now that we are nearly one
let us consume the other
and be tranquil in our spine
and darlings, ever darlings.
let us chime invincible
upon the  purposeful earth
and lounge in the quake
of it.

now that we are nearly one
let us pursue the rarity of our union
to the depths of our actual love
and be made perfect in the flaw
of god's kingdom, where man has raged
against itself, and joined the devils
of their inner dread.
let us coerce the seasons to a bliss
and reign above all unjoy
to be together, at odds
with the evening
of our mean
palace.

let us love the other more than we understand
and stand under the canopy of sleepless
love... forever.

you stainless steel
stain-maker.
a hate-lump of drums, wicked.
stick it too your browbeat
widget
of precise niggling...
ink links -
to kerosene. and scribe farce
for the disabled.
but wrap it up in
' what's up ? ' .
but
get unstuck
on
other people.

sheepskin
your grey wolf. and -
leap shins and fair maidens.
skip **** that's too
mythic.
reel-in your best
wishes.
for weak wishes
ditch *******

So wish strong;

and
all day long,
you should rob
lightning
and come
wit
it !

be
exactly
the right wrong thing
to catch
fire

most likely.

[ so dig it ]


hide your feather in your cap
where your head
might be.
and your macbeth
has a
happenstance
for a sequel

and a meaning.

be in-betweening
and lost
chapters.

[ be these
things ]

but bring the
laughter.

last about a day
and i got somethin'
fo' ya

still immaculate.


just lean back
a bit.

and that'll be the bit
you're
after.

when i'm gone i have five shadows
and they knit quilts with barbed wire and dead leaves.
they chew on the fat lie
and simply forget the gravity of exile.

but i'm here now, and i love this.

been to your house
where all the light bends -
where all the Flamingos  
eat their feet
for Fear of landin'.
where the crosses burn your heart
and your Art
is a Most Lost Cause -
I've seen you at random
according to
your plan...
i've found you
smoldering in the east wing
of a westerly
advance.

been to your world
where the girls in the air are priceless
and found you among them
trimming treacle from
the diamonds... your gorgeous lungs
twirling the unbelieveable highness
of a soft note
from no
song.

at the lip of a pool, i suspend time to forage through the reveries of lost love
and like thunder i roll over tragedies and dull days,,,i wrinkle my eyes at a stone sun
and embark renewed at a crossroads tethered to an iron halo.
i drink more now. my Bourbon soliloquies banter like a bantam **** at all Dawns.
but the irony is bracing and the ice is breaking a vow of iceness… now a conflagration
where a glacier burns like a sun and marvels at how tepid Hell.
i loved too much. and that was not enough. and you can tell.
so now i gaze at the impossible with a child’s eye and a poet’s dark.
i sleep with myself in my chambers of unseemly devotion.
i love everything and nothing.
and i yearn to yearn without yearning
all the while.

As I was born under a New Moon; I am always given pause by a mad flush of stars, deserted in abundance, piercing the ruby throated dusk; uncollided, a blush of dead fizz still very much alive...And I would touch it... ~ touch it
damning rainbows to neglect and torrential rains
basking in sunshine ~
but not mine...I am pondering heaven now
and how
it fits in your palm.
How everywhere a shadow walks, the stars shine
right behind it.
and no one finds a single flaw.

i am the alchemy of distilled spirits.Spirits abducted by Ruin-
that has such beauty,
your weeping would reveal, the very name of the villain.
And exactly how you got this number
in the first place.

Again, that was then... and This is how we love each other in a black room with our mouths sewn shut; typing riddles in plain English that fall upon an Eye's Ear... an alien braille of goosebumps in a vacuum at my fingertips, tapping keys that build doors Between
that lead to this very place.

The keys had to come from some where, ?
but we're not thinking about that
right now.

keep me
in your pocket
where you keep your steam
and hemlock engines burning
piston ******
glamorous  
keep me wickedly
kiss you
preach me      pink things  
winking in avalanche harmonies
sink me
get more           my deepening       deep think
pitch fork my blunt tongue
wet  and glistening
keep me whistling peaches
amorous

let me slave into you
like magma petunias teething
on hips and thighs
let me do
but you
do me      

all night  be day break mending the moon beams running through buildings
tearing down the sky by blotting out  the sunlight
threading beads of sweat into a rainbow in the ****
preying  on lips and valleys of
lollipop oysters
let me jolly your
roger

i'm supposed ta !

Let's not trouble You with Me.
Let us squat on the lawn of disremembered things
and picnic the day away, cavorting in the sumptuous.
Deployed like balloons from another world-
More made of Grace than the grit
of our actual lives.
And be on
our way.

Weak in the knees, with solid steel prayers
I'll anchor my full disclosure to the Moon and a gnat.
I'll comb the halls of our misadventures
to find you blithering in the gorgeous
of your wonderful Self.
My love is like an unspoken jewel
that murmurs after your esteem.
You are the ring that binds the soil of my retrospection,
And the very thing that amplifies
the joy of my shipwreck
at Thee.

what abounds like love in it's infancy ?
a revival of Spring from an infinite well.
as such; love is the Sun. sundering ordinary doubt
as blind-spots boggle from the lightning fell...
what rainbows do when they shout. and all -
the music
that sustains you, blessed; from a realm
as cloudless as a newborn babe. there are stars.
and all the splendor of an ****** life
thrumming the lost chord, to the last song !
a host of ecstasies, tumbling in a waterfall of loose shackles
and open doors. love then, is the mark of a genius design
embedded in the viscera of Eternity. bristling with Time -
and all the majesty of the Flesh. it barks at the moon
and enthralls the latent flames that lay dormant in your soul.
how the world is new, but not innocent
concerns you not in the least.  

and Love is

You.

the slow smoke gloats and motes of atoms matter
dappled in the dingy blue of wintry twilight, frozen swollen
with white ash sunlight and long shadows, noodling in the canopies
of our vast wilderness. in the back room.

my rocking chair grinds an arc on a single point beneath me.
i teeter on the minuscule reminiscence, much -  
as a wave teeters
on the moon's
whim.

i rejoice.

and deny.

i long for gone remedies, while pondering
what plagues my faith -
in the Mist...
what troubles the blight elan
of my ignorance.

and
at the door, i find you sleeping
on god's dime.

and i dream with
you.

you are not poolside. you've wandered off; and left behind your passport.
i have someplace to be and nowhere to go -
we could hook up at the pier
and tell ghost stories
to ghosts we know.
i suspect you might be lurking in dark groves with dumb luck.
but i don't know how you mean
from this long view.
i just know
you.

or some-such.

love  like  thing  time  

eyes  just  heart  lost

long  lips  day  things

know  night  

world.


fin.

The bones of love howl such parodies

That cannot speak more seldom of Paradise

Black sand irritates the Pearl...

Faith maligns the Believer

As God invents Pain,

Shrill phantoms

Over Love's

remains.

venus sparkles in the ink feast of heaven, a yellow albino with a crown of white nettles, seething in magnetic storms. a singular *****.
the moon glows. pouring egg whites and phantasms over the earth, perched in oblivion's diamonds like a haunted brouche. it's gorgeous.
high above, clouds clench black velvet and cold fronts. they scrunch into ice crumbs and wrinkles. white streaks skate a blade of wind shear
into a swipe of a tiger's claw. while far underneath, the sodium lights of the suburbs, brawl.

you live in a house of pure things. where the dust has settled arguments. where harm has come to none;
but all have fallen. your house is a living thing,
dying to show you the Door...

and you know this.

Jupiter is a dead fist. But i am lately disembarked in your parlor. loving farce.
you are twinkling in the chamber ***. you pay rent.
but i am hately, loving instruments of accidental art.
This poison is the only one that loves you.
a superman, afraid of how brittle
your Memory Lane.

These Furies that laugh in their sleep
are the last to be reached
in a chasm.
To repel from oblivion's lip
and Have at 'em As atoms have
Nothing to cling too
And That Matters.

These Furies that die in their sleep
Are polite to at least keep the last spasm -
Hapless as a Trivial list Of Mad Pattern...
Though that Lantern Has Nothing to shine through -
And light scatters.

These wounds that laugh at sleep
They weep in a Keep Where the Night gathers.
Shelves of elaborate Script
Of a Myth of " Had Happened "

These eyes that dine on Sleep
They reap the breach Discretely Haggard...
The last gasp of Ice Nip
A tad Sadder...And That Saturn
has Ice Lanterns
More dark gladly
As Had
Phantoms.

the grass, leaning in the south wind , seeming
as if emeralds,   had sent tendrils up
to suckle at the yellow breast, now,   high above     inflamed...
over soft new grass  
      
like
strands of green gemstone,
as delicate as humming-bird tongues
teasing nectar
from a titan,
in the sky
                        
triumphant in the void,
a golden bead in the baffling blue !
cattails, curling in sway...and two brown eyes bob upon the surface
of a myriad fertilities.
as if
nature itself had known, one day
a poet would come ~
to roam the rambling renascence of these remote ramparts
in awesome humility ~ and so prepared
a path afflux
that ambled near

and yes !

an anonymous nomad
with nicotine skin and a scabbard of scandalous quills
would indeed
stumble in    as if returning home
to a mansion restored to glory
and seraphic randomness....
a place
              that in youth, sustained a quiet, soulful troubadour
              by gospels of granite and grain,  grass finch
              and faun - ennobling an oracle ... but now
              enticed a scholar  from his cot
              to jot ephemera
              of outlasting spark
              before dark-fall

and so... there
amid all allurement   and soft machines

              a word-smith gathered
              poesy and prose.
            
              muse-driven
              this one served
              an invisible
              sovereign
            
              one  

              of unsurpassed virility
              who charms       kaleidoscopes
              with  offhand sketches    
              rescued
              from
              a landfill
            
              a basket weaver,  
              that unravels to
              achieve pure
              forms
            
              a wineskin was decanted in dianthus and hollies -
              as ampules of anagrams
              were sold unscrambled, to dyslexics
              without hope
            
              a falcon   frolicked above the lowborn lilies...  
            
              with eyes  
              too keen
              to see a
              blur
              as the hand
              of god
            
              or a vole
            
              as a lifeline
              on his
              palm.

mending the snow
has now become knitting white
to frost
as lost kingdoms navigate
from their obscurity -
hosting the hours of our doom
to decades of joy and inertia ...
even as you really love someone
on purpose... you forget
someone.

and all
is come undone !
from a kernel of honey
as ever was.
barking madly at false gods, while -
nipping at the heel of
Unhealing wounds...

all  havoc and have at It
where the true wrong
believes You.

a sting of happiness
dashed against the stubborn
fuss of tossed rocks.
the milk of shadow....
clawing at the way you forget
a glowing medallion
of aching wisdom

And henpecked stars  Henpecked.

a clutch of hit squad horseshoes, lucky in the dark.

the blue navel of a certain monotony
that jibes with your Apologies...
and a long Pause

A Lost -
Art
Founding the Church
of a Lost
Cause

and every Wednesday in a Box
of course.

hurrah !

a quatrain is not a tomb. it's an altar of cellulose and low merchants chanting.
we sell the individual curses of our seldom mirth. songs sting as they must -
for they must not !  if they will not hurt...
if they will not be beautiful, for the asking.
a poesy is a feast.
a revenant of our choosing, unless you had no choice.
i am the receptacle of This voice; and solve ridicule with ranting,
just because.
i fuzzy the logic to inspire the haggard hopes of our refrain; unrestrained.
remaining on vigil,
i mark the stars passing in a waking slumber -
with a fool's mask. and a talent's masking.
i am the urge.
how my mind works is my heart's domain.  a wrench in the parsley we hardly; i daily.
i parsnip the rube barbs of a bards assemblage.  i revisit Atlantis.  Polaroid pics -
with graining.  with irony
i photo
shop.

a quatrain is not a tomb, but a rarity,
as we say new the old things
that make us
we.
for i, for one
am one.
i continue
from no sum
and eventually
add up
to something
because -

why not ?

are you the god you believe in ? does this blood soothe you so ?
are you not a bullet ? are you not not mine ? are you serious ?
why so ?
do you cleave to your wicked  grace like uranium chanting Oppenheimer ?
are you safe where you are and can i say " goodbye " really ? for once ?
how deep are your shallows ? can we drown the noise precisely, my love ?
are these questions enough to see me from ?
and where are you gone ?
you're so gone...

am i there ?

have you ever left your raincoat
and then
suddenly
the only cloud in your Kansas
finds you leaning into a black wind
like icing on a fruitcake
hat-less ?
your hands in your [ ragged empty ]
you call pockets
clutching threads and mending holes
with numb
prayers
faith-less
have you then ever found your raincoat
over shoulder just where you left it
only to stumble upon your hat
or one that looks
just like it ?
and then you put it on
and the ****
thing
fit ?
if you have then you know this is me
lending gently, you my coat.
hoping you take it for the love what comes from within
too busy sparkling in prisms, to regard a grain of doubt -
just something crazy twinkling
on the surface of whatever
you must have only
just finished.

You Don't Know How To Scream, Because The Monster Sings

cold duck luck. the fat of the lamb on the lean.
your off chill in the summer of your spring... your walking doom.
our entire thing.
your baritone four letter word for ******.
you grab. your elaborate hoax is the norm and the wyrm.
the reveal is apart. a part of your madness is my heart
but we love to regret.

i'll forgive you when you're next.

we rove in shabby clothes
in the splendorous groves
of our night kingdom.
we tread unkempt beds
than rather lay our heads
or make love
in them.
we darken the closest star
we further the farthest
more lost,  than
found.
we groom the mane of our lying.
not for the lack of trying
the truth...
but more, for the harm -
done allies
in a war of thumbs
in a Serengeti
of our imminent
demise.

we poker face.
we monopoly grey
where our pink blood
is enough.
we trouble the rust.
we slink and encrust
where the oil slick cuts
a more striking
disfigure.
we toss sharp dice
for dull games. blood mites
for dust devils
in broken
chains.
we retreat from rings
that ferry ending gloom
to better yes the no of things
too maybe
to true.

hello Poetry....remember anvils soaking in snow
bejeweled in Hello Kitty
cringing in the Marrakesh  of so much pantomime ?
Are you singing that song ?
the one you scrawled in a fit of distance
on the edge of ***
with    the
Unknown....

hello Poetry... swimming in ego butter... Lobbing off heads
in a red blue !
the stem of a lunacy
branching
into corridors
of soot
and last
rites.

[ as the knot finds the noose, the night ]

full of dead Aprils and lilac fumes, marjoram rhinestones and the ****** cinders of delight
over charmed by lightning, nocturnal passions of a dire hope suspended in hopeless plight

ornate cups as fragile as a poisonous thought made of human love
sworn enemies sipping tea from intangible ceramics, their black silk gloves
gleaming in the twilight apocalypse of surrender, at war with wisdom
in mad gardens of eden,
two dragons horde stars enough to confound astronomy
and arguments
that hold for every possible lie, sustaining the hypotheses of heaven
in orbit of a void
a lush velvet, gaping maw at the center of faith
and our kites, tethered to the follicle of our I

[ as the knot finds the noose, the night ]

surrounding the red apples of forbidden things, clinging to a fork, branching off from the center
of non local truth... a tremor in the force that sings the Universe into question,
but never into being

our magnificence, savoring sweet Life, smitten by meaningless miracles, as befit a fools indifference
to Reality... our long wings on specks of dust
amuse the blizzard of unknown laws, and yet we persist in beauty and susurrus

the rustle of angels on fishhooks
as we reel in the big
One.       [ Divided ]

Jupiter is a dead fist. But i am lately disembarked in your parlor. loving farce.
you are twinkling in the chamber ***. you pay rent.
but i am hately, loving instruments of accidental art.
This poison is the only one that loves you.
a superman, afraid of how brittle
your Memory Lane.

in the basement
where we keep our little gravities-
apparently the earth gave way
and hell announced a cavity.
allow for strange attractors
to collapse before they're intimate.
and never take the stairs
until you've locked the room beneath it.
according to the rule
there may be echoes from the chamber
a misery of wraiths
or a raven in the manger.
or a hackle of contempt
the very air, a shrike of drone.
an epistle from a hornet's nest-
at the back of our throats.
in the very, very quiet
where we keep our little maladies-
apparently the basement is as good a place as enmity.
allow for cain and abel
and perhaps you have the half of it,
swinging from a hook in every room we've heard it laughing in.
according to the rule
there may be black so black it's blackening
and everywhere the hoards of wane
dispel the moon
because.

here come the real                    and the snakes
and everything hurts, here on earth,
till it hurt's you
out of place...
where
blue skies howl
our name -
where the seething intention
is stalled
in a comet's hatred...   and
eating the miracles
howling in the amber brain
of a fossil
OF
a golden honey-ant, frozen in too much wrong place at the wrong time
like a delicate whisper of deep scars where                 never been looking
and to notice -
is to weep...

are the same

Life is a brush fire... dreaming.
A penumbra of the void.
Life is where God left His hammer.
A black pearl on black sand.
The one with the blue heart
and the mad men.
Life is thin air made flesh; the pinnacle of divinity-
with a blunt tip.

Days are optional. Nights are mandatory.

That's Life -
Deep down, where we live
in the Future every moment.
Life is a sad
piece.

Wince
at the sun for a nickel,
and that's almost what it feels like
To believe in your soul
but not your eyes.
Life is all
around
you.

A field of poppies
and prank calls.
A flood of Harmonies
alluding
to your
Truth.

That you have no idea
How to play your
instrument -
Is the funny
part.

That it All seems to work.... sheer genius

We are Alive,
and that
Is the pivotal intent
of the Prime
Mover.
The Lucid Grace that All Creation, Made.
A Reflex of an Infinitely Loving
Conundrum -

We are the Children
of a Living Mystery...
from clay,
say some.

But know this.

[ Life is a gift that keeps on Dying ]

and will do it for nothing....  

if you let it.


Life is a Dreaming Cause, A Sleeping Crusade;
Tossed out of Heaven's bed
Into The Cavernous Crib With The Milky Way Mobile
Spiraling in Entropy... Life looks up.
And Life looks down,
With your
eyes.

We are the null set, and the set of all possible sets.
We are the Premise that inspires Love to magnify.
That Lens between the Sun and the Ant
Is your Soul.

Life is not -
exactly.
And Death's a
lazy-Susan.
And Nothingness
is poetry
that bleeds a
moon to
ruin... as high
above -
stars are sliding
fortunes into
cookies
and everywhere
our banquet -

sprawls.

are those lips for me ? how my hope is so. my lust love is furnace lovely and you are so you.
bring both and be done. be done with roaming the geometries of lonely and the pith of stone fruit.
be glued to my all. attach your splendor to my wheels of joy and surround my demise
with renewal.

do this for me
and i'll be
doubloon.