I swear to Christ and Holy God
I want one more insight like a dog screaming barks in the dark at unknown intruders.
I want to jump so I have a heart because I’m afraid it will break under the moment.  
And then I know I was built
because I didn’t make it myself and so it has a purpose but I don’t know it.
Until it jumps again.

-wacked revenel,
a Buick laid down, it's a skinned brick
hurled into the third rib
of 18 wheel traffic strung so ten-
uously from the horizon I jump on,
Vibrating with AWAKE, my soul
still separating....

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

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

Eucharist, liken to benzoate uncoating stomach linings for the Time we wait.
We don’t breathe, we itch
We are not angels’ campfire
We are leftovers, crossstitched God innumerates, I mean if Gravity was just sunlight punching clouds for
Celebrate.
And I was anything but the bones of planet and the heartbeat of a Universe
not even childhood escapes.

My bones the unimpeachable thoughts
of God paused on humor and dialect.  
Rob the sunlight of breath, rest.  
My heart in my throat as the gulls crest.  
The ocean hunches its shoulders
like a universe possessed.

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 course and cause of all equation
is Tomorrow.  And its teeth..
Look at them flooding chalkboards,
like endless petals cut and pasted until the
veins make rhythms the eyes can clerk.
And my pocketful of cherry stems and change,
castoff cogs of Timeworks

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

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

She hopes for angels
And maps the pathos of disease
Cygnus x-1 ignites its plasma
In the key of God leaving

It is a play, this Man
Its words loosened from earth
Soot and gravity rendering arms
Imagination and the Bible verse

She took what was the motion of a butterfly
And from it made Believing
Under Sunday tides of breathing
She damns this Life for its Being

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.

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

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)

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)

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

“I know… we’re just eternity”

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

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

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

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

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

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 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

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.

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.

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

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

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

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.

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

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

Red
Trunk-cated
Lungs and hums
Some looks she casts
Last me
The clapboard houses
Heave with Tuesday
Con vol UTED
We Bruise
Whisky and sherry
This planet, our cemetery
Carries our
Words

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

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”

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

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

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

From the red clay . From dusted afternoons
From silly giggling holding hands
The universe moves into

The sunshine, the star's mind
An aged memory
Recollections faint with rust
My fingertips just to reach

From moments warm with flesh
From breath I give for free
Night alights her as a crown
Amen ***, my God is thee

Whistle-ical light,
If sunlight were like gaslight
Then the universe would drive
Past my window, the crunch of snow
Under tires

WHIM

The ravaged ribcage,
That ghoul beneath the peeling stage,
Gravity-bent bone, harpsichord racks
We stack with swollen amber sacs
Of vibrato beats seething with the heat of friction
From my race through an historical fiction
(Of  forged tax collector receipts
And hospital records of symptoms and disease)
I crave release,
I stand on the rim of sleep
and dare myself to leap.  
                       To slip beneath the dream.

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