drafts [unfinished

/

an orphan always has the feeling that he is

occupying a position which at any moment

the real child will show up and assume

you wait for that tap on the shoulder

at which point you move back into shadow

while the real child takes your place which

was only a holding-place a space you held

in lieu of the real child whose seat you

were saving waiting for him to arrive at

which point you became superfluous or

worse a simulacrum or worser a timer for

his advent a countdown to his existence

/

The leaves fall barefoot and therefore
negate their prey, though as always I try
not to swallow the dolls that strangle me.

Link between noose and once, 
incompatible as a pair of dice 
and twins I divvy serenity the gods 
once offered daily to Versailles. [

Lacking the juice sense of it what use am I.

Motiveless love, sheerlost hymn of the true,
can I read the seance-meter to see
how thick with ghosts the air will be tonight;

paging my desk or drinking t-square juice,
over the head of my hearing it falls to pose—
the Bride of Tantalus dances with motherly hands

moving side to side, no stagefright bones her
nakedness, they waft like stranglers' pencils
over my imminent knee-dross.  Hydra

at my heels. A tongue lag in the dialogue
resumes.  Erecting arches for now when

each candle bends over to touch its toes

................

that would have freed me vie
some mortality of means. Manic text
hailing a higher theme each scene. But all
agree it's not me the secret signal sends
I'm what's absent
when Columbus shoves a flag in that cunt.
obsequity/ cavorting

*

If a mask remembered all the faces on

which it had been placed,

it might soon be worn transparent,

worn out by memories. 

And metaphorically I should be

faded thin by those that have kissed me,

that have pressed their face over mine.

I should be rendered invisible and I am.

Perhaps it's easier to walk over hot coals

if you wear a disguise.  A costume

helps one avoide the pain of waking

up and seeing someone leaning above you

with pursed lips.

darkmatter bleached by lightyears

explains the cloud of Einstein's hair

and the klepto's keyring explains

all the closed doors we encounter

but in the real world of inexplicable

you can't help it when they align you

with some minor arcana

born of which I kiss

at the exit expo experts explain

how you got here but not

of course how you leave

they save that for the postmortem

I twiddle with fish-thistles

or kneeling to caress a tail-less crotch

remember that the speech apathy of twins

pimple-pleases more sibilantly than ours

the hiss of the S when repeated

as they echo each other's every thought

must lisp pleasantly as it

resounds through the hieratosphere of resemblances

everywhere lying idle or exile I sigh

using beggars to soothe the streets

probably doesn't help the sidewalks

where they have to crouch wheedling

in the sky where physicists live

it operates differently

up there a cyclops swan swallows

the stars that whimper like thatched cymbals

painting the light in parasol colors

the poor beggar pauses to take chains

and explain why capitalism centerstage

her poems always seemed a lot better after cunnilingus

Salome Herod beheaded have a lot to explain

in the bible where clouds have a lot of hair

Einstein's own coiffure

requires quantic disbelief

beauty is backpedal

the continuum spins the pedestal

beneath which I grovel

childhood fades in untold photographs

even the clouds want down please

her iso-splendor of arm pointed out

where stars like gnawed thimbles glow

and dawn dild on my gildmold lids

after the monster drinks the world

he spits out all the people

and they fall into abundance

if abundance is the opposite of this

encore whose enema eats me

don't want you enough to know you

watch my occupant clutch parts of his breast

foundlings of a tweezers species  

embracesomely he was

and felt this random urge to unhand a juggler

unless the cows (those old belgians) were

conveying a debonair vowel

inept attacks swept the barracks

during some antique sleep modes

they kept their demands sultry  

as zeroes scamper across the clock

they scrounged and smoked a lozengeskull

which prompted this roam-colored ghazal

I am an aspirin-old that's all

don't know you enough so I want you

slavish pensive as senile mic succor

though our flesh is minus now the tongue's doubt

your pout (chagrin of suede) led the nation

 divestment empire as that should be lit

writhic and positively full of loll

it's not enough to know you to want you

you know gridlock season of teasers

you see the bottom of that wishingwell festering

hypodermically

shot into strato

spaced and sparsed

sprayed among errata it waters what

to attenuate my trauma

the corruption of cloying devils swathed in sash his flotsam

doesn't want you enough to ignore you

bereave-voids

spittled draped doped fluke finale

 torso fed the marathon beyond shuddering

sullen torn essence across his false perplex of pubes

fear your sedatives will save

///