Insolent candy pop skull,
Easy on the eyes
Short on stature,
I get your final comedown.
Here, behind the nape of neck,
Exposed to blue sun-
Pruning the Sycamore for full summer.


It all moves in contemptible silence.
I rigged it from the go.
I see the sun once more
Along Amelia Avenue.
Such is the slant
Drawn up in low light.
Here comes a lover moon
Rising in dusk;
Where every Mother's Son
Hangs a weary star
On its crescent.


Night, with it's visceral lassitude Adding
Insanity to it's notion.
I'll say it's random,
Not much lately,
But enough anyway.
I saw a dream once,
Falling like light in a doorway
A tulip dying in drought.

Its all tickety boo
Mnemosyne,
All the squirrels go swingeling along.
Here, have another.
How did you hear about yourself?
Perhaps from the flatware,
They all had lunch one us.
Voluptuous potato pancakes
In pickling brine.
Who would draw up such schematics?
Prudent farming engineers, that's who.
My lesions are legend,
I know them all by name.
They came up all Humpty Dumpty.
It configured a conflagration,
It was like a coming out party
We took up a collection,
It was a formal gratuity-
Like graduating from Radio school.
Who said "ALL ****"?
Sounds uppity at the cocktail convention,
With the swaggering lounge music.
Its really quite benign,
Like sipping soup through a straw.
Its been factory sealed for your protection.
It's safer than a school of sleepy piranhas.
Have I blown the 9 hour interview?
I wore my best Captain Crunch uniform,
It's standard issue.
I checked the latest at Phlegm Central,
They said I best check my shirt.
Then we had light refreshments.

Later that Century,
I was feeding the current machine.
Greedy Son Of A. B!#ch,
It was such a de-happening.
It became much to empirical.
Like a month of Tuesdays every other weekend,
That's the price to be paid
When you haul it up. Snaggletooth Mountain.
It was bemusing, if not hunderstruck.
We crossed into the International Sinus Zone,
From there it got a bit hazy-
All the trains were late.
It went well with the weather.
Cletus wore his camisole nightie,
While I was in my haberdasher hair shirt.
It effulgent, in mocking undertones.
It's peanut pastime of reinforced paint peels.
How does that make me an irregular object.
Let's all get up and March
To the swinging sounds of Sherezade,
Forgetting your conscience as we sidle along.
Hold up the Opera while I make up the lyrics.
How do you turn this **** thing down?

If were lucky, it's all a terrible time.
Tattered goldfish smearing the bowl.
Its more a failed distraction,
An instinct driven drama,
It's like fish swimming in anxious sleep,
It's lame excuses and narcotic visions,
All these trippy hours.
Chopin lurking in shadow.
It's the all organic experience,
I brought nothing but light off the levee,
The stink of Reynolds Aluminum,
Copper and mud.
A thousand noxious cars passing the window,
I don't mean to meddle,
Like a drunk hag hanging on your sleeve-
But where the hell is Shambhala?
It's such a drag doing penance in a bathrobe,
I hear Pharisees and jailers are there,
Doing straight time in Purgatory,
Tinkling like a million bad dreams.
It's rusty bells in little black cups.
Sorry about the clock tower,
It warbles electric.
It's use to substandard time.
I'll perch a Screwtape Letter.
It's obtuse when hungover.
Baal and Beelzebub boogied for the coast.
It's a pestilence of petunia,
A trip to the triage,
The same lame reaction.
Assuage with me to the vat of ammonia,
Its a train leading to Leipzig,
It's Brahms Nocturnal Dream In A Minor,
It's a mansion on the moon,
An olfactory schism of the senses,
Stealing time in half-hour segments,
A volatile mixture metered for meltdown.
Eponymous splotch of illustrious nails,
Railed to the cross one by one
Pilate washed at the sink,
He was clocking in overtime.
I've assembled mirrors to my hobnail boots,
It sluices the sunlight
Gets the light dancing every which way.
Its like being at the circus,
It. So captivating.
What hour is it?
I come awake to a tomahawk tapping.
I'm historically hysterical,
An unknown tangent.
The factory affiliate controls the production.
He measures the sunshine in fabulous droplets.
Let's grab the Metro for a ride through the ghetto,
While you draw designs on lovers faces.
Counting backward from zero to one.

Arcane wove the gray
Before morning,
A windscreen of fronds
And muzzling bees.
Birds weave they're own dreams
Littered with red berries.
All the words have dissolved now,
Disappearing in green *****
Avenging the clouds.
The day's final doing,
A rapturous melody
Of audible wind.
In this vale
I'll smoke out the sunrise,
Dawn limping along
On one bad foot.
As earthworm and frog
Form they're own pact,
Dividing the pond and
Lilly patch between them,
They share they're own secret with the sun.
We grieve our loss
As dry husks we sheave
From the plow.
We have assembled together
Here in our nightshirt,
To remember old Clancy's field of ghosts,
Quaking night dreams
Of voluptuous roses,
The winnowing echo
Gathers the storm.
Autumn waves dark wands
Chasing the gray winds.
Where will it go,
Can I go with it,
Will I remember
Who I am this time?

First it's a fish,
Then it's a rock,
Then it's an island,
Then its a play
For all the neighbors to see.
Then it's ready for the plucking,
Then it goes down easy,
Then you know your ready.
I let in the sun,
It died in the lawn,
Then I drug it out
To the frozen ground.
First its a dog,
Then it's an elephant,
Then its a cobra
Asleep in the sun.
First it's a lesson,
This is the sum
Of every blazing summer
And every wicked winter,
A blue orb circling
The last lonely sun.
This is my weapon,
This is my tool,
This is the place
Where my Mother lies
And does not complain
Of wind or weather,
Or rain or sun
Or the change of season,
Or sun or moon or lack thereof.
Its a fact born of fiction,
The truth and the lie,
Its glass in the alley
And chains gone to rust.
It's the last dream of childhood,
A dream of witches,
And a dream of earth,
It's ice cream stands
And cold shakes,
Its a dream of my Father
In 1967,
Its downtown
And cops and taxis,
Whistles and buildings,
Ice and slush
And black and white
Photographs of sad smiling children.
It's a moonrise
Orange and ominous,
A double locked door
And voices in the hallway,
Police and sirens
And blood at the scene.
This is me on my deathbed,
This is you sleeping,
This is the hour
That becomes you,
The minute that
Becomes me,
This is the second we share.
This is time moving backward,
This is a speck
On the sun,
This is an island,
A rock,
A fish,
Nowhere,
Nothing.