all the world in the world is all wegot.
crushed pearls of wisdom in a cracked goblet
of divine fire.
we have Hours where a century would sleep -
through,
none but ourselves to adore into Oblivion
with all the hubris of a bris
at the summit
of some other world.

wegot mushrooms where the sun don’t shine.
and that’s just like having

something.

how dim are your headlights?
I’m asking while you drive.
I’m wondering where we go
when we’re gone?
I’m sleeping when the world comes
to an End,
with a comma.
right through the bliss of annihilation
too busy dreaming
to be bothered.

dreaming of grief
as a landscape with an offramp
into ****** fears of your warp.
I’m asking because the sun will die
before your answer
but the question will echo
like a song in the throat
of the very last
bird.

on my skin lay the words that can't be tamed
and all manner of beasts snarl in golden rickshaws
ferried up the mountain pass to my pyramid
floating on a cloud of lightning, woven by hand
in the heart of Darkness, beneath the canopy
of an old Oak...root bound in the soul of the void
but flourishing, my head wound feeds the branches
when i sleep underneath them, it seeps into earth
that has no form... and I have an insomniac's dream
in the middle of my awakening, by the sound
of your footsteps...
as you make your approach from the East
and bring with you the scrolls of lost tongues
and the rye tales of the crow in winter...
with your eyes marked
by having solved the Mirror's riddle, in the dark.
and your sallow cheeks, flush with empathy and famine.
your coarse hair, descending like elven craft...
resting on your shoulders, as if draped over a banister
of an endless spiral...
I see you before the light strikes
my optic nerve.
Long before the sun
was born...
I crawl from the space -
that contains my shadow
and greet you at the foot of the stairs
where your tresses
caress moonbeams
and I smile
so deeply - even -
the stars in your palm, stall -
their ponderous orbits
to behold.
And I hear
what you have to say
about love and the virtue
of flesh enmeshed
with a Spirit
to untangle
Eternity,
and your voice is soothing
As i listen to the Truth on your lips
till you pause.
then i tell You " It is good to see you, as always...
and would you do me the honor
of sharing my blanket made of glacier skin
and stardust feathers stitched into the dewdrops
i harvest gently, Before dawn...
off the glistening shells
of iridescent beetles
and bluegrass. with my eyelashes.
here beneath the Oak?
It would please
Me.
and our head wounds feed the tree as we dream.
on the roots, we slumber into worlds without end
and i fire my maid for sweeping
the terrarium.

let the world turn with its burden
churning the Sun’s apathy into
Buttercream and Absinthe…
like all the boys in the dark…
with all the girls
in a spark.

let the air have
no king but
a thought.

I storm to my waking place
and serve no master save time
I linger far afield in extraneous metaphors
slumbering in a pillow’s kingdom
with too much joy
in my never there.

the crooked cookie is more how the morning
is a midnight on a ******.
a whiskey halo with a tumbler of divine angst.
wall nuts and hemispheres
swimming in tandem.
gorgeous wheels of sobering
Next,

it is the evening and all the world is ablaze with phosphorescent eyes
on long stilts, below the moon’s prayer and above the verdant green
poised in the endless Beauty of the vast creation
swollen with dew and perpetual laughter… like a happy cog -
in a wheel of unbridled Love.

it is the shiny Night with all our parables sinking into the Sea.
all the fathoms of our credible dementia
are illustrious in the extreme.
and falcons soar into open light… astounding the ponderous Enigma.
Joy has a word for Bliss
beyond the Alphabet of Poetry.
It lives in a kingdom
made of new flesh
where a Bone
should be.

It has no name. this wonderment… it gathers in the cauldron of our distinct apparition. we desire and desire… we swoon in the sway of a random riot. rolling in the sphere of our Right Angles.
kissing the invisible
like a visionary blind Truth
in a blanket
full of blanks
that reminds Us
To Behold.

strolling the block where the after-hours smother towers with black snow
and Halogen lights with black velvet haloes.
I go where the moths grovel in mobs
towing a lifeboat out to Sea with a straight face
staring at a Northstar made of bottle caps
and headlights… humming to themselves -
because it’s midnight now
and nothing can stop
them.

you have slept in the barn
when you had the notion
and haystack eyelids bejewelled
with evening dew.
beneath the stars you have wept
lucid and bewildered.
with only so many tortoise shells
to intercept the ocean
caterwaul… with hollow houses
of slow ghosts.

you have made a path
in the sodden earth
with misbegotten hurt
and jolts of jubilation.
gone East in Westerly ways
bathing in thimbles
of burning desire.
you’ve made a living
out of dying on the vine
in full bloom.

like a plausible
hope.