for eign

iwill probably embarrass
you @ some point
god (our LORD) knows how
we do;

sing a solomonic song

i will never embarrass
you @no point
god (our LORD) knows how
we do;

in the opening i chanted
your names
12 times 12
is a square;

and at the end
concede to patience

fault lined face, open man

this is what we
talk about when
we pray to the LORD

how we do

odious; any particular wednesday

laying sprightly in green-tinged riverside room
sounds of final fisty victory

be perfectly still
be perfectly still
be perfectly still

-

insipid sounds of 1995 radioed throughout cover tossed quadrant
limey painted wall reflects spirally the passing of time and passing out

sloppy requieted accessory
pretty much the same as everytime

not shit well in a month

parsing the decaying matter sprayed from fecal hole (shot in the night through elevatored shotglass)

throwing bones looking for friendly-augured rhythm
automatically associated foe-fiend splits the basis point down the middle, right to the gnarled quick

casting 20sided die does the same

___#2___

and there was a man who once told me
"if the druggin don't kill me, the boozin will"

and as semantical arguments become a past-problem
the more pressing of the now-problem is readily sunshined apparent

2:53

thunderous heart multiplies
the fancy-sick threaded note-passing

the radiatored flow is non stopping earnestness
this descends into a flash in pan

feral dogs round in cages
i see them slightly baring their teeth

recon failed.

Ring Cycle

#1

glistening bird tumbles through skylighted dawn
specked with shotblood struck from sky
blotted out nightingale song

#2

goat herds look uptoward; trumpets make for acrimonious greeting
circular hand-claptrap sounds the beginning of a new day
steam-set sunrise deifies man
we all awake screaming

#3

that that begins in the night continues to the day
there was finality of circumstance
eventuality of mistake - received telephonically
restaurant door swing aggressively shut
smoking heavily through raspy lungs

#4

unicorns are extinct for a reason.
when i saw you there; misshapen face
what to have final say in things that could not be anymores
came like offtracked train

#5

as if nothing came by the meadow
couch crumpled mess of junky addled liver
mourning 1 - 4
weepily motioned mess of man; lumpen clayform
forgetting tomorrow

Alternate Field; Pitchshift

the smallest voice heard came across
flattened ether;
packet-less ear&to ear - mouthlessness

disheveled bean spills from languid doorway
toward uncertainty
momentary vortexical eye-path

thunderous gallop toward the boathouse
row the mighty whale; wake behind - slanted V

threshold misaligned;
creaky vertical slit of light

And on the 7th Day, He Rested: Pale Horse, Pale Rider

the behemoth dried tongue
split the cord wood down the weakest fault line

medicated, there was a shadow of a sudden shock-troop-trauma
whathat played out like slo mo camp counselor teaching woodcraft

as the open mouthed leviathan continued consuming
all of the wooden soldiers stood bleating cries of sudden demise

foul breathed screaming demon tore
through splintery crap
like the motherfucker he is/was

and then silence within the ranks
espirit de corpse was shattered rudely

the fateful playing of the cockadoodle doo brought a state of morning
emptied lot where something once stood brought into
compliance

beating of leathery faced winged terror flapflapflapping through broken heads arms legs torn-so

onward to a golden morn

the flight to gradient

and on a beech wood fire
tumult turn toward the tom-tom beat

slash-lightening from old background


i play acrostic dancing from square one sunnily

requiem for nothin

type on the knick knack writing machine that spouts lies and
half truths to all around - forgetting words are literally literal literature and we bemoan the moaning that just went through both of our lungs

we dance around the subject of the thing that is or is not and we spread our legs continually - cocks out to the nearest electrified fence so we ride the lightning and we ride the flesh-pole

everything begins to make the least amount of absurd sense and we look at sunspots and discuss the closeness of farness

but when the inevitable question is finally asked by the asker, there turns out to be no answer and this is not what's inevitable

fist fucking frolicking nightmare of a potentiality; sloppy hotness of a wet american summer - let's dance on the beach and forget that we know each other

Conduct Unbecoming

proceeds with war prayer and and no consistency means
a consistency of no; and followed throughout by the unctuous slapping of gristle-y flesh
and the raspy tuba that i hear at night is usually the signal of creeping cancerous error

...

i pray for the fox
i pray for the mighty bee
i pray for breath
i pray for the giant squid
i pray for death

...

light firebug and scream into the morning, a new fountain of (no)hope awaits