So when thoughts of scents of death,
Temperament, and light
Matches will of body,
Power, dreams of scattered flight

I find myself the sweep of spattered leaves upon the trampoline
I find my body resting in the morning in the breeze

And I brought my blanket, pillow,
Basic’ly my bed
And my fingers tingle, and
My toes and in my head

There’s anger, calming, like a feather swaying on the trampoline
I mind the distant yelling through my stupor and the leaves

So when screams of fears of death,
Shadows bent, and love
Chase my tired body
Out into my autumn hug

I fear that autumn and the world will pull me from my bed,
My trampoline; like a feather, swaying is my bed

And I should not scream, and yet
Scream and cry I did
Curled up and laying there
Under the sun, I hid

I find my body being pulled, I am not alone. The trampoline
Holds several bodies stretching, crawling for my bed

So when screams turn into
Chants of breath and writhes
I slam my head against
My bed, but up, I rise

Into the sky, with leaves behind, and tears left on the trampoline
I find my body leaving, like a feather on the breeze

To the East there was grown a garden,
West-towards sat some hedon-else
Wardsome, tapped out like Left hand,
Right and all else that God made “and Hell”

And it’s important to adhese sin
Within birthright; at marble’s sects
Or burn all an infant infects
From Devil hands if West there when

To the East then was grown a garden,
West: ******, locusts, snakes whom melt,
Formed a tether front His veldt
Left dare bridge its perfected ardent

There, in its East was grown a garden
Right, and rivers o’er its bless
Warning Left that river’s fence
Reflects what He let spare and sodden

Away are the mangled yellow rose
Tangles wilt into a little pray pose
Handled mist by wind and wrangled
To many a large little yellow rose pile

So too is the tree’s scatter sprawling
Hung onto branches’ leaf fall so causing
Their sweep between the mote debris. Float
Down as remnants of another sunless home

Eccentric, as time always throws with an ease
Centrifuge gently ordered around by the breeze
Sorts the bark from the copse to the outermost trough
Around concentrical cycles of rose petals doffed

Cry, little backyard grove green poplars
Growing backward so grass under prospers
Will sun now posture itself down with passion
For its green poplars die, distant, forgotten

Supposing which nature itself would have spoke
Which oak, and which posey can’t patter for hope
Symposing; the whole forest arrived in a room,
Blooms, and as such is giving birth to a tomb

Away are the ranges of colors of yellow
Rose-stained by little backyard grove cell’s throes
Ere charnel, with fits, all bled and divided
Planted upside-down so life fades skyward

And admitted into brickle cracks in its space
That enclosing trim, divorcing light from embrace
Like Methuselah in-negative, in retreat
In hymns spinning sap down a spiral of heat

Emaciated, strangled, so close to summer
Dry, little grave rose seeds, up from earth
Plume per some bracharchein-must despite
Succumbing to a simple sort of chaos of life

Cry, little backyard grove, don’t falter
Or falter, but make of your tears water
For creating, on other backyards, targets
Still sun, revolting and drifting like Argus

On pasture whose grass is a leaking function,
Incarnal fire, nulls, and its desperate induction
Implanted aen rayrounds aimed as devils did
Before this great plain, in its nucleoid, spread

Away basks creation that is happened, at movement
At once, and the gray roses too are a plumage
Their stems so simple at the simple end
Of winds-sent saccharine a brittle blend

Will whittle brown like solar lentils o’er a frond’s
Neck, face, its whole supple being peppered into yards
Of poplars, and all that life that all fades around them
Prayered, packed, all stacked: all grownup to heaven

All but the kindred, petrified, indenting pith’s jut
Being what the generations call silent. Be what
Some tree’s failing structure, botuled and pious,
Might impress in the mass ailing under its guidance

Cry, little backyard grove growing on
Top of, and little furtive leaves’ abscond
May, from many an old rose pile
Carry, till sun, onto fields not defiled

Releasing their collective last spray. A cork-
Like works in the shriveled bed of the world
And the trees can’t believe it comes down to the grass,
Their tension, dew marking green upon a new path

I recall when the word trolling lost its meaning for me
I used to read them, only young, and they were mere bullies,
Aggravators, mute as heathens in a crowded schism
Outside of some facsimilar, so-fractured cathedral
Which throws down its weakest goat to sate meat eaters

And, only young, my eyes were reading, that the heated sea
O'er breathe-a-plead, would rip a man's clothes of its histories-
I should look from the textbook as a teacher, stiff and
Of turning colors red, then white speaks "We've the primeval!
We’ll make a lesson of this computer troller!"

I recall, on the day which I learned of Nagasaki
And Hiroshima, I was young, and they were mere cities
Ambivalent or ignorant, I thought not of them, for television
Divined I look upon Godzilla, and her shadow on those people
And she could breathe in symbols, speak over meat eaters

And, on the next day, I could talk louder than any given Quasi-
Modo thing living in my school- in its townsquare dirt heaps
Where thieves met, and within which I developed egotism,
Some realer-than-thou lizard four thousand days from the fetal-
The position I'd return to had I not been awoken in an ocean that teeters

I recall, from my home, when I dreamed of planting trees
Who could gather carbon so hard they grew bags of money
I recall, in the news, discussing a new breed, a Bezosian ripple,
A change of the leaves. Wealth suddenly felt like the faces of evil
And I, of the sea-barren, most foolish of creatures

And there, I awoke. As a recessed feeler of waves on the beach
Where I felt like a desert, but looked up at those stories
Just past the condos, the quarries, and the Star of David. Arisen,
Was a God-scraping deathbringer in the craft of a steeple
Which reminded me of my days as a meat eater

I recall when the downfall of life was a guarantee
I believe the fires were first to feel our supreme quantity
Theatres were second to inform us post-division,
Your need to post memes overpowered human grief, then
Seeped into the survival instinct, and died on Pangea

But, before, from my time when I knew many heaps
Of pointless information, and empathy and insecurities
I would wait much a day for a starfull night sky, a dusty vision
Remembering me of my time when I knew not about the ocean’s ripple
Or the bombs. Or rises that be without all that falls after

I recall when the word trolling lost its meaning for me
I used to be a fast talker of untruths, of folie
And thought of this demon in the forums and the social systems
As even lower, lower than my type of canned drivel
It bleats like a goat on the steps of St. Peter

But even this thought was scattered, was taken from me
So all of my innocence would dry up in their Aries’
And Merriemic pursuits to define how to hold another in prison
Such was the troll, detained by the squawking, herd-song believers
Which, I recall, makes them but mere meat eaters

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ I see not a
⠀⠀⠀⠀Human face but a dog’s
⠀⠀⠀⠀Human like a dog’s face
⠀⠀⠀⠀Human under at ten points of contact
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ under
⠀⠀⠀⠀Human eyes like dog’s
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀like
⠀⠀⠀⠀Human deeply, somewhere
⠀⠀⠀⠀Human-attempting

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ I see, God,
⠀⠀⠀⠀Human, but made of fog
⠀⠀⠀⠀Human as a thundercloud
⠀⠀⠀⠀Human sticking as atoms lighting up, immediate
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀slowing now
⠀⠀⠀⠀Human multiplies like beeswarm
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀  like
⠀⠀⠀⠀Human becoming, and forming
⠀⠀⠀⠀Human-supposed like

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the compression of gasses
some slow{⠀⠀ the star we marble about
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ing eternity down
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀   down to
some sowing-time; a happening to the dirt

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ And see not a
⠀⠀⠀⠀Human happening to the face
⠀⠀⠀⠀Human like candle dissipating
⠀⠀⠀⠀Human under many gallons of wax
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀    under
⠀⠀⠀⠀Human reeling in the blastocyst upon it
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀   surrounds
⠀⠀⠀⠀Human cells like beeswarm like dog’swarm
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀like a predator like
⠀⠀⠀⠀Human kicking the candle behind me
⠀⠀⠀⠀Human-desperate

Come near me, you can breathe
You can make a century of me
Feel and decrease my any years
Brittle, hung, and brittle spheres
A crystalline commingle, come apart

“The Old Masters Are Gone”
Mares a voice from without
Me. And no touch and about
No others as old nor as devout
Brittle hinge; a brittle mount
A systemic expression with a heart

“We Are All Now Divine”
Lost, not— lost! We are calm
You may make a history, our psalm
See, and have faith new figures will rise,
Brittle. Bring too, brittle guise
In pretending your eyes pay care in-carte

“Lay Your Hands On Paracelsus”
Can’t you smell the reliquaire?
Like quarry-skin stitched, sitting there
Reminding us all of the ancient genes
Brittle making brittle needs
Stay judgments, fear, and the feeling your hearts

“And Bring Them, Brittle, Up To Rest”

because i must create the noises
in my sleep i won’t create noises
in that make is space dust seeming
to create something from deaf, but
collapsing ******

colliding in a semblance of color
or tune or something secret under
halftones in the black of space hum
soft with dust there, spinning, must be
unheard vertices

magic, maybe science scraping the
proprioceptive bottom like burning hair
stranding in orbit, together to wrap
noise into its little under humming
subliminal crease

slowly tease some crack; an ice exposed
from centuries knowing all the heights to
speak o’er rolling hills and stills of data,
grain into the simple cosmic after-fact
in a pin ***** steeps

i roll my eyes back so their iris
can pour a simple affect out it
curves cupping tension and clots
of noises, chimeric blood that statics
outwards, around me

because i must have hold of noises
in a system that can’t detect noises
in that pairing is voidness, clearing
painting nothing that can use of nearing
meaningless bodies