Hypnosis

Gold spheres knock bricks
Chilling and transmuting digits.
Timing down and creeping sleepward
Into a nervous universe closing in.
Imperfect knots breed curiosity in strong arms
Shivering cogs twitching for oil.
Broken bonds cling to simplicity
But voices demand otherwise.
Spinning dials tap waves
Sending rocks to well walls,
Clicking pennies thrown backward,
Vibrating surface ripples echoing car stereos.
Dreaming jokers conjure sunspots
Raging fires burning out unison.
Ducks fire thoughts at labels
Breaking membranes hiding cynics.
Pink castanets shout buckets
Climbing stairs pointing outward.
Unbending bars and building walls
stacking sun on raisins
Keeping warm in hollow bellies
Trying hard not to collapse.

Snow Angel

In sweetness no coconut bon-bon like,
And a scholar’s word ne’er be as precise,
As thy crowned gaze cast in lover’s light.
Even this poet’s verse ne’er could suffice
To unweave thee, snowflake made of lace.
No avalanche could obscure an angel’s harp;
On thy beau face or thy subtle grace,
No green shadow could make an unfair mark.
My eager love hath crashed in thy wake
Mine footing has set on a blizzard’s slip
Starry eyed and with a tail bone break
But for the ice, I thought I’d made my trip.
Please clear thy snowy path before you go
So in thy wake my summer’s love may grow.

Graffiti

Stuck in my mind like a bird I a cage,
Flapping wings beat my ears like a drum,
I’d love to yell but I don’t have the rage
And I could sing but I don’t know a song.
The white of the page is scribbled on,
Backlit by hieroglyphic pencil scratches,
The grey marks of erasure are carrion,
Bold sharpies mark where it matters.
Unbearable bleeding in chemical black,
A flourish of life seeps from a wall,
In an elegant voice these marks shout back
"We're all doomed ass-cunt fuckballs!"
The bustling machine wears its skin in the light
Its true colors are the mark of a sinister night

Sequel by Ernest Hemmingway

So if she dies
And if you writeof it
Being a writer and a shit
Dulling it so you can sleep again at night,
Alone or telling it to whores
Their minds dull
But oh their cunts are in the proper place
You pay them but sometimes they like it too
And feel your wounds more eagerly than they feel you.

Simply?

Hello Felix, hello Brooklyn
Hello Italy, what are you cooking?
It smells so good over here
Its the jet stream
Its the jet stream
Carrying the aroma right to me

How's life pigeon?
Pigeon by the sea
I picture you living so peacefully
The air you breathe
The food you eat
The sandy salty breeze

Hello Comma, hello China
Hello Milo, how's your Momma?
I think I saw her at Whole Foods
Its the jet stream
Its not the jet stream
I think I saw her buy something something.

How's life pigeon?
Pigeon by the sea
I picture you living so peacefully
The air you breathe
The food you eat
The sandy salty breeze

Its the jet stream
It never was the jet stream
Why do the planes fly so slow?
Why do the birds fly so fast?
I think I thought I saw her buy something
It was something.
Or maybe,
It was nothing.

How's life pigeon?
Pigeon by the sea
I picture you living so peacefully
The air you breathe
The food you eat
The sandy salty breeze
Dear pigeon,
What's your secret?
Sincerely,
Me

The Come Down

Shivering on long walks
Is forcing warm thoughts,
Swallowing stone chrysalises
In gulps that gridlocked
Pulsing my throat,
Deep and tangible,
On every beat.
Every steaming breath
Is a 2 syllable
Butterfly moan.
The name is not the thing
And her words are not her voice.
Pumping black mercury,
A melancholy crazed liquid,
My heart wanted reincarnation
As a futile first act,
A bee sting.
The dark alleys
And reeds know
That the blues get sung
Only after
The loudest screams.
Winter fell on my love,
Like so many leaves from a tree,
In a painful
And prolonged shiver
Then en masse
In a freeze.
She lingers
Like the sweet scent
Of evaporated tea
I barely sipped,
But the cup,
Too delicate right now,
I cannot bring myself
To clean.

Bitter Baby of the Diamond Quiver(6/8/07)

Bitter baby of the diamond quiver
It's a crawfish inching on the narrow
Born a rider of the million litter
Frontier letters send, since his farewell
Of the gasoline of the break achy old
Comes the time machine, city on a stroll
Crawfish in the city wandering unsold
Slip into a tin can, the spin he stole
Like a broken bottle's owner, dizzy
Quietly he litters his tired song
Of the parking lot, the salesman busy
Even for a bottled sea did he long
Though his newest wish was homely water
He found himself metropolis fodder.

Drominus 1: Zigadillo

Creeping up and curling spines from all sides
A bark gargled then withered in the wind
Thrashing at nocturnal silence
A bark that was the haunt
That broke into souls like the reanimated
Scratching at their holed and snapping coffins
Screaming their graves into craters.
In a cracked and weathered paradise
Of frosted lakes, and golden leafed 5 armed gods,
The queen's children,
Rigor mortis in their joints and minds
Retard crazed and chemical strong,
The shemale daemon's binky plugged minions,
Beetling up great flames and their fetid guts,
Howled ripples into stone
Never matching the barks that burned
A screaming pitch in their infant ears.

Murloc, Polgrit, and Abe the fish-frog
A rhino-legged clomping shadow hoard
Pounded the earth into a shrinking knot.
In briar spiked crab shell robes
Marching in Titan's wave-marked helmets
The blinding darkness of their visors
Was cut only by fury and hate.
In their black-hole stomachs
Golden deserts at sparkling twilight
With tar pits and lava flows
Land from where the gaping caverns grow
And tree feathered mountain ranges
Boiled and gargled.
With every steaming bubble
The roaring engine of the hoard
The three pistons plowing by night
Salivated like dogs at sunrise.

Pacing the thorny lonesome trails,
Crop dusting a wake of fly specked fog
In his cloak and jagged mane,
Only Zigadillo's eyes could see
His marsh of splinter weeds and reeds
Rooted in the ashen clouds
Their tops buried in slosh
Furiously grinding his flat-worn tusks
From bloody trap to hooked and squealing prey

To mark the start of a pitch dark night
His crow swallows the light

Peach

I'm cautious because you're new to me,
the dangerous kind
of pretty.
You've ruled my thoughts on sleepless nights
and long cold walks
in the city.
That night we had on the floor
your skin, your lips, your sleeping body
wiggles.
Sweet and so sensitive to my touch
you're a glowing peach
that giggles.

Love and Turkish Fleets

These limbs are the gravity
of the dead prince of Denmark.
The ribs on this Noah's ark
are the mad hatter tree's
peeling back, mercury-black bark.
This gadgets batteries produce
spatterings of acid clumped raisin grease
honeying massive circuitries
in a giant razor blade spruce goose.
These roots of uncertainties short-circuit
the mechanical turbine flees
lost in a mind maze of caravans
of camel winged merchant fleets.