I am fixed
to the walls of this house

so tightly joined to it,
this bed
through sinew and bone

thread, thread, thread

another plait into me

the night, the breed she is
with that ****** needle
and thread, thread, thread

knows I can’t stand within it
the vignette
the solitude

the white coats,
the men of the word
those in the mire of the clay
all prescribing the same thing

a hit of perseverance

“Oh, okay,”

“oh, okay,”

“oh, okay.”

I lick, lap at
the slow drip
so tightly fixed to where I always have been

don’t come in,
don’t go out

“I’m sorry,”

in the pooling of spit
one hand in the *****
reaching into the pit

the *******
night
I don’t say in vain

“Okay,”
“Okay,”
“Okay,”

she waits
loosens my thread
slips those little tethers
so much good slack

I run
take my hit of perseverance
I burn
burn, burn, burn
right up in the fire of day

she waits for the ash

the sun rises and sets
on the same thing, always

always
always
always

they don’t understand
those free feet, walking the narrows
I watch them all go
no wince, no limp

no thread, no spit

the way that it seems,
from my portion of shadow,

“Oh, okay,”

so easy ‎

edelweiss grows
valiantly, over the crags
the sharp, jagged pikes
of a summit

so a wall of stone
keeps me beneath her

like her necklace
I drape
the pendant
resting lowly on her *****

I’ll never climb

I wonder what is on the other side

I wonder what she looks like

but you lift your head every morning

there's the power

there's the meaning

a lone something in the sky
flies near, just by mischance
dazed by the smog,
bowing
and diving
downward
into the parting, cracking,
quaking
bellowing of tar
from the firy, sputtering lungs of these alps
eons worth of cries released in mere mouth-ajar gasps
of the earth diverging and converging
into the debt of always running clean,
running me
always downward,
as in the deep
deep
tessellations of rock
I become.

too still for my own good,
I guess –
another voice on the ash-flow tuffs of
breath to fill the mosaic
of sinewy
stripe-patterned goodbye and bygone
plating into the deep,
deep,
deeper caverns of the unseen sea
slipping off the mantle, an accident with intention,
as an echo caving downward into  

nothing,

nothing,

more

nothing

polluting the depths from the palisades,
scripture rupturing lowshore into
surrounding tissues like
igneous stone
dreams of clinks ringing,
of noise
a voice
on the ash-flow tuffs
in the always running-clean water
the purity of which I intercept,
the clear-ness of it;
a sinners window.

through what's left,
I see the clam
another mouth for and of the sea
unseen,
the pearl
as unsoiled as ever

I step outside

just in time, Father

for the leaf to fall from the tree

and the air is much too nipping, and biting,
and apple-pie
for me to hide from it

please, tell me a story,
all about it
about how the world ends and Your foot goes a

"stomp!"

over on the olive mount

and no more doors ever close like
sesame
sesame
sesame
ses—

I go along with things
just as if they are meant to be

and when autumn's chill catches
I hope to have You sewn onto my sleeve

not that I'd ask You to shrink for me
though I know that You would dare to do so,
and have
and prob'ly will again

and I can walk the earth like You
with intention in my feet and it will be so

meant
to
be

when the sun is just an augur
I hope to be sewn onto Your sleeve

and I can drop and fall like an autumn leaf,
and spring up again in the next wind You breathe

You bend down to hear
a calm in the torrential,
praying me a good prayer
unproved to me yet, but I know it

it's inclemence and drafty doors
and hot cinnamon in apple-pie

Parading through these beautiful Hills..

--You, and your entourage of a mixture
   of dog-like,  well trained, egostrokes..
   and also of men..   whose tattered boots
   you are unworthy, of even tying..

Traipsing across the Badlands--
your long  red hair, flowing..
giving off a stance, (as if)..

--You, and your entourage of a mixture
   of dog-like, well trained, egostrokes..
   and also of men.. in tattered boots
   that you are unworthy, of even tying..

Raining down havoc,  on the Beautiful People
simply for their having  within them ;;
  
Faith:
In the Great Father.. and Substance of Spirit;
Neither of which your cowardly Egostroke
will ever garner,  or ascertain..

But oh, you could steal..

And pilfer..
And destroy.

You will pay, oh General *******-boy
Your long, curly locks..
will take on a whole new color,  red
There will be a gathering..
A showdown..

A Holy Reckoning--
In that Montana field,  between the Hills
Along the Little Bighorn..

The River of all Beaten-Down  one's, dreams

in the matters of what I have done
no other holds higher guilt

in the matters of love and trust
forgive me until I am barren of innocence