The beginning is a rat's nest:
all slime and heavy oxygen.

The middle is a furious cloud of smokey hurricane,
twisting and twisting the air
over oceans dreaming of touching her hair,
moon blazing, bars blaring,
mind spinning.

The end: a dimming campfire of feigned faces
and noisy nurses who ignore the puss from your mouth,
gossip, gossip, a nuke goes off
and still there are two women swapping bickered lines -
wake up and smell the pine sol,
your fake grass is gone.
You crawl to the nursery and cry
with the monsters behind the glass.
They find you and carry you back to the tomb
all white and hallow echo.


shadow of the blinds

these days are long and mechanical. I have seen no visions of cunt or cum in the hazy poetry of times such that muse is but a word personified into a whore bating me "come come take on my STDS and I will swallow you forever never holding me" in the shadow of the blinds there is a man without a mind singing "this is the iron mine and this your hatchet and saw, this is the iron mine and this is your hatchet and..." fury from the windows in mandarin as i drift sleepily, hurling my hatchet at the base of the skull - "why are you violently moving?" says the mindless one in the shadows of the blinds, and the base moves, forgetting the ashy ceremonies of day and soothed though knowing some deceit is under the harvest moon.

Carry Me

Carry me to the pillar of bones.
Singing, carry me singing while they prepare the wood
smiling, let us worship the drought, starving,
singing for the wet flesh as you carry me to the bones.
Carry me singing of the trees, of orbs of light,
of space and sky where the silk web of hands is infinitely singing
of the slippery procession, carry me my mother of bones
where the gravity escapes the eager notes of the mind,
starving for more time, stomachs starving,
carry me, laughing and screaming at the blaze
so we can see them all, strings shivering,
stomachs smelling for the rain:
Carry me to the pillar of bones.