time
in and theme out
losing the footing of its fetish
the train faints on the figure-8 piano keys
losing the footing of its fetish
the train faints on the figure-8 piano keys
*
What becomes of the white flags after
the surrender (we know what happens
to the defeated: the movies have verified
history or vice versa)—the museum for
them would have my name on its door.
Among my kind I could find solace/respite.
So thin their threads that laid one on
top of another they'd form a bed in which
I would cower while another blindness
upon my face slowly grows illegible.
[.............] the mutilations cowards
reveal only to our mirrors [
A soldier his bones aimed at his flesh
describes an empty rain with hesitant
gestures; the effort burns like jewelry
inside my nostrils.
He
speaks eureka to me in the birth
place
of helmet hell and heliostroph. /// [
recoiling from the slap of balloons
....
on the steps of a crumbling saliva
....
[?]
....
amputated cupids guard Coughedup City
from the incursion of [....]
....
I was named identically across my grid
I was nailed identically across my cross
....
....
imagine summer if it had indirect lighting instead
....
Etude ending with the destruction of the profile
....
to arrive at the artichoke's heart on high scuds of wheels skidding around curves whose sauvity increases during Lent—blending fur sluice with chaotic barbers—and bitter as paradise to a wish-granting garden—my motto twits yours, mum autochton [...
....
recoiling from the slap of balloons
....
on the steps of a crumbling saliva
....
[?]
....
amputated cupids guard Coughedup City
from the incursion of [....]
....
I was named identically across my grid
I was nailed identically across my cross
....
....
imagine summer if it had indirect lighting instead
....
Etude ending with the destruction of the profile
....
to arrive at the artichoke's heart on high scuds of wheels skidding around curves whose sauvity increases during Lent—blending fur sluice with chaotic barbers—and bitter as paradise to a wish-granting garden—my motto twits yours, mum autochton [...
....
fetus rides a balloon to the burial of
a rainbow where, a sleepy lake where each's
entire like horses nailed to their torn-off
manes we cling to our frames; incantations
of crowns, collision footprints are
Disperse the message is lost across
recoilless oceans. Lions circle a landfill
of shoes with icicle laces, all the casualties
of who's who. At the doll's graveyard one's
entire skin participates. Imagine a balloon
released at a funeral to signal the bloodnests
in the eaves, the cotes of blood Earthbound leaves,
a blueprints gasp gathers the incidentals of least aspect by which the thumb grabs one approach
beckoning endward the berry and the sheer
via which a story astonishes our
sense of conclusion based on all guidance,
each house abating/abiding its me-too fall.
my correspondant blows on his palms
which fit these doctor doors, stigmata keyed
to his hands’ grooves.
of pink perfume figurine abandoned grafted
wrung. which loves to leave puddles to play in
and recoil from each time
Ask the mourner who clutch their throats and dissolve—they drop their dolls in dive.
This tradecraft made, traitors against the one.
Tradecraft made, whose traitors curry union.
Made sure by tradecraft, whose traitors daggers drawn.
the other one.
Yet tradecraft might catch its caught in narrow pass
While cover identities they evade usurp their state.
of traitors daggers drawn.
Featured here,
They hatched here,
Revealed here,
Nurtured here,
They laid here
A noisy spy on a highway
in a chocolate raincoat drags
a cupboard sewn to his neck,
white thorns stretch wide around.
The tumors on our body's map
indicate settlements where tribes
have lingered long enough
to structure arrogance;
lazy easels where entire worlds open
their ruins so that daily ephemeralia can
scrawl a few verses on the crumbled walls,
while the island city sinks like a white barge
in a tux whose lapels tell lies to swans.
pounded like chessmen's hats by hammers. Pistons.
Walk toward the sea in single file and if
the wave arrives pray you are the last in
line or the first. Those in the middle are
emisarry to you. Hastening to find water
oasis by a toothpick path, a monolinth of
matchsticks, that inflates travel into a monstrous screen, dead end;
the site where guards must be posted to
ward off these passionate augurs who kneel:
With my bare hands I pulled the eyes out. When I had six I lay down, shoved them into my rectal cavity, then started to fall. I willed my fall. Telescopes were trained on a vein beating in my left temple. Its train took me away—the eyes were ballooning inside me. I peeled my scrotum to get two more—my spinal column was dripping plungers of acid by now—I erased everything that held me to the fragments which had never been human if by human I meant this penis spurting eyes
which sting the running sores on my spine's tongue
on its terrace of toilets which was falling freely at will in the air like sweatflak—black—burst—as every cave hangs by a string and longs to be wafted—shoot all over the lips of Keats' deathmask—did I enter—his mouth—
Noodles caress the weasel prize. Of course.
damaged shields all
in all a lavish headhalt sights across
the nearby. The fields nucleus anniversary
its pistons make.
/
*
Windows bound by final lens, glass
islands that balance a splinter
in their heart. Or mirrors where
my arrows drink all their instant
from rage, subduing the breath
that pursues sleep, but I hesitate
to knight the noise of every urge
or let its beaming monster quit
spate. I fear the habit-murmur
where stones get shklovskied
without respite. What leave can
I inhabit, accustomed maze of
lameness chaining my head in this
endless train of perspective down
the oneway track distance still
draws from my sleeve, conjured
as I crane to catch each view
and hover-fresh aspect outside
my choo-choo chin, freightface
fraught with passengers forced
to record/rattle off their cattlecar days with
my choo-choo's chinoiserie
The trip dollies
days along its railbed
the railside/outlook passes slowly, time
the day raves and wanders like a photo-chirp—
puppet finery adorns their pyramids—
the pawed-at touchstones sermonize
me with god-dunes and streams
A bachelor chasing elevators
or cleavering his bathtub may stop
if shown prophet—
///
