're at.
nothing in-between, so the vertigo is inevitable.
we are shiny pennies on the corpse of Time.

marvelous things are awake when you're asleep
and they slink in the twinkle, maneuvering amid the myriad
and the clouds that wash their hands of you
never let it rain. so you scorched your cornea
in a vacuum.

and you forget that, every day.

caught a snag in my fitzgerald, my blood full of carny folk
and very mustard stars, strung on a rope... been lax though my icebox.
totally chill, till the wind kicks up a firestorm from a lit cigarette
in a cyclone. i eat too many things that never knew me.
and my cane is a blade of grass.

i;m wearing blue flats and hovering over a coal miners daughter
and she is in awe. i park my things in her handbag, and hold my breath.
i let god do my bangs in the front, to hide the eye that can't stop
staring at yyyyooouuu...... i feel something brush my leg all the time now, and we haven't blinked in years.

there's a light in this house
that waits in the dark
it's the only spark
in the house
in the dark.

and the moonlight
in the window
is only
a shadow, so spotless...
it gleams.

when the sun hides
her face
in the house with
the light
in the dark.

with all my
heart

all things
all day.

let whatever you do
be the blood in the rainbow
and swear that you'll never go back
to Chicago...
let the radiant darkness
inside you continue
till it rains light upon you
in waves like I do
i'll be ****** if I do -
not display my emotions
i'd be shipwrecked
in the *******
of a dead stare
at a life full of love
that was gone.

gone.

gone.

all the voices march
out of the dark hum
and into my heart
by the ton.
windswept phantoms
of a lost tongue.
i gauge the 'morrow's
of my past
to gain the length
of my horrors
to come...

but always with your heart
numb.

and always with my heart
a strange
sun.

down in my toes where the sand and milk corrode the bottom
of my rucksack and employ all manner of moons
to disassemble my terrific glee -
i savor the rubble of my junk suns and the anvils
of my conspiracies
and i loom in the dark corners of a secret alphabet.
slumbering aloud with my mind open
to the dreadful and sublime.
as my teeth rattle in my joints, calling tomorrow
from it's grave mistake
while dreaming of another
one.

i awaken.

What would you do, if your clouds were reading my mind as i was reading your mind ?
Can you spell heartache with velvet steam and the letter between the L and The Afternoon of All Space and Time ?
nodding off and dreaming this very moment-
reading ahead of you, and gasping
that i knew ! ?
Would you have me dance with the damsel known as " goodbye soon " ? or would you rather walk with me to the labyrinth -
of stars, that milk their glow from your *******.
How magnificent is this ? this swirling escalation of Beauty
oozing from a porous mind, as we embrace each, the other...
At Om on The Range.

the guitar is at rest, perched against the barren wall
that stands between the outside world and the fathoms
of a Living Room. A couch festooned with pillows
and pet dander.... as the Sun's last rays cleave
the dun brown
of cabin fever,
echoing off
The walls

without a sound.

Your Horoscope today, reads like an open palm
floating on a feeling that dangles from your gypsy heart
entangled in the Dharma throb of an all-nighter.
sipping whiskey from a flask of gin... with the moon's skirt
flipping your hair to the West, as you bow to the East.

full of long drums and Absinthe, your shadow leans into Paradise
with an icepick and a candle. The lemon eye of a wrinkle
in blue - protrudes through the canvas
of your flat space
to the Very rest
of You.

your trajectory is far removed from your Reason.
Stars aligned, no longer plot. But they -
Highly Recommend.

the charts suggest that you
are the Squire
to a Lost Night
in Profound  
Lament.

But your Wings
are like the Miracle
your Levitation
Dreamt.

It's too bad you left me stranded.
Kept your heart to Yourself
when you landed.
Swept away, -
I came right back
for you....
I did all the things
that did nothing
for you....
Apparently -
Love is a needful chorus.
A song in a drum
with a melody -
foreign...
like every Tree you can't See
For the Forest...
or
the spotless Love
you blame for
It....

on my quest, i come upon the shores of long night.
i can smell the butter and the iron blood
of my Shogan. fat and lean in the smoke of my misadventure.
i draw my sword with a crayon
and a pearl from a cut.

i cannot move when the rice is sleeping.
i cannot drink when the Sake is broken.
i cannot hold a vulnerable flute
and be nothing.

some of the dust in the air had settled
upon the silver kettle, that did not sing.
my face was on the surface
but the grain was obliteration
and clarity was lost.
i smoked a dim cigarette and wondered
after the creaks in the attic -
and this atmosphere.
i called out, with my shut lips.
staring at a spot on the wall...
in my usual apparel.

and absent.

the street out there in the Streets, got those eyes
that mark you as you pass by. as you stroll through
the misbegotten voodoo of your mind worms
you just might have a David Lynch blooper reel
and a Cosmic ray of uncertainty in a bottle
barking the stolid Oak of your Delirium
so the rain cannot penetrate the pith of your Delusions.
i am the king of a sofa and a much squalid.
parked in the dank blip of a valley in a heartbeat
cancelled out by the hum of a Be.
and I cannot
Be,

but the parasols of my inner lightning, speak.
they march from fingertips from the ether of my solid Noise.
i am granted, underneath... full access to the torrent
of the everlasting sting... and all the chambers of the heart
where joy outlasts every living thing.
and i snag my hammer on a good nail, and clip barnacles.
vexed in the extreme, and my humility
invisible. and the cackling ingots of snow
caught in the spine of my mouth, singing to a gaslight
in February.
how i summon the snakes, the Saints won't say.
but they are happy to see your thorns
sinking into my Happy
Place.

I came to Summer's Orphanage after a spat.
Fair weather was upon Us. but -
We conjured ill Will,
even as we kissed.
so ponder that.

my tonic had backfired. and that was that.
we crushed all the lilies there, where -
we we're entangled in
suspect Glee.

if it came too that.

but the arguments were embraced
and all the butterflies were slain
for frisking the pockets
of our brief
Faith.

and the Sun came up, regardless.

I saw your heart
when we
parted.

i walked through you and found myself at the counter
and I bought some lottery tickets and wedges of foam.
i came up with my own dialect and stammered.
i saw an osprey in a rook... having a nightmare
in the middle of the day.

and i watched.

smoke and the reason.
all the grains of sand in a minute.
and a blue collar pearl.
don't we love
how the love expires ?
it makes a giant out of hurt
but it can't be bought
though we all pay.

the both of our plans
were silent.
we were drifting into granules
of lost time.
we were pre-dreamt.... but had nothing
to sleep through.
we saw the end of the movie
and blamed
ourselves.

seeping into the verdant green of our posthumous lawn
with our wide eyes clipped and the noonday sun...
folding sparrows into cloth and breaking bread for no reason.
stumped on the miracle, but ludicrous and undone.

it takes everything you ever wanted
to get what you got.
it doesn't take more than you know
only the spin of your want.
we sleep in the hills, where the valley squall
is crushed... but our love is just enough
to be in it.

O' how the rabbit hole is cozy fuss
with little wriggly baby ducks
that lost the pond
but kept enough petunias
to ignite the
moon.

if anything
is thing enough
with everything a thing and such...
would any thing be there
for what ?

and why are you
reminded ?

Our kisses are the descendants
of our affection, Cousin to our grief.
and the midday sun through a thicket.
Our embrace like braille for a ******.
he may not be blind, but he cannot see
any reason
to not please you.
Love is the first fire we ever knew.
we chased our comets and slept in thistle clouds -
barking at the afternoon.
we sleep in a van, parked in the palm
of an Unknown God.
and joy is the kingdom
of tickets.

i had dreams that towered over Memphis
and long grain rice in a bowl of short fuses.
i had things that showered over senses.
and wrought twice as many muses.
but dismantled my defenses.

i had Hope.

gooseneck barnacles are laughing at the sugar in your coffee.
you snip sunshine from the heather and embark -
upon the journey of your life -
as a slave to pickled goat and lemon spheres.
you Barley up the pipe, and the rain retreats
to the beckoning... humming in fierce clouds
and singing nothing
but return,

the sum of all Deer, are casting spells into your blind spot, probably.
you can't find a truth in your grip, until it's dark.
and on the gurney, you find the angel, fallen on your behalf... imprisoned.

wyrd.

and you -
have something
fully lost.

I will what I will. Just like you do.
I come from the outside, on the inside.
and i know you've been there
too...
it's a shame but we
might be ******.
and I might
be you.

we could call it a day, with
the night removed.

all this love
without
proof.

the smoke rising off the snow
like the wet breath of hot jewels.
is draped over the dead.
i have no joy where the happy is done.
and all the pilots blotch the tarmac
having crashed into
chrysanthemums.

i am Yorktown and Springhill.
a swathe of feral and ironworks
on a bleached stone
in a pit.
i collude with the sun
and cavort with the moon's sisters.
swelling my coffers with blood
spilled on a Living
Thing.

and i forget.

living in the smoke of my desire
always moving against a shadow
that has no name, but your mask.
i come about. as faithful on the sea
as a dead whale... i choose to linger
in the hemisphere
of your too important
atrophy.

and regret sail.

The same day comes
like a yesteryear of travelling
in the dessicated skin of a rainbow
sutured to the hem of a skirt.
The day that comes unredacted.
the full sun on your heel.
and all hells. marching
into worse, by Feel.

blind to the terrain.

but walking
still.

II

i have no problem with the truth.
it merely comes to me, like a shadow
as I feign sleep... as i click heels
in the pantry of our dense cakes
and jellied veal.
where I turn the soil
the soiling kills a Sun -
on your face.
i impeach the beginning
with a whirr of outlasting
naivete.
crippled by the bargain
of attachment
and Dismay.

III

as we may.

as i descend into the mad sun
i visit blue brothels and calm green seas.
i rip cables out of butterflies
to suture my wounds.
i change my course,
to my Fate.

As Must 
we all.

II

i've learned a great many things
about dead ends... they always start
where you live.
they bend the moon to your aspect.
the red death to a - 
false hope.
with a real
hope.

and as much despair.

III

gather where ye may, the very laurels 
of your heart. But, be neither spendthrift with your anguish -
nor copiously disarmed.
have your adventures where a god - 
can pardon you...
For having less faith
than an abandoned
thought of You.

go only to return.
and burn your memoirs in the attic
to **** the dream.

leave no fingerprints in the vacuum.
wash your hands of the spiral -
and feel what
It Means.

the whiskey scorns the back of my throat
as I return to staring into Space. It's almost empty.
save for the holes.
I park my dark, near the tiny star -
on your cheek.
I go where the rain has feelings
and a drought is a flood
of affection...
scorching the tongue
in my besotted
skull.

a cavalry of orchids
forged upon the moon -
but anointed near the flames
at hand. the ready hells
at our door.
bathing in the ashes
of our dreams...
as our celestial trajectory
descends -
into the palm
of destiny.

or so I imagine.
eventually.

but the holes cannot be contained.
nor the spark that divides them.
we suffer for no reason.
the universe is feeling everything.
It is not Thinking,
It is knowing the terrain
of the unknown Grace.
and what the holes may consume
soon returns...
and what happened
was a life.

unconfirmed.

i can see from here, the lush petunias
of your mustard seed pavilion.
i may walk to your elaborate fountains
and make my wish.... but never
feel them.

to look through you
i had to see Me
for myself.
i had to look
for the first time
at my heart.

and nowhere else.

this pin in the inkblot
has my name, but your features.
i reach behind me to sing
and the noise that gathers
has no voice, other than
Sirens, breathing.
we lurch to the advance.
but we cascade to the low point
of why I love you....
then sink below -
Why, You might Love me ?
if you take into account
how many words
were spoken....

then you account
for the silence between
Prayers...

and the
Love we
choke
on ?

till we burst...


II

i was one of those things that had no hands.
then I loved " someone " and the moving dart
of rain came down to the center of my drooling loss-
where the heart of my campaign...
still had your name... and a headful of steam
for the Doldrums and the Illness
of loving completely.  

III

Tomorrow is no curse
if I am finding you
at last
like a blind search.
the first thing
a revelation
that Life is
Real -and not
rehearsed

IV

and the next - thing
a simple clarity
that  we
Are.

as you seek from a dream
that you ****. ~ to sustain
the very wants
that you
Will.

but you won't.
but you
want.

a raw deal on a hot plate.
sizzling with all the swagger
of a fair shake.
a glib fraud.
masquerading as  a state
of grace.
and perhaps an apple pie
resting on the window sill
of your gullible house.

a fib in a wig of ice cold stars.

it's yellow bones snap
in the background noise
of your next relapse -
you relax into the coma
of your choice - as sparrows trill
in the crisp air between you
and the world.
it keeps spinning to confuse you.
but the daisies spawn hope
from the dark meadows
of your majestic
hopelessness.

akin to an angry ram. unfleeced.
hurling at the wall of our
bruise... blackening the skin
our shadows
as we impeach
what we
learn.

the deep end of beginning
without sparks... just a glow on a wave
in a circle.... cleaving to the vacuum
of non-being, wreathed in wonderment
and awe... strutting from the nothing
upon the actual stage.
floating in the concrete villages
of our aspirations.
hovering in the war games
of our atoms... spooling thread
through the void.
when the center -
became the corner of all rooms...
we spilled into the point of all returns.
we came upon a lake of solar flares
and magnetic storms..
grossly impervious
to " Why? ".

as we were.

sprouting from the damp earth
we trod from the muck into the sun
and were glad in it.
we found there, the space to waste time in
and more space to explore with our riveting lives
boiling in the womb of all wombs.
we stride to the heavens undisclosed to religion.
and on approach , we find gods in teapots
steeping the illusions we crave
over hot coals on a sinking
barge.

we are happy as we will the suffering to continue.
but as a flock of flaming gulls
we singe the night sky and the ocean below.
they both burn as we commit to our purpose.
each a sovereign fool
and an angel
shackled to a
spot -

on the Sun.

You must be into thorns.
you are riddled with spines
that ***** the ghost skin
and you move like a storm
of black needles and your voice'
has all the eyes of a blind mute
quoting sonnets made of grief.
you are a least a ton of roses
long stem.
lousy with spikes
and utterly
green.

fell off a horse and rose to my feet
bruised and dismounted... my eyes chiseled
into sharp orbs.
my bandy limbs, throbbing
from the test.

II

before the fall, i was born -
on the moon.
i never broke a bone
in my eye.

on the heels of my cartoon, but belaboring the art.
sifting through the truth of my crutch.
my high ideals, sweltering
in the sun.
my reason, dismembered.
too bad, you had that light therapy
that raised your skin.
the bruises say nothing about -
your god...
but i savor the irony, when it -
almost does.

you're like a flower that almost bloomed.
chaste and defiled by the wind...
a cumbersome fruit.
ripe in the dark... but under the sun -
a voracious
dot.

and apparently
mute.

she has that lightning
might be clinging to your shoes
and you high step back
to her frightening moods
as they swing from the chandeliers
in your hell
where the light was always false
but the girl
can't tell.

get A Life, and you get hurt
like All The Other
Toys.
get some sleep, and it's worst
than All The Other
Joys.
'Cause the Nightmares keep You -
nailed to Your Loss.
and what's gone is gone.
but you burn
and you
burn

till you're lost...

rain like the crispy skin of pork
roasted over coals and the Philippines
while the living god pokes you
in the ribs... and the afternoon wanders off.
your soy vinegar is sweeter now
but you can't recall the moon's grief.
so amazing are the the nouns for " now "
but you can't have the Past virtues
of wonderment.
only the cost of a Joy
that your black slender smiles...
and the huge room
you moon from
nothing else but
the Truth

and a Lie.

just a pinch of summer now; a little angry on the snow.
and every morn is warmer still
melting in stealth... wreathed in sunshine
and all possible people.

the rim of the night
now listing starboard in twilight....
throwing mist over the shoulder
of your Albatross.
Naked as the Day is long
where the shadows fail
and if you leap
the sky
falls -

to greet you.

I cannot teach a sparrow how to sing. but I -
can sing to a sparrow. but not of war.
stars are on my lips. caked in dust and Merlot.
a red stain upon the lyric. numbing the core.
I dread to do the thing that stops the heart.  but I'm
the pocket with the hole full of lint.
it never was, that I be nothing more than apart.
I am always close enough to repent.
should ever I stray to where the light
is Dark.