A Porous Event

When I was asleep and dreaming
I witnessed a silver glint hiding high in the blue.
It was a vast glass and steel skyscaper,
falling...
and it's shadow spread like a slit throat over our lives.

It hit our town like a cop's cudgel, unrestrained.
Darkened knobs and jettisoned sprockets.
The powdered thud buried our dead for free.

We all knew it fell from the moon or stars
but when a smaller town...
down a smaller road...
could not adequitly explain some vacant lot.
We frowned and broke it to pieces
The weary bossed around gumbo of
carney justice, hiccup banjos
and a curdled milk spine.

Glib

She dried badly that painting
like a cupie doll
raised on winter sweat and sand
so much promiscuous cargo
tossed the grim reaper's way
She said take it back,
so I took it back
All those glib abbreviations
in prickly locomotion
lost on
the kind of sidewalk currents
you get that when hell craws outta ur ass.

It was never meant to be
that painting....
waging lewd peace in polite armor.

Hampering

An angry float is
like mute hunchback
snake charming the city
in it's polite armor
someone's rubber eclipse in war paint
shilling above our safe graves.
It hampers my quality complaining time,
regardless, I'm clipping soylent green coupons tonight.


Damp

A water witch is suppose to find water
she pops and bends
then poundifies and fries
all the texture taboos
of a blinking ocean,
whittling freshwater
from the deputized snares
of our corralled tempers.

She's my alibi swirl
on this spittoon spinning planet
humming her beer bellied venoms
in seldom's damp crawlspace.


Saddam Gone, War Today, War Tonight

All hail the televised news!
Yike-shits!
At long last
the syrup of Jim Crow Buddhas
swaggered down their
gristle and bone mistake,
the molasses runt
tethered and promiscuous
sodomized the hangman's noose
a face first burst of dimestore honor
burying molecules and smothering monks
poor Baghdad
poor America
mangling the language of heavy lifting...

a gargoyle's peace.


Air-Conditioned Gunpowder

On a palsied coastline 
past feudal play things
and Roswell debris
there runs a spew of scientific deer
wary and u-turned
more indentured
than matchsticked
their glamorized surveillance on the edge
of nevermind.

I was ponzi-scheming there
all babooned and pitchforky
a descrotumed genie trouser
chinking the silver off shy frightened mirrors.
Sometimes I think we are not on a world,
cooking tongue radish and sleepy wheat
for a lot of grays
....maybe we never were.
He aint heavy, he's my planet.


Roller-Coaster Denier

It's all eeking-out the eek now
cradle-to-grave
zoo bruises and window buzz
old gravity smell and crowbar whoosh
the pinching seas of binocular clay
shy penicillin
and hellsicles
My urine is striped
streaming out like a candy cane
bell clapper sad.

If the aztecs had discovered nuclear fission, would we still be here,
mistaking fresh cement for the early morning frost
....beware of suspension bridge trolls.


The Painter's Prayer

With a windshield heart
and a kickstand prick
beneath the sunfucking rib's
of derailed baby trains
gutterballs and walking bones
a shutter's released
the tongue is parked
it's time to paint,
microphones
bed sweat and funny smells.


Ruination

One day the forest and mountain
will grow so tried of us
that as we sleep
in one blanket mass
all it's trees and birds and ground creatures
will dive to the deepest ocean floor

tongues not leaves
gills not songs
anchors not roots

a dilated land of pissed off sun
free of moist thoughts and snorkle industry
a very safe place to fly a kite.


Drip Bag

Outside my window
umbrellaed flashlights moisten
a history hole
Gregory, the discarded, a gun smudge rorschach
of stomach contents and toy rocks
turns stand still yellow in
an alley turned twister mat
Here's a lessoning in tombstone obesity
"it aint over till the drip bag sings"
None is particularly strong to survive, we are just we.


Fireworks

Tipping the scales
like a trunk of Jesus rust
a migration of rough sex tornados
paused to shit
sterile toupees and cotton balls
medicating our flash powder patriotism
as one would fuck a rolled dollar bill.


Amnesia Conveyor Belt

I am a piecrust of a man
poked with toothpicks
released of all my steam
drizzling the drizzlables,
a codpiece stampede
drawing breath from nostrils
as perfect as a childhood snakebite.


Dismays

1
Rifle aimlessly through Jesus's hurried suitcases,
I am sure he left the Armageddon there.

2
Lght oven...insert head....go to sleep....dream of global warming the way it should be.

3
If I turn the other cheek
it's because thats where I keep my venom sack
that communal syringe of "I don't think so!"
and discontinued politics.