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.

Top words -

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

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.

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.

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.

You live
for no reason at all
and that's
the worst
Joy.

Because.

summer is a fool.
sprung from the unctuous
couscous
of a witless bloom.
the too long reason for a plausible ruse.
a dumb chump, whupped and thrashed
but never told otherwise how down
the below goes... but well informed
how the formless reeks
of damp
No.

the worst joy is slumber
when the wind is kissing your dessicated kiss.
when the whole emotion
is half the feeling.
when the real thing is just false enough
for poetry
but real enough
for dreams.

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.

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

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

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.

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?

much like a day is long
when a wink is an act of violence.
as a world is a woman
when a man is a stone and silent.
much like a moon is wrong
when a star is an actual copilot.
how the earth is a pillow
where your head conspires to
annihilate
a dream.

but different.

to the light we shadow.
like immigrants

to a home,

" 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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...

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.

i get carried away,
it's delightful how
the air
you breathe
was mine
once.

and that
trips me out.
i could give till it hurts
'cause that's not
a waste of my
time.

so i'm inclined
to relieve you of your sundress
i'm inclined
to relieve you of your sunset

always shine.

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.

Loves lethal holiday begins as a warp in the sun
and cavitates into an awkward bloom
of shameful spikes and encrusted heirlooms.
it bores into the center of not being a man
and sings the abattoir
of such cattle
as a loving
one.

II

forgive me if I cannot hate myself today.
been too long entrenched in the marvel
of loving too much
the very thing
to ****
me.

III

it goes without saying
and is thusly said.

we have our hour to be Beautiful
and our Eternity
to dread*.

shed a tear into a Grecian urn
then write your name in a drift of salt.
siphon fog from the lip of a needle
and with a lump of coal
draw blood.

tip glaciers into a lake of fire
and dive in.
caste a pinch of deep
into the shallows of your human heart.
tell the truth -
you can't remember
it's name
then be redeemed.

then tell redemption, it never understood you

at all.

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 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

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 was born on a Someday.
and You are the only one
that knows.

it gives me
chills.

it gives me answers
to questions, i have yet
to imagine.

it gives me You.

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

no wine,
only blood
you cannot
bleed.

and clouds.