when we met
my cathedrals were full
and swollen with
light
the narrow
white yawn
of oblivion, curling
into a ball -
we kick
down the road
past Finnegan's Wake
Drive.
and the last Lamb
in a Lion's
mouth.

i saw you as a goddess that would forgive me
my crippled inertia
and afford me a palace of goodwill
in the hysteria
of change.

but how i lost you in an empty
confounds me.
it breaks for unicorns
and nothing is
sacred.

it beggars belief

but affection stains
the miracle
like infection feigns
the lyrical

and so goes the sparrow, for now...

so goes the Widdershins of our distant embrace
and the wrong star jaded
and marooned in our perpetual
default.

a mad zodiac, plastic in the vapid spool of Eternity

a somewhat always gone
at the very center
of our being
together.

be sure you haven't locked the cat outside.
you know how much that annoys the cat.
but sometimes you do it on purpose.
and when you burn your toast
aren't you mad ?
it's like a special mad
reserved for burnt toast.
in an hour, if you hurry
you'll already be ten minutes
late. it's like you can't catch up
to what you believe in
at the speed of doubt.
can you hear me?
is this thing on?

I've been there but i can't tell you how to leave.
it's your move.
how many times do i have to tell you
it's your move ?

the mind is a terrible thing
that springs
to mind.

so terribly beautiful.

She shines like milk on a black cat and she shines like pumpkins
when the dusk is muggy with lung butter and applesauce.
she shines like horses
with perfect ******* that imprecisely
and long legs that absolutely
and my heart

from me.

Encased in slow gold, and older than clocks -
the rot sets, and the 'shrooms
bloom lots
stuck to the heel of our trot
across the fog clot
and how lovely
are we now
so frightened ?
how precious
are the things
we dismember
for holding ?
and how loved
are the things
we love
perhaps ?

i'm a scrap yard magnified.
some sort of throat you choke
but not now.
we are plenty weak but we
love it.
we come from a last place
that has no reason,
we go from the last last place
that had any reason to be real.
and some some folks
wanna live forever
but not you and I....
we
wanna die for good
and that's the "Whatever"
however we love Us
now.

to hear it sing is to hear it sting where the sun shines
how it's never so real        till it bleeds
through the sundial
like a red fog under
adorable prisons.
it Is what It isn't...  it has needs, you hear it wing through fallow stars on the edge
where there's never been Spring.
to hear it means
to be undone beside the tide pool... in the twinkling of two minds
how it's never so real       till it dreams
mute and  undefiled
like a red god under
house arrest for no reason.
it Is what It isn't... it must be lonely. you're very near it, and it's apples and sacrilege
where there's ever been Holy
such sins have beauty.

it must be lonely...

( my )                                                                 darling

and some thing after

[ It ]

surely

green is more grass than a garden's fecundity.
the sun... more moon than a woman's breast.
the eternal resolves like a crime scene.
and we weep for no one but the god
we loved least.

and Love is the few of Us.
a plank on a pirate ship
where we no more enjoy the piracy.
But
we ride where the wave dangles
and succumbs...

nothing is as pure as believing in nothing
because you can.

like a strong wind in a soft heart.
the wrong thing breathes
like the  right love.

so what do you think I'm doing without You ?

Is it something that has a name
and doesn't drink ?
how dare you propose that the world has a yes
when no is so much of me now
like a yes.

we consume the trivial and glorify the gone.
but i am attuned to the never
like a black swan.

new days come one at a time
tumbling over so many ruins
and the polished stones gleam
underfoot now, where once lay
terrible weapons to sling.
now gone, every sting.

the clouds part daily and the moon slips through heaven
on a wave of your plump lips, as they kiss me.
i dream again, of You and You...
and only You
as the Sun.

Soft rain has fallen
And tiny jewels are fastened to the landscape.
Succulent prisms lay strewn about
And the night sky hums.
Fumbling branches, the North Wind has apples
Falling to the damp earth -
A 'thud' becomes a murmur in the lush,
A blanket of dead leaves
Absorb ripe fruit
And clouds part, revealing the full moon
A blush of white lights
Sparkle in the wet eyes of stray dogs.
The Milky Way... gilding creation
With Giants the size of pinholes
In a black melon.
Between low hanging clouds, a billion worlds burn.
And earthworms, born without eyes...
Look up.

To marvel at the Heavens as they drown

Sleeping with a full head
i get to wake-up down, and just drone.
The harmonies that gather my teeth
to the bit... are wild melodies that insist
you never loved me enough
to see Us through It.

Down where it counts
It amounts to nothing but a negative wish.
A sublime rendition of a fresh Hell
and a golden carp to haggle with.
The Herrings are red
but the sutures are no ordinary surgeon's hook.
we lace our wings to the bleak grief
of impending kisses
and have our way
with the phantoms
of gross
inertia.

Long Live The Thing !

We recoup our loss by estranging
the legacy of our near miss
from the intimate lull of our unbehaved
conspiracies.
we join the hunt but rest in fell trees
as our foxes run.... and gather what moss
may lay upon such cold
Suns,

We are the first among equals
that divest from a whole sum.

we are the last to be anointed happy
in the sad .

and enjoy none.

When the hounds are too weak
to pursue a foolish lover
the gates of Hell unfurl
And black swans
swarm in the sulfurous plume
A fugue of her memories blotting out the sun
like a mad flock of black swans
throwing shadows that stick to your breath
so every word has the shape of your agony
a foolish lover is beset with storms
that gather on the tongue like a French kiss
and the swell of her ******* are now the dim fruits
that blight your lips with longing

this love is the mark of a beast

a beast that picks up around the house
before she drops by...

to break it's heart.

while falling asleep inside you
i came again. i arrived sterling in slumber
and silver in solace.
i was hereafter and unburdened.
nearer the furnace of lost moons
and more beautiful
than love's fool.

Top words -

love  like  thing  time  
just  long  eyes  heart  day  
lost ­ things  lips  know  
dark  god.

the sheer anguish of knowing you exist
corrodes where my happy fell

climbing out of you
is like clipping my wings
for a campfire.
snipping my glimmer
for paste
in a mortal and
pestle.

a craven cracked vessel
in a kestrel's
beak

like a handful of snake
and snow.

the last wind
up a flue
to kiss the carcass
of a dead
bird

is your laugh

and my
breath..

A brouche of thorns in the throat
Spinning hateful
In fierce revelation, shredding prayers
Before they petition the corpse
Of God...

A riverbed, parched into blight-
The husk of a once great deluge
Crawling through a desert of open wounds
To an ocean, long vanished from the Soul...

Locusts drum the impoverished dome of heaven
Gnawing the roots of Stars

Leveling Beauty.

i have dreams in my waking gate
and seldom say the other thing they be.
The Mare in the Night
rearing up from the dun earth
and sallow plot. the unkempt spot.
but -
i have my desert and my understanding.
and they are the same *****
suckling the pup tent
of my yurt
on my plateau...
tacked to a tundra
where giants walk
with tree trunks in there eyes
hurling bitter Fall at smug Summers...
and trampling the yippie!
of succulent
Spring.

but again... the worst can go more wrong
if the right thing to do
is to die
trying.

and to return -
is to speak a lost word
where we
found
it
on the
lips of a
mute

with a microphone.

it never nevers
until the sun finds you
and the moon leaps
into your hand
by design.

it never loves
until the price is vain
and the sutures are ripe
as snow.
it never leaves
because the kiss
is cruel
when the world
is the
world.... but ask
a jinni for a lamp
and be
nightfall.
see what you get
when your wish
is half full,

when your star
is a tree
and the mountain
a grain of
sand.

and your lovely,
a less lovely
as you
lie...

it all adds up
but you can't love
what you can't
have mock
you.

you most certainly can’t do that.

you will not consume.

Consumption will usurp you epically.
your talismans are annulled eventually.
your bulimic heart will divide shadows
with darker shadows.
a darker
dark.

cut them like cake. divide your passing into long spikes of utter void.

it all adds up
but you can’t love
what’s not there
to love
you

but quite the opposite.

and the opposite
of love
is watching Nothing
die -
but you thought
it was something
before it devoured
you
like a morsel
of speck.

like a light.

where the void has
it's puppets...
the cartilage
of dead suns,
and the rumor of you
advances.

all the peculiar Rhombi
bedazzle the Waste
as long shadows
fold into crashing
waves of
noise... and split seams
mend your reflection
as you gather to yourself
the whole of Creation
to microscope the dot
above your
i.

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.

when all the bells have toppled silence and on the breeze rides a summer of stammering stunnery the likes of the color blue on stilts
snagged in the sun’s corona.
like a fish on a hook of sunshine, thought he saw a worm of real life
but got caught in the vaporous torrent of his weakness.
savoring the dawn like a mushroom mottled in fresh dew
twinkling in the circus of  fecundity where the thrum of glory
spoils the view of a curmudgeon and marches on into destiny’s *****
in the clutches of our habits and rabidly
living the dream that’s killing us.

how real can it get?

and is that real enough?

Whatever you do... you are there.

We conjoin the impossible with the Mundane
And clip the wings of our Ignorance
with a Question... as befits a mortal
in the Eternal Brevity.

Philosophy is the kingdom of mindful spirits.
And Spirits are the dross of Reality's furnace,
We blow glass where Truth bends.
We come undone
where we make
Ourselves.

the sun has failed.

not that the universe has ceased to love
but it has surely quit
the enterprise.

we are the margins of  ”  why  “

And nothing leaves us as stranded
as ourselves.


i seek the green fields of your lush tongue.
the dreary lisp of your swollen
sunshine...

i grapple for the eager drink of your dream
to sustain the penalty
of my willful
love.

the winter in summer’s teeth
is the frost that gives life
to crisis.

a golden gleam
that has you as you are
before the forest

of your everything.

i might give you this. but you won't change. we have new ways of getting the pain in.
are you aware of the practical agony of our bliss-less gloom ? our two rooms a-jumblerumpskin ?
we live in the crease of at least two invalids. but you steal cake and i witness. ****, i've been this
nitwit who had a mind but squandered the perils of success in a losing myth. i was a shut in
over the moon of my misadventures. tucked into jupiter sugar with my hair clean.
but my fear out.

more than nine would be ten bees
happy with my hornets. hurling their honey in elliptical arcs
let the sunbeam that gathers on my tongue
be your sweet lips !
let the moon betray our destination
and the stars humble to our calling
actually.

it's all fair game, unfairly played

sustained by design, overwhelmed with mistakes

we blunder in, and guess the way

and can't go back the way we came !



it's all a bit fuzzy now, but lovely in the light somehow the loveliness is all about

how absolutely you pollute me ~

beautiful



the game remains the game you face

a game of turns that leaves  you where you stand all day

in the shadow of a throbbing little bass

the drum of your heart goes boom always always

' all a bit a fuzzy now, the hours take their time and now an hour lasts an hour past

the time i knew it used too

things were simple

now it's you

things were impossible

now they're true

and it only hurts because

it hurts

and love hasn't loved her enough

till you die

and even then

you loved her more than ever Love knew how

now breathe, here comes the new words that try to say something

i think about all day and they fall upon your perfect lips

like a flock of swans upon a lake of fire

in the snow

" when you're spoken too, you're speaking... " she said
and the earth opened up and Silenced  me
like a gnat in chartreuse foam.
we live the wrinkle in time
that suddenly stops.
and believe the hurricanes
are not for us
to not
love.

we wed the whimper
of my goosebumps
to the bead of sweat
on your brow
and our sorrows
are Hallelujahs
swooning in the guttersnipe
of our sweet
descent.

the genuine artifice of our actual denial.

there
is no revenge
in heaven.
only apple cores
and gospels.

no wine,
only blood
you cannot
bleed.

and clouds.

sapping the faith from dust, i was ever wise.
a chipped tooth in a broad smile of a worm
on a rainy day.
you had your petri dish of phantoms and a small stake
in talking ravens... i had your god in my basement.
sapping the viscous chill of your willows
amongst proof that no rabbit has a hole enough
to **** Alice.
just a frame of reference more dangerous
than a rainy day
for a puddle
of sun

and strange mints.

moist eyes  fall upon the limp figurine
of a jewel encrusted snowman with a corncob knife.
i dream walk through the ether of our dislocated soul.
i comb the beach of our lost island
and build a raft from our bones
and a lock of your eyelashes,
flashing in the wink above -
your high cheeks
in the moon glamour of your perfect skin.
we smile untethering the harness
from our rogue star
we sally forth across the empty streets of Hell's burg. on the outskirts
of an astral cataract...
a laughing gloom with night's teeth tearing at the hem
of your lace robes and my nakedness.
with moist eyes drooling saltine gems
like dewdrops dripping from the lip of a cracked goblet of frozen fire.
our eyes that fall upon the void, weeping from the answer to a foolish prayer,
answered by a jealous god. our testament is dust and deep Love.
we have no other sky above, as is the custom of deep space...
we drift with our horses, across the nether bridge of our uncertainties....
and there
we part ways.
you go where the sun
has slain the moon.

i go where the moon's never been. and sleep in droves.

holding your hand like a grain of hope
and your heart like a golden
shadow
too heavy to lift
from the

unknown

immortality is easy-peasy. you play dead.

you live now. and simply continue. you just get on with it.
zig-zag in plain sight. like a shimmer in an old daguerreotype.
if you must fade. always do it sideways.

so you have a wolf inside
and you've never had a toothache in your life
but you keep tomorrow's sun at bay, moon fiendish in the twilight of a lack of grace.
you harbor hope. you pool blood in the atmosphere like shards of glass
that never forgets.
i know you by the star in your hand, but you never look me in the eye
when you deny it.

were just moving furniture.

How to live
is how not to live alone.
To conquer the troll
beneath the bridges you are burning
on the funeral pyre
of your abject hope. To float -
amid the midges and day-flies
of a meadow, most sane.
So, to live -
is to embark on a errand of light
and return home, with dragon's teeth
in your knickers
and a ball of string for a fallen star
to stitch the world with.
To suture the oblivions
where they gape
and applaud the angels
that sent you there
to heal yourself
with nothing more
than a tongue in your head
and a heart on your
sleeve.

and no map.

14 minutes ago
i used you to get  sleep
and the worry of our tundra
is more cry than a sorrow
is a nothing now.

you bleat and trill in the smoke of an endless night.

i saw you  yearn for the ' right now '
and never had so much You
as I do right now

like a sunburn in my " what the hell  ? "

onyx fondles the yellow hem of a skirt of sunlight
without tarnishing its reputation for unbridled darkness.
scattered amid a herd of tumbleweeds
as iron as the sky… and the odd tortoise, rehearsing
a ballad, for to soothe the odd savage jackal.
as mad things call.

a storm approaches maximum sloth, as the sun beats the clock.
as the sun beats the arid scape with sour hammers, teaching vultures
the gospel of desolation and the effluvium of dead still.
the heat rising to meet the impending rain
is a vengeance and a frenzied vole.
and the hour of our thirst is unconquered
in the shadow of a Black Mesa,
with a Red Name.

i must not be what I'm into.
i go where the wrong things
know you.
i dream till it hurts
but that's always.
and i'm always the one dead
that says things.
don't be where you are
as much as nowhere.
don't live your defeat
as much as live there.
don't know who
you are
if you're
not
and cancel reservations
if you're gone. gone
gone.