Life, quite simply, will not leave me alone
Can you count the iridium?
Maybe labor over the poetry
Of stars far gone to infinity
They aspire and they are gravity
Becoming humans at my door, regretfully

Disintegrating integers returning thoughts to ether
Distill my Wednesday morning
into
Para morir;  primate;  Genus: mammalia
The universe explodes every atom I
include

So much then for the coffee,
This indigent soul revving his bloodstream
My body cannot rest on this earth
All life expanding to fulfill the dream

God is the void I know
My questions rocking to and fro
The keel blocking the moon's saffron glow
My destiny beyond the star charts below

Puppy kisses are a Gravity
They reckon a soul's sense of The
My corpuscles have grown tired of me
They're in the shape of where I used to be

Nouveau ****
Wreck the Cassiopeia
I am  molecules
And they disclaim me
The Christ shift of laughter
Days plane the hereafter
We think our words move us
But Gravity still curses
Genesis, Exodus; Psalms
Our cells persist a diluted song

Rain is that raspy Laugh of Time
Returning to Earth still again
It is of and in and sews shut Gravity
My breath is the treasure sunken

Renaissance art rigors, the designs of an accordion
Universe heaving with circuitry
(Imagine what the stars are plugged into..
We know, memory)
Designed to get me reason,
inventory and

Maybe our souls explode
Rip through the cartography of cells
forming reefs forming anodes
In the key of Cassiopeia
We sing free of the bones

Will to live
To forgive the stars for gravity
For the Time taking you from me
For the roll of blood beneath our skin
Chemical notions doing us in
For the Light that takes us from our dream
The click-clack of mankind; the dusty machinery
Forgive Love for making itself necessary
What Gravity becomes when loose from sanity
Forgive Her face and Her touch
The pull of everything a bit too much

There’s never enough time left for me
Swinging from the rafters of the universe
A proper God adjusts his creatures
And man recollects in annotated verse

My cabbaged heart
The layers dried and peeled
Like a fleshy carnation
But brewed like camomile

I sleep beneath the vespers
I wretch until my fingers break
From my ribcage seize a bone
Take thy bread, forgive the taste

There is no residence for
Artistry
No hovel to weather
Irreversing streams
NO declaration of
Habeous means
Simply conversation
And the corpse’s watch, ticking…

Impetus of the day:
What is weighted below the SAY
And the STEPs filling BREATH  
UNIVERSITY days and my death      
Then ear hairs they did sew
This nubile corpse for sleep
Shrove Tuesday and a hangover
My cadaver has a secretary

Where all languages cohese
                          heaven is their belief
The universe fills with lost souls we breathe
We hope for the broad brush strokes of angels
Baroque candy corn music and eternity

The emu’s body grew too much for flight the girth of mammoths made their sub planets too heavy to survive
The pull of an earth too rendering me, maybe too lanky to float, To dream so seamlessly with the cross-stitch of Time
to still count words in its breathing.

Irritant is
Bent intention like a moon
Undisciplined
I am just Breath
And Consequence
Of spun water
A Dance ‘til Death

Sunlight
Righting my horizon
The intellect of fashion gasping with Reaction
Outside a door I’ll never open
3,555 day incubation
Cement the locks
A stocked wine cellar in my imagination
Is burrowed into the earth, pardon the roots
(we believe animals have rights, too)
The mole, the rat and Chateau Malrome Cuvee
I fall into my mind until I cannot breathe
                                                                       (teehee)

The ****** ruckers ran through
the twilight I drew
outside the blue room I, collegiate ransacked and threw
into the glib, laughing mouth of the universe
let the damsels skew from stars
and reverent Catholic bars
the revenue of childbirth and sinew
of thoughts until men become the shrewd

The indignant mantle of an idiot
Shorn, wooden shoulders rotted to bone
Dusted for flavor; dentil houndstooth coat
A book on plural morality and a scone

No rhyme, no meter; no whim and seether
Wingclipped hair and a fingered smile
Through the prism of Penchant spun on axis
In the dictionary he locates G for guile

The star’s last breath is
Everything of consequence, it’s
The matter man scattered
Into leaflets of title
And the flowers along the drive
My car idles and
The sun shakes in the rear view mirror
Every step the discarded symphony
That keeps time with her
The cancer is God and he grows nearer
My heart

The first chore of consciousness is to
remember that it is darkness,
and that some of that darkness is bone.  
Its these molecules that grew tired from all the fuss of Gravity
and slowed,
and built a circular cathrdral and
from it cast long outreaches ******* more
but its not enough so there is skin, sailed between
and catching breath for the movement dreamed.

It’s the caloric weight of a body…
Mineral water minus pillar salt divided by gravitating
memories turning 3.7 % of sea to milk stone
It hoists perception, of this morning,
the overlapping lessons I’ve learned from
waking 1,893,993 suns and breaks port again under breath,
My time displacement,  just 2 feet below the surface of universe.
Movement from the .0000000009 parse of space the  
the planet stood upon
to curdle the place where I was born

Deoxyribonucleic Jerusalem thorn

The moon as a field of headstones placed before
The Flocks of marrow,
Silver tipped 737 searching cloud covers
for the ghosts responsible.
A Grand Opening
Store has a spotlight spearing the night as high
As I can imagine air goes before it
Is space
And I trace the distance through the windshield, hoping everyone
Sees such blasphemy because maybe
We can all finally breathe, counting how many steps
it takes to leave

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

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

Oh, heavenly kingdom
Above their burning flesh
Above their screams,
Above the rivers weaned
On sentiment and sucrose laughter
The palace walls stretch to an infinity
The emblazoned ceilings of the ever after

The only scribes are the stars expanding
In their language of no understanding
They watch and we wonder, wet with earth
They are the forest of our birth

We know of Time;  we have met
It inspires our final sin, Regret
Still the stars they stare and never speak
In the heavenly kingdom... just out of reach

My thumbnail broke off and the
Shopkeeper goes to work fashioning another one
From Time and wood, splinters and Bone
Someone somewhere has the original schematics
Whilst committees render improvements and hone
what the Dead would call addiction.
Amazing my molecules aren’t tired of me now,
Worry pooling from the friction.

Wait for the stars to collide
So our minds set aside
Grasp and its innumerable calculations
The cellular breath of her new sensations

Hypocrisy is the bend of civilization
The dogma of the surviving
A blood-soaked officer’s badge
Gravity of a supernova undying

Words are rivulets
Dreadnought pamphlets
Of arrhythmic planetary spin
Let the Ayes follow you in

Bold intones, D minor
Sharp pressed cleft dictate
A child itches with the simmer
Of starlight concentrate
(The powder of the meteor
Twitching his nose)

Imagine gravity sewing the words you speak
The syllables stitching shank trade and incubation
Oh, the birth of a nation
Is best recollected in poetry
(God’s words are too powerful for my ears
But His verse is sung by man and I fear)

I Hate it when Time presses
its depthless face
against the GLASS and
I have to Fight the
urge to walk PAST the
bulbs on the stars
coming loose,
like all seas do,
and HIS hands, like they’re depicted in cathedrals:
carved from clubs,
dirt in the creases,
waving in the darkness
and wonder if I will LAST

I Hate it when Time presses its depthless face against the Glass

and I have to Fight the urge to walk Past

the bulbs on the stars coming loose, like all seas do, and HIS hands, like they’re depicted in cathedrals: carved from clubs, dirt in the creases, waving in the darkness

and wonder if I will Last

The bespoke branch whips its tendril wrists into moonlit so winded I gave up breathing
It strips midnight of the exhausted blue atmosphere so poetically I’ve no reason to wake up,
Having heard everything worth believing
With nothing to let up.

Her every thought a dodecahedron flowering  
Creation contaminating inebriated genomes
Petty larceny
The moonlight freezes the starless creek

“I know… we’re just eternity”

Time rides its great steel grate with
the heavy weight the universes machinery
takes.
Hotter than a call house on nickel night
Cracking the teeth and bleeding gums

on the hate.

I muddy bare arms until I can’t tell them from the dirt
and wait
Life, the gray sound of rolling tires;
procurement, parchment, pamphlets

unlocking the gates.

Nights render like drawings
When we only have the charcoal chalk and
Make do with Memory...
Except for the sky, where Gods thoughts
are exploding.
I pretend my skins were sails, or
Time’s leftover stitching meant for heartstrings 
But for the bones,
Alabaster dice, stenotypewriter keys machining the
bottom taps of ribs dug up a thousand years on
And thought to carry wings

I Hate it when Time presses its depthless face against the Glass

and I have to Fight the urge to walk Past

the bulbs on the stars coming loose, like all seas do, and HIS hands, like they’re depicted in cathedrals: carved from clubs, dirt in the creases, waving in the darkness

and wonder if I will Last

The sun peels poetry from the writer
His breathing is a form of symphony
The rhythm unlocks clouds onto wind
Ash tree seeds are called the “keys”

I can't wait to be stardust again
Protein and bone ends
And at Gravity's chagrin
Set the course of the rivers bend
I can't wait to be no more than churn
Mistaken for blood mud
Like red clay in the sun's burn
And picked over for His ecclesiastic thud
And rhymed with Time; the poet's sweet crud

Two waves of the sea
Formed from infinity
That's you and me
Our faces twitching with fear
Eyes as ornaments
That is what stars wish to be
And we could forever sing
But for gut and infection
That is Gravity

I am the ricin of my parents' beliefs
I am the manor house that they reap
I am the imagination they no longer seek
I am the rhythm they could never keep

Don't give me things to think
Give me things to see
Leave the unraveling of the mind
Up to my demons and me

The music never catches rhythm
Scaffolded Sky never takes hold
The words begin to leak stars between them
The music is only gravity, and nearly as old

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

The grass rises wild,
flowers blasting
from the poets grave but
He did dream of cosmos fisherman
and is casting.

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

The grass rises wild,
flowers blasting
from the poets grave but
He did dream of cosmos fishermen
and is casting.

The momentary sunset conducts what
Words find the airwaves between
Those seconds I awoke and was aware
Of the atmosphere, still just a dream
The math of desire, of conjuring
What overturns regret and Mother Nature
The simple clockwork of my hunger
Time distilling the heart’s legislature

That way she taps you and grasps, says
"the universe is moving me too fast
And I need to hold on"
Every half second God rebirthing (imagination)3
(imagining)3 the (imagination)3 of imagination’s (imagining)3.
There’s something about standing before the sea
and a picture of a solar system,
Something about the bare heart of youth
daring Gravity for the poetry

Resident people
Resonantly
Gasping, your mechanisms weary
Of wondering, of the want
For an end, for the gears to stop
And make sense
For primary colors on a soul’s fingertips
For God to be some river that never ends
For your Self to either matter
Or to never begin

Euclidian rain dilapidated the sultry
The restful pull of Humanity
Separating the heavy stones of sin
From the face of sanity
We are what begin when
Time decides to breathe again
“Here is a scene that keeps playing in my head
It is sunburnt, the air is dead and the honeysuckle fries
As this car glides to a bleached shack.  
And I know that ****** means I can’t go back”

A sunny field 1977, thistle-trees-stirring-the-blue-orange-sky memory ripened, beaded up
fruit wet between my teeth.  I dream
Childhood with an eccentricity,
An ache and I wonder
How my mind makes up such things
Why from it I woke and can’t go back to
Sleep

WHIM