Enter the Hell of the Fact,
and the Lie is Heaven.
But the Demon of your Love
rules.

II

in every case, the Sun is undone over Time.
but the night, assured as a loose tooth -
is a destiny.
but the Light endures regardless.
ever so wane in the flesh
as we wither without Answer....
and Question
without Knowing.

III

our prayers are paper cranes
lodged in the wind myth
of our tight spot.
a blind thing, that has no mother
but the moonlit crevasse
of our last
Hope.

though we hope
not.

i told myself to leave me alone
in twelve languages.

i got the hint.

In the way the wind
loves a windmill and a daffodil.,,
I love you. i course through the beauty
of our disaster like
an oyster choking
on a
pearl.

you are the exact of my fuzzy.  a plume of gone.

we are the windows that have no weather beyond them.
just the tornadoes of idiots
in the hurricane of blight.
we have no boundary... save the absolute wretch
of our affection.

II


The hounds of change
have ice teeth and little Time.
they sulk in the marsh
of our private thoughts
and **** ****.
They go where no love
has hated better.
but love the jewel
of our awakening
like sleep were a
promise.

and a Lie.

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.

i'm not so in love now.
but love bargains for my emptiness.
it trips me up
and cries in the blue glum
whimpering for nothing more
than your sweet.
it kills the light and cadavers my living lungs.
it leaps into oblivion, more than it sinks
into pretty graves.

Declan Shapiro had a switchblade. One day he didn’t go to school and got really good at not knowing why his father shot 9 nine people he had never met, and then shot himself when the cameras arrived.
He mastered the basics. And these were the basics. Then you work your way down. Got it?
So Declan Shapiro stole a car. Stealing glances at this point just didn’t have the Juice. He parked the car in the trunk of the car. His genius was to drive it off a cliff a few miles outside of town, with a brick and belt strapped to the wheel and the stick. It was so beautiful to feel something that it nearly killed him to thumb a ride into town and leave all those emotions on the edge. He was home by 9:35 pm and that’s what he told the cops. There was meatloaf with a ketchup smiley face next to some mashed potatoes on a paper plate just being the worst sort of super fan.

When Tanner Percy McQueen lost her virginity on purpose, the purpose was a thing that words were powerless to express, and yet she will never forget the premise. It was like keeping track of every fork in a lie to avoid getting caught in one, with all the panache of up close magic. Her room was a mess because she was looking for her loose change. A girl's gotta eat. Her mother, apparently, had to drink all the Benadryl and watch Animal Planet. Tanner Percy McQueen got her **** together and hopped on her bike with the banana seat all the boys wanted to be. She got where she was going before she realized her heart was broken and this was the place that didn’t care to talk to her about it. It was just noise and pills and beautiful monsters. They had hot dogs you could get for 2 dollars and she had 2 dollars so…. She bought some Ecstasy instead and told Stacy Mathers she was fat and that she wanted to kiss her on the mouth but it hurts when she wakes up and the world is still there and that she got this bracelet from some creep in a parking lot who never even tried to make a pass at her. She had no idea it glowed in the dark.

the cactus stands alone. long shadows perch in the landscape.
brooding in the rust of twilight, as an autumn moon scorches indigo
lumbering over the horizon on all fours. now only five stars
in the sky ... but soon a riot of ghosts,

something looms in the loom. it has broad shoulders -
so giants may pass and kidney-stones lodge in the smoke.
there are too many lovers clipping eyes from their stalks.
and blindness is the new tongue
of a lost mouth to a cave
of Petroglyphs.

a remote species of man
eating dirt and vibrations.
a horde of monkeys with souls
damning sunshine
to a clouded
thought,

a joy seeps in. but not the joy you wanted.
you had no vision save the stains on your eye
from seeing  so much otherness.
it feels good. precisely where you felt nothing.
and night is an afternoon... for no reason.

what love does to an ugly heart
is well known, but not as real as the wish.
it surpasses the aspirations of a lonesome
and breathes where thin air is syrup
and a kiss.

it is a constant
in the void like a void.
where no hate can stay
and no gold can be
a fool.

Surgery Is A Penny

Surgery is a penny that you spend on a far shore
with your coconuts in a vice but your sunsets like molasses
and magma... your begonias, black and burly -
swollen with the kind of life -
that could fell an Elephant
in a dark room.

Like a pin in a cricket.

you have questions, but the hole in your pocket
is the answer... swallowing the currency of your Soul
with Clarity.
the forceps are walls festooned with Ivy
ever marching over your gaping wound.
and all the Curiosity that fanned the flames
of your ardor; pulls the plug
as the ghost in the machine
draws a breath
with  zero
point

For One.

I broke the dark with my black mind...

it seemed the light had abandoned me
and all around, the world was Nil.
a more nothingness than anything
was ever Nothing to begin with...
and none of my yellow crayons
were not black.

it seemed the light had dispelled me
from the laughter that was once me
and gathered all my shadows
to the husk of my unsavory rust
and shackled the very moon
i clawed from my eyes
to better see the stars behind
to no avail.

it seemed tomorrow would surely come undone.
like a poor riddle for a stripe from a whip.

i broke the dark.... because the light had a black yes
and the gallows of my ascension
had no other purpose
save to hang stars
from a thread
in a hole...

Like the saying goes... " We have no words for this, so silence will have to die with a pillow over it's face, horrified by the damp dreams, sunk - in; ******* on the fumes of deferred desires, until the whole of the world can hear you scream... but cannot find you. "
We are born into grief with wailing. Then we laugh at our mother's chin.
Groping at the matted hair of her fertile youth.
Smacking our gums in class.
The hard lesson, shimmering in the distance
Like hard candy on a heap
of abandoned houses.

Too stunning is the thing that becomes the vision of our blank stare
into the abyss; as we ignore the essential, to favor a blockade of easy pleasures in the face of hard clocks. Our ghosts are driven out of spite and the hours march depleted of our joy, as we entangle our quaint miseries in dark trees, like kites.
We tug and resume the defeat of our careful sabotage
to glorify the random hell, that nullifies
the pointed quip of a wise man's
emphatic sigh.

we trip on the whip of our masters, and call it a day.
a day for running blind in the tunnels of our entropy
like an inchworm in a blender.
or a seed in a vacuum... damning the soil of the void
and the sunshine that mocks it.
the box is a lost blip of atoms in the Attic,... and not at all -
on the list.
You can have your Birth-Day, but you can't have both.
Your birth is a fluke, after all... And a Day -
Becomes the Night.... like an inside -
Joke.

i open the wound to see the reason i would want to see that.
and keep eating my ham and cheese. woolgathering in the hemisphere of my own paleolithic emotional diet.
i brought the nuts.

why are you so lovely and not mine ?
this, i cannot say;  but you linger.
my love enjoys no one.
but you.

why are you ?

how down
the below goes
no one
knows...
but i
assure you...
there is no
god
at bottom
and the zenith
is a tyranny
of empty.
a truer
you.

when
the birds
ate dynamite
to spite
they're beak;
they sang an evil
good, and knew it !
while the black
of their feathers -
wore white
so their black hearts
stood out.
black
nice.

mars,
mars was the God
of War on Red
so when we bled
no one would know
we were drowning
too.

and no one would know
how down the below
floats, nor have a name
for wondering

without a question

these days are like fake days and cumbersome suns.
moons that have no poets to mock
and the thousand and one idiots
who believe something is real.
the plum from an apple tree is another verse
from a silent thing.... a true gift
from a blind Spring
that devastates the Peace of any youth
as broad as a thin
hope.

having been there is precisely where you're at.
you cannot advance save a reason to repeat it.
life is the cruel awesome of the mundane.
and the miraculous
is nothing but an
often facade

that you mean

in between the raindrops
and the ridicule... the wondrous suffering
and the ham-****** Sun.
a clump of rogue joy
suckling at the **** of blindness.

erupting from a void...

I found your
noise.

i found the feathers of a Stygian nest
nestled in the cool teeth
of a dragon's corpse.

Living in the City may clip your wings.
But there’s baklava, so….

You pay more to live in a cube
with a longer cube MacGyvered
to a money pit shaped like-
a square.

It’s all the rage
how you are.

II

When you formally meet your first guitar
you get sunburned.

III

Now you eat noise and incidentals. like profound Chicklets.
But your shadow’s sweet-tooth is another way to adventure
from your cavities, with sea shanties from False Hope
Or Narwhal hymns in bright typhoons
Like glass lipids
Burning in earnest
Where the sun
Has a brief chill-
In the panorama of
Your undistorted
Will.

IV

Like riding a bike
with Imaginary Legs-

That Believe that you
Actually Have
A Bike.

a crust of bread resting in the rustic coma of the breakfast nook.
butter on a plate... chastening the sun with it's mule yellow-
and gravy on your toast because
breakfast.

the window beside -
framing elsewhere, condensing the whole milk
into a colorful speck.
as you wander off into the morning
before coffee... with a mouthful
of toast.

and a host of jewelry... made of sleepy.

with our elbows clutched
we grasp at the bleachers
of all our stars
and
worn by Time...
slip the knife
into the Palace of all Flesh
where the integers number themselves
among the Zeroes
of our God's Laugh-matics
as we practice the wind
in a spoon.

we are in Love.
but not in the
Moon.

we are more in the deep
than the candy....
and thrice removed.
more like a Circus Intent
folding in a roustabout's
plucky croon -
that hammers the long toil
of every day
into the locket
of our dream
undeployed.

II

i have seen the middle
and gone mad.

but near the end
i have seen
the rest.

and returned.
more than
that.

A bridge in Vermont
is not a bridge too Vermont.
It's a postcard
with heart-red snow
and the white knuckles
of an orphaned babe...
twitching in a manger...
but singing.

All glory to the smoke
and the iron sun; too blunt.
It's a porcelain shard
of hard-dread luck
and a dark hustle to the bottom
of the sea... in waves -
wishing even stranger...
but undreaming.

yet amazed.

II

We are the brick and the butterfly.

You migrate
as i nest in a shambles.
As i launch -
into stuck.
You go from shore to shore
above me.
As I plunge into -
stealth at rest.

III

We are the thing that ponders -
the other thing that wanders off....
And we know the color
of our grief.

It is Ironically blue
and rueful.
But it smiles inside -
Like a dairy cow
with idiot teats.

We are unfit to miss the Other; Forever.
But our astrology is fickle as a lamb
at a crucifixion.
We have our gods, but cannot barter
for a Lesser One than Love.

So we're condemned to our devotion
like a locomotive heart
to a groove in
a chasm
at last.

And just enough.

the brass tacks have hit the mat
encased in melting candle wax
from a candle on the floor
in the darkest room
in the house.

there might be a way to look at that
and not go mad
when you know what it means... you're -
Never prepared for That.



struck blind in the eye inside,
you could almost die
and you want too.
when a light goes out,
and you're plagued with doubt
and you don't do things...
because Why?
and Icebergs are known
to roam these waters
for real.

this is so
real.
this is so
real.

not so much the sun... but the moon today,
how it fetches the glint
from a fire of doom
but slips the lie to the truth
in truly black
rooms.

the barge of my waste
is time spent with you.
and no other
thing kills
as sweet.

in the valley of the hollow
i begin my lurch.
I tumble through the awe
without my skin, and it hurts.
i blunder through the stars
of our astronomy... no doubt.
but i would have you
as my nothing
to have

something.

too have nothing
about.

after 2 AM the tinnitus of a withering day has abated.
the shrill un-boundaries of our servitude
collapse into auguries seeping
from a perforated moon
like white honey.
all it’s thought
a dot on a creature
made of holes.
stumbling home from a mansion
to a flat.

in a yellow car.

where the road departs from your destination
you find The Wilderness Of Things…
we blunder into culdesacs and -
sacrosanct steeples; twisting balloons at the Fair
to resemble implosions in slow motion.
for a quid.

you’ll find books out there that keep dark secrets poorly
and adventures that baffle your brain pan.
and every twilight fissure in the world heart.
they rest on stoic end tables with noble dust
and green lanterns bowing to shadows.
You’ll find Others-
pilfering Silver
to buy golden calves
and cherry blossoms
for no reason.

for no reason
at all.

dreams are the fish in god's pond
on a hook... we reel in whatever we want
and we look
at the sky
like a blue open palm
at the end of night's wrist...
there's a nail for a Sun
and it shines like a cold yellow love
that perhaps
has a reason to love you as much
as it can
but leaves you the moon
to shed a light
where your last dark fell
and a kiss to remind you
how sweet
this hell...

there's an empty peach in stone fruit
and then there's You.
a bespoke onion in a pearl....
it has no ill that a shell understands
but bleeds through it's terrible clench
on the things that might mean
nothing....

like the pearl.

Canto I


The Dream is The Dreamer. I Intuit by strife and yards of Sleep.
I know the very secrets that I keep… and keep them coming, from underneath.
I swerve where the world is flat and the stars, less cheap.
All are Suns to plunder for the Heavens that are jealous of the Hells we seek.
Without our barbs, we are wires that electrons elect to flee.
So the light we gather is nothing more than the lies we speak.
Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow… is only half as deep.
I tread where the Angels have false hopes
and conquer everything.


Canto II


Somewhere in my Soul is the last gasp I’ve been keeping
for the curtain fall of a dull day, perched on a steeple wilting.
My Church, Flesh, and Blood like any book you’re reading.
I assemble my disassembly with all the fire in my teeth careening.
Top bad for the Lost Ones. The way they trouble the void with wishing.
I summon the marvelous crux of a Fiction I am sincerely believing.
And make it so.


So beautiful… I’m still Alive.

love is how you feel it.
love is what you do.
love is the reason to live
when love has abandoned 
you... it's so cruel the way it strikes
and the way it departs 
the way i never knew you
and i never thought
my soul would ever suffer
for Her Art 
i never had a clue 
till it was gone 
till everything right
went so terribly wrong
till i found myself on a ledge
in the dark
i saw the truth. 
and that's how i got this scar
it softens the blow no less
it tramples every
flower bed
it crushes everything like a god
love is the loneliness 
of the lucky ones

and no one ever tells you from the start
they just let you fall 
and watch your parachute 
be nothing but a rock 
on a rope,
but that's not even -
the joke

then it hits you like a ton of bricks
and just for kicks
it kicks you when your down
and your lost. and now 
your hard

All Because
Love never had
a heart.
never had skin the game
that you loss.
never apologized
for the hole in your life
that was left behind
when the light left you
for another man 
and a lie 

and you keep asking  why ?
and way down deep inside
you wish you knew
that love has lost it's mind
and never had a heart

till your love went blind
and you had your heart -
removed.

gone missing are
the many things
and all the world
endures.
whatever rabbits
have been misplaced
will find a hole
in a mirror.

the happy sea of heartbreak is no happy sea at all.
but yes...  it's well content to be broken
as wave after wave blooms in your palm
and something is a canyon where your trailer home
is not where your heart remembers you.
but condemns your love.

This is what we do when we do nothing.
let me tell you. but let me love you too.
I am gone where stench clings. And i can't be me
And You are no one,
save the ridicule
that lust cannot fathom
and the beauty of you
as I usually do
is undone.

This is what we do when we do nothing.
We flip houses like coins,
we go nowhere at light speed
and I love you much
as you let me go.

and I go where my want
is not wanted.

with all the symphonies drained from the pool
it was high time to embark on a pointless quest
and be good at it. a trickster god hiding a strip of meat
from your impotent beak. you in your white vest
stark where the sun has bleached your horrors
as the new star startles the dark omens of your open pores
and more's the pity... the void has come to it's senses
to forfeit you in a game of pawns
thrashing about in infinite malaise... conjuring misfortune
till the dams burst and the siege begins.
it was high noon when the hollow yawned at your purpose
and your wings scorned the sky,

you miss how the comets laughed,
but can't seem to remember why.

you must if you must. if you must.
if you must not, then you will
because you are in love
and nothing
is what nothingness calls
love
and the habit of our industry
effete.
and we have two
Left.

to dance with.

oh what is this space between words and the emblem of speech, enchanted by the calamity
of opening my mouth to ask the very same thing?
oh how do i bloom so much with all my fairies Fae and all my moons New Earth
surging in the pixie ****** of what i can only assume is my purpose
among deader men than my living hell?
oh how i beg to be loved like a coin!
oh how i strive to slit the throat of a laughing troglodyte to let the sun shine
into the purpose of an idiot.
i consume what disbelieves the power of my weaknesses and secure a place in Valhalla
full of plush toys for Gypsies and waifs of every sadness
doing nothing but getting hit… by dead-end jobs
in the mouth of profound madness…
on this side of happy….
which incidentally, is the dark side of smiling
out of fear like an ape
with a word for a
man... without a god.

Hello, little pins in my paw.
How is all my Life, the rain ?
She's apart from me.
But letting go, is not a part
of Me.
And that is
pain.

my darling one.
if you can hear me...
slack the rope.
I don't know how
these miracles work.
but i know how
to work
for nothing.

and that is
Hope.
At least I hope
so.

while surfacing in the liquid grove of our punji sticks
and pine sap fire
we lose our hearing… and whalesongs become a myth
as we emerge from the abyss -
as abysmal as a flotilla of spirals
and as deaf as a merciful nod.
but we see the Sun
for the first time.
and with our beginnings begun -
we be gone...

beyond.

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...

For Thee I have sworn to render from the sovereign sun
a soul's worth; burnished by oblivion's tongue
and stars uncursed ... a bounty of beloved life; once spun
then unmade, and cunningly reversed. a song sung.
a belle play. a bell
rung.

For Thee, I measure the Night's dark, by hand - and
Love by mouth... I come
to heap sweetness upon the waters -
of your thighs, and glide bidden to the hilt of your Delta
like the mighty Mississippi to a blind oyster... for there; I cloister -
in the Secret Gardens of your Restlessness like an untamed
priest.

with an ordained
kiss.