Perpetual nonsense stews in me like a brine
For all this ***** flesh needs a curin’
I no longer see, but I sit and stir
While a party yells- I bubble quietly or
can myself discreetly.
Whose heart is more precious: the tinman or the oyster?
My merry-go-round concoction is a family recipe: throat pigs-
swelled to save suffering
Step 1:Run the tap
Step 2: Wait
Step 3: Repeat
Step 3: Repeat

fear winding upward it
speaks of gusted nests.
a tap tap tap-
at one window
the timeless
tick vex stick

chicken skinteeth
curling up your spine

the glass hilt of another
ice cold slap
or heat-ironed patch
to soothe the eye

Glowing Friend-
I worship.
My new religion screen

keep it in a
knot running
stitch by stitch
bound up
scrapbook
tell the need of longing

Our brains behold faces:
distracted eyes seeking stimulation
carried off in moments of
quiet desperation-
an eagerness to be at
The Centerfold-
of pain and proximity
crowded and contained
until the final stop.

Identify me
in a look,
or a glance,
a smile?

Imagine us:
one tired wisdom

currents of sparks or
twine spliced and
threaded through
Feathers of the same Wing.

Across a river and down we go
into the buzzing sea-
electric with the noise of
one cloister,
one kiss;
one quarrel-

After all-
we share the same tube

A screech of live wires
Fit for mind blips
bandied about souls
held together in this
glassy reflection

I listened to the Rasta,
the Monk
and the Buddha
I listen to Christ
and all his Angel's
I listen to the voice
of the Anima,
her glistening beauty

The elemental wisdom of the Natives,
I hear
and those from the past,
settlers,
the sailors
the children

To the teachers,
of materialist
literature

I listen to the music,
the air
and the trees

The gentle whispers of the creek,
and a blaring car alarm

Voices are plenty, and the only truth
is all
all of them, and all as one
some simple reality
behind the veil
of the many

I am the eye on your shelf
I am the scratches of ink
that rip through unbarred arenas-
when sunken bones and unburied prints
amass a clump of
galloping words
tracing measured tracks
of battles forlorn

Hence my history beckons and the
leather straps like tires
machinal; my life
reduced to rubble burn-marks
in a book that
made you look
without a care
for where-
to put it.

another whisper in the wind which once
carried its conquered careful balance
Now sits still as a spineless paperweight
propped up by the heap of dust
in your periphery

Tapestry colored,
take the tick out of my heart and let me bleed out.
My eyes are shallow wells for a face that needs help.

                   A body that sees no reason

                                 taken back
                                 tied down
                              tucked under

                   A b-b-b-bomb blasting off

                                   seconds

                    before the big hand could

                  cover her own clocked head.
                                  
Here no mantle is sacred.
ripples in our veil unfolding
each crease, streak and stain seals a moment:
Her love suppressed and Her faded light
the fabric of one life,
the symbol of many,
measured against the steps of
indefinite epitomes.

Hello sludge, how is the hammering?
Are the bricks sinking nicely down your sweaty grungy grime?
A house isn’t built in a day.
Take your time.

What a joy you must be having!
The grit-in-your teeth-taste only gets better the more you writhe and cry.

Labor of love on this sunny day - squirm!

We revel in this lie.
We watch him strive,
with all his might,
to make a home
on a bed of
blazing tar.