Pain speaks one or a thousand.
The method of translation differs.

Palm to finger.
The movement stays, stops.

Foot to ankle.

Ground shakes,
air trembles
all at your whim.

Soul to Soul.
Along the folds
vibration slows.

Abomunist poetry
in order to be
completely understood
should be eaten…
-except on fast days,
slow days, and
mornings of executions.

Abomunist Goldilocks
eats the 3 bears.
But the porridge gets her
in the end. It is just right.

Abomunists read pictures
Downside
         skewed
to their children.

Abomunists sing
south by southeast,
but fly Southwest
through time.

Abomunists adore a vacuum
so they fill it
with Abomunable gifts
  like chicken seeds
and rose guts,
and the vacuum fills.
Abomunists abhor a vacuum.

That vacuum said rude things about your mother.
Abomunists have no mothers
and hang around streetcorners
shaking the lights until they go out.

Abomunists are obliged
to change the bulbs once
they die and continue shaking.

Abomunists encourage
police brutality
and are cheeky
motherless *******.

Abomunists go
hand in mouth.

Abomunists go
go go go go.
Always go.

Abomunists vote to
abolish
red lights.

Abomunists ride hydrogen
bombs to work.

Abomunists go to
bullet heaven.

Abomunists slay the dragon
only on Tuesday,
but chase him
through the ***** den.

Abomunists lick cold poles.
And pull their tongue
out sometimes.

Abomunists
cry to Billboard
revelations in Coca-Cola
and lingerie.

Abomunists listen
to the bottom 40 hits.
And drink the middle classics.

Abomunists drain
their cups
and never ask for more.

They just take it.

Abomunists scream hoarse
and horse
and pony
and the rattlesnake
guttural hissing
serpentine buzzing
bees. You wouldn’t understand.

Abomunists elect
their drones and
the queen eats all
the honey.

Abomunists run
from office
and hold sway from
cardboard towers.

Abomunists are bad
architects and they
fall from grace
- so to speak.

Pits and pockmarks
flit and dart
across an infinite ceiling.
Random synchronicity
plays patter song
stupor and languidity
The orchestra conducting
purple and yellow
to a sparkling, a
crushing crescendo
falls like a wave on tastebuds, tempting.

She lingers like
fog on a pane of glass
A sharp signature
impaled on a pile
of dreaming dust.

Like a rushed column
updraft through a house
of leaves blank and staring.

A mark from the
back of your palms up.
Your fingers stuck signing
a language sang by the blind.

How did she stay so long
A force hidden in neuron canyons.
A Gypsy camp lodged
between cortexes
spinning silk into a
muffled gasp, a conspiratory shuffle.

She lingers like spines of glass
in nailbeds, planted sweetly,
with the best of care.

Laughter in an asylum
electroshock dreams soaked in sweat.

Grabbed my brain like a chemical symphony.
Painted pictures of pivotal seconds,
wrapped up and romanticized.
Dreamt about.

Your lilting language planted
little honeypots deep in my palms.
Sparked fire from entropy
lighting a city in my chest.

But now these buildings tower
like Goliath in David’s dreams.
I need to escape
I need to slide out of
this sleep you’ve monopolized.

******* dreams
like smokering fingerprints
left on the cleft of my conscience.

The old taqueria on Victory.
The Bourgeois Pig.
The bitter spice of winter
painted over the cracks
crumbling the walls.

These waking hallucinations
haunt my habits.
Still frequent the holeinthewall
dives in my heart.

There’s too little time.
To think that
by halving and halving and
halving again
this can be drawn out.
Somehow be avoided.

Death is no holographic dream.
It’s as real as circuitous
firing triggers of phosphene.
I see light suspended
in this final moment.

The tugging burin
etches away at the
last things it can shape.

fierce and infinite
cracked fractals
color by avidity

Beauty
lost in pyroxenes
and phosphene dreams.

Half-life glows
and the quark forgets to spin.

Let’s make this our night.

Let’s kick our good habits
and grow our bad ones in neat
rows of dandelions
and ponder what marks
**** from flower.

Let's fill a jar with memories
and dash it against the ground
when it's full so we can play
with them once more.

Let’s empty our brains
like a register full of quarters
chase them along the pavement
and roll them into neat piles
to trade for pennies.

Let’s cut holes in our pockets
and fill them with time
until the last echo of
a tick splits our emptied skulls
and drains out the nothing.

Let's rob a jeweler
and give diamonds to the homeless.
Their babbles are endless
and they've earned something for that.

Let's ink our pens with the clouds
and write odes to the sea
where they meet and watch them turn
orange then red then purple then black
then dissipate with wind.

Let's read tea leaves and palms
like books written by wise
old men with wide smiles
and wider minds.

Let's blow out the city lights,
dance with the stars,
and apologize profusely
for stepping on their toes.

Let's wash our hands with acid
and leave empty fingerprints
on likewise glasses
staining breathless lovers'
heaving antipathy

Let's play to lose
and throw the pieces
about the floor when
our plan goes awry, smiling.

Let's slowdance to anachronisms
while the ether whispers
around and between us and through us,
until it settles in us.

Let's watch the clouds
from atop a sinking city
and marvel at how the water's
lovely this time of year.

Let's fall in love
and drown together
in whichever order
the universe decides.

Let's make this our night
It may be our last.

We wore our shoplifted morals
  on our very backs.
Shirts stained in lust and
  revelation plain.
Lost in odes to obscenity
and ****** light in boxcars
  to Ocean.

Fake wisdom chainsmoked
and chained up pressed
  to the radiator, burned.
Seventeen looked twentytwo
  and felt about a hundred
But danced like we were
young again in the ethereal
  glory of the night.
But the nights turned to
minutia as we packed
Luggage filled with memories
on an outbound train to
Adulthood and Adolescence
was left waiting for you
  by the tracks.

Trains trains trains
life and love gone flying
by at a mile a second
and the seconds are precious
and the miles are precious
and all the precious miles
and minutes still fly fly fly
speeding on train tracks
and we wave as friends become
blurred faces waving back
from portholes zipping
in opposite directions
and we becomes I and you
and I don’t quite know you anymore.


And this used to be beautiful:
  Writing gibberish on
our arms and legs
when we ran out of paper
sleepless nights pouring
forth beautiful poetry
and utter catastrophe
twinkle-eyed laughing .
  Driving streetcars through
Los Angeles to go get high
at the top of the world
and peal out when
the coyotes crash the party.
  Summernight shamblings
and skinny dipping
and kissing caressing
ashamed of nothing.
  Learning that peace
is only a word
until love breathes
life into its
lungs and that we could
breathe with each other
and breathe in each other

But our kindred fire
flickered and roared
only to flicker again.
sunken embers haunting
fingertips reaching,
but too far now to
ever touch again.
Charred and depleted,
flying in the tumult
of cyclone wind,
Memories stripped bare
and standing blasted by
the sands of time until
smooth and unrecognizable
they fade from our minds
Ashen shadows of smoke
from locomotive top-hats
chugging endlessly onward
to opposite stations.

                                                 10 October 201o