i don't want a sky.  

there's too many.

i don't want a guide.

there's too many.

if i don't spit, 

people will be happy with me.

i want to spit

with my tongue and lips.

it has sound it goes 

rwrwrwrwrwrw.

GOING TO HAPPEN

just a minute left
before i must wash my face off
and climb in the kiln
with my glasses on.

GLASNOST

my insides
are in a shark
that's tucked in
my thorax

deep in the eyes of
informed witnesses
a cloudy ribbon
obstructs my work

that is
what i intend
to make you see
so you can
convince me

SCREW TOP

voice beat its way out
with beak hardness

taking a long time
lessens all chances

columnizing
the conversations
of kin-like fellows

kids still bury
time capsules

BLANK APHORISMS

this is how they are, now.

the clot of them makes a body

that walks quickly without thinking.

its brain drops out in eyebombs 

that spray blinder visions on impact.

in the rug pieces of glass 

and food exist together. 

they would do the same in the mouth 

and maybe in the stomach, 

but through a latter threshold they become enemies.  

only one makes the body do something nice, 

like grow.

but weird elements

can interchange 

in some body-building

such as The Game of Cootie

though it doesn't have to be a game.

any part of any game can be

handled as a whole.

my draw four icon card

my ten green chinese marbles 

are complete.

here i am

stupid orant.  

looking cannot tell you 

when glass is the temperature 

of cell death

i finally learn in chemistry

after a decade of burning my fingers.

i get it

and go on burning my fingers

knowing that NO ONE can tell

with their eyes how hot glass is.

this is an EVERYBODY deficiency.

someone has to

hand me a glove

before i make

a connection to put

between my fingers and glass.

pieces like this are too many to put right.

i will climb out of the clot later,

when i am ready.

its head is down 

through the blowing trash

that food is taken out of.

its ears are closed to the wind. 

the invisible ground 

is shifting in clips

under drifted images.

HONOR

i named this

before i started.

the hidden parts

lifted out by alto factions.

singing reading.

many walks are down and back.

pushing into the wall

of a house.  bottom three feet

known, a shallow wooden washpool.

give over the big book of

bloodlet languages.

it's meet.  it's right.

it's dynamite under a friend's pillow.

it's lit, i lit it.

when the short laborer

beats his chest in the story,

i imagine the sound of 

the breastbone cracking

before heart massage

before they call it.

VENTRILOQUISM

cast a stomach out 

for feeding.

this is the wilderness:

know it. lick it like a friend.

i sleep in my belly during.

thumbs plunged 

into my throat

and to them 

my esophagus talked.

i was moving up.

the filled occipital 

burial place

is even hockable.  

i know          i know

i see what i've spit 

already.

it looks pretty.

contained hurl works.

chewer parts.

restless muscle

cleans knuckles to a shine 

it crawls back        

packed with land salt.

that's a signal: now lumber down to awake.

oh flames.

pet those out.

close the mouth.