Sunday, December 30, 2012


brittle black plastic
is a path. 
are you taking it north? 

i was military
making dents occur there.
handily i fed myself
another mile of wind,
slept in a cold copy of tongue.

i pack a borderline now
as i'm moving.

i stick it to ground that is too long.
i'm diagramming my next bite.

i stick it to the beachless edge
where the stairway to water
is slackness then a fall.

my joints swivel in succession as
i petrify standing back a ways.

i'm waiting for my daylight to get 
to a tiny black hole in my eye, 
when my core will meld
to a column of cloud / a river of fire by night.

Wednesday, December 5, 2012


we succeeded in 
making books faster
than we burn them.
and we make trash and
we make noises.

right now i'm making a list
of all the pleasant poets
i could lock insides with
to make our attentions
a ductile cash crop.
books of hours. equivalency. 
raw gallons of a matter
that we could stretch thin.
uncoiled, it can span
into and out of the trench
over 900 times.

you could fill a gutter
with what i don't know
about being outside of my mind.
you could pour my mind
down a drain
and verily it would clog.

it takes a lot of disappointment
to drag a laughing through
the dead wetlands of sinking horse despair
and i've done it
with frozen white grapes 
heaped on my back.
i attract a damning heat.


do you want to watch with me
keep watch over the flake
that sticks in the tooth of your mouth.
the rustle of a breaking voice
or one that can’t go on talking
and does go on.

this burns a picture in COLOR
until its COLORS cover
the rockface you look out from.
a deadmaking in the desert
the force of your cheek muscles worsted. in thousands of lines,
i have been failing to smile at you.

the amount of time that can finally
push an embankment down.
i spit dozens of seeds
slowly out of a single tangerine. they felt like your canines thorns of your mouth
removed to mine. 

i’m going to have a dream and in my dreams you are
exactly the same, the difference is
that i display the emotions
terror and anxiety,
which makes me older than you there. 


i HEAR you down in there
and i could name you insults,
beeping heart. and we are
beeping from you, ear and nose,
but that doesn't mean the group
is exactly sick.  loud.  increasingly

gulping teas with smoke rinds.
burning my nursery with hearsay
pregnant with a turkey that is 
not foodsafe anymore, thanks.

what am i going to do with you,
my giblets, very irony. heart. nose.
ears. neck. liver blown glassy.
throw us at the window?
squeeze the madman's hand?

Saturday, December 1, 2012


it's unclear if i'll ever tear my hair
or beat my steering wheel
out of disinterest.
now screaming because of discoveries.
i get angry and i wallow frantically
in the lobster legs tickling, but 
slow my breath of love.
i get used to you also laugh and feel a lob  i can evade.
i want to spend days getting a parasexual glob together.
was i somewhat full in my head at the time?
to glom is all.
to make us a peaceful, loosely strung.
and then keep my brain, trade after trade.