Time is all rocks and stones
And the flesh and bones
Smashed between them
Our fears and dreams
The lubricants
To actuate the planets
And Gravity
That weight clicking from
Our lives the seconds and breaths
From which we think we thrive
But Death is death is death.

The past casts light as a faint star on the edge of space
Reaching from the depths of depthless black
The Caretaker sifts fingers between  the soot
It’s my fault, He says.  And molecules can’t come back
It’s madness
The cobbler draws his eyepiece, selects a tack
History is a sheath of imagination tucked at the seams
Their words the clack of the planets on their tracks
Heaven is the never we forever grieve

God knits my nerve endings
A delicate map or a shawl
I wrestle with the uneven fit
It is all the mystery to enthrall

A semiconducting memory
Devours my childhood for LIGHT
I am burnt from the earth that bore me
The taste in my mouth dolomite

Let Man address itself
                    As a winged nomenclature
Beaten against God’s mothered nature
The LIGHT only shows where we should go
I smash with alcohol any nerve that knows

I am haunted
God’s scaffolding spinning space
into constellations
The skeleton’s mock trial
Of the soul
Molecules molecules molecules
All dreadnoughts and black holes

The poet at the pulpit
His flesh and hair, fine fuels
Scripture as song, COMBUSTION
Spiraling galaxies locomotive The Duel

A Skin schism venting heat to the outside
Lacerate, that dusty bucking destination
Just beside
the dream placing
The ream of poetry in my hands,
Slicing as God pulls it, gasping
With laughter as
The crystalline embers
Of the hereafter
                     reach porcelain teeth
From beneath the folds
This world outlasts my old
Eyes
Scratching colors from black and white
                                                           ­     Tides

The bare feet of a child run wild
Near and by

Ferreting intwo self annihilation we
My siblings
Ram our heads against the calculations
Chalkboard twilight plus afternoon plus alcohol is
Poetic, tropical  annilihatuon.

To man we matter when our souls vacation

My siblings’ tomes
Like stepping stones
Thrown across the gravity
Of a God too scared to breathe
Christ, the seasons bleed
Together and between
Our mother’s name she screams
My sister,
the only poetry of the family
A literary work of special intensity
And my brother the spine
Binding my like mind
To the catastrophe