45*21

lapsed in action
the werewolf and the bobcat
stepped on my throne
they don't break no branches
the little heart it does groan
challenges of this whisper might give
some idea as to what I've been thrown
nor never knew every loan on my mind
the maiden's been crying
and always been blind
like my grapefruit in the morning
with the blinds all pulled
and my trigger on the rifle
and the manifold
can't feel no crack in my cranium
so I been told
give me your left hand so I can give
you my heart to the sieve
so what is the purpose
my face put on but the window has grown

45*21

silent chasm. no such thing
& it can only give relief
the mind opens only with one wing
the lost chord may not be open
it depends on what you bring
and still there is the moth
or that which is undiscovering
but part of one hyphen
and your knowing is anything but cheap
this will be brought to you by zen
the honey bee elbow sting
it will open again and again
like sunshine through the leaf
that landed on the sloth
piglets vigorous suckle
and in this rot encumbered cloth
is not only a bothering
but it is broken
when silence is token sleep
then the finger in the buckle
and it is you remembering

45*21

freedom is breakfast with coffee
the gypsy lady and her daughters
you expecting some tears, well go down waters way
the water must encourage flame
flame of love flame of disgust
somebody's livin in this one hoe town
a single fork in the cobbler
better give the belt to the child so he can grow
to be a renter, illusory of a begotten trade
you are the cookie and that is your cutter
love is a wound with pretty toys
I leaned crouched behind the hounds
low and smiling my forked tongue served as twine
to deliver some of the finest fruit cake
all the gold valley with the tall stags
the hearse is drawn by wheezing figs
grab my loins as to tell you what for
yet I know not knowing is not
you pudding for which I can not insert the thought
we are the daughters of the sun
"softer be they than slippered sleep"

45*21

they gave me a rod and a divine voice
what is and what will be under their feet
the shaking of fine bells, an earthquake
I drove a solemn metered heart
to fan the flames of passion's fire
and bring the Queen a load of wood
with my long hair and lance I was like a greedy child
who woke from a dream to find himself this hairy man
I banged my head against the wall
or maybe it was the Queen's foot
either way it was hard as oak
and my lance was melted molten mud
well I couldn't keep the bees from my eyes
the booze ran rank up from plaid swamp
It was time to hit the links, I said
and took off for skeleton lake
where I could get a decent hotdog
there I stood the chance of running into the family hitman
his kind eyes were like chambers I could run through
I needed a scotch and soda to wash down this pho-pork
this pumpkin's gone rotten

45*21

ride along with along with H.D. on this furnace wheel of life
stars will in purple show a rarity
that is not everybody speaks
it is a close reason to understand a pile
as a pile yet a great Hesiodic moment
deep inside a kernel, the burning soul of a tree
father, there I stole an angel
not yet stained by the brilliance of war
as it barks out of its habitat
How are you to help the un-helpable
unscalp the inculpable
"yours is not gracious as the Pleiads are"
yet you stoop in shit like everybody
don't call this poetry call it smotetry
a frightened ship in a baffled wind
come on! aren't you too just a captor of fire
a squeak in this, in this turntable
a puzzle piece drifting in outer space
it's my space, man, not your space
and grace, your star, steel-set
beyond what you call your face

45*21

he points a finger at death and laughs
with fever and dreadful hallucinations
especially when the fair was open
all my time with laughter in a blissful kiss
yet aware of the devastation I would cause
dolls in the attic speaking
earth yearns for rain in summer
I get satisfaction from this grind
dome echoes a pope's hat
sausages and beer puts us out to shame with kindness
I can accept this fiery branch as my leaf hat
the black cloud is my silver lining
color dripped out of my corpse with happiness
I was ecstatic and drunk with evil
surprised to find my jaw come off in my hand
longing for the gentle touch of a woman's eyes
partying in the church of my beliefs
screaming outside to the dogs
walking around in a dream. Today!!!
the weather is just beautiful and
a giggling woman's hand scratches my shepherd scruff

45*21

walk into one of the bays, however
to say, wow, that's fucked up
it's like what Jessica' doing
when you're dreaming poetic right now
these six-up corners may buzz
heaven draped like a cloth
the nazis had their own christian creed
chalet high in the feathered hat
to throw a tennis ball in the dough
make sure he sees what you did with the settlement
rectilinear, he chuckles, I hope
I tried to stay away of her lineage
exquisite embroideries, homespun raw wood romance
a blueberry bracelet on her right hand
it's late summer against one wall
electric bananas are nestled under a small chicken sculpture
whip-smart and horn fed
points hanging in another room
I had that sense of physiology
this funny feeling of amplification
neck-deep in myriad indistinguishable by farmland

45*21

god has a parrot named Jerkoff
and the effeminate private eye sees all
the all knowing and the reverse at a bar are telling
the bartender knows the joke but listens on
it turns out it's his wife, ancient Rome
some piazza, they grab a drink
god eats a raw fish and slurps some water
tonight the moon is velvet
her hair is white like elephant's tusk
they run the chance of getting some dirt on me
so put me through some baggage check
I've seen the ravages of war and read a couple novels
they pulled the plug on his disease
so now we are sucking salt from the wound
moonshine, foundry of light, shimmering pottery
cast that shit on the still water
I hear the bass coming out of the left speaker
sounds like some poor slob gets murdered
hand me my robe kind gent
I must switch the moon off wit my tears
and slowly don some slacks

45*21

in this archway you are called Alice and she is Poala
there is no geometry where the figurative goes not flowing
the arches are a manifolded mirror, an ocean of peacock
a milk potion will create a cat without tail or with cattails a thousand cats
and you will become the king of the tall tail
a geometry of your own tree growing in a dream body
from the ocean bend on land a man creeps from behind a tree
you put the shiny silver scissors in a yellow purse
& with that red wig you belong to Nicole and she is Mary
it is read as you are reading it and the night closes in
shadows of archways and orange shrubs along mud road
on Garma show two splits in the egg, a steamer comes in
carving eggplant find an egg and salt shaker
these are fundamentals, architecture of an island hotel
called Garma and yet no death and no maiden, a peacock window
they call Giallo, my mother made those pictures missing
it is all in black and deep red, a nightmare of twin identities
she falls again and again from the stairs in the gallery even
symmetry between what we don't know and what might come later
drowned piano in an HP Lovecraft song
these clouds hang in severed evergreen

45*21

the bald painter sits above the egg drawing sunny-side up
ladybug infestation has subsided lacking all wonder
pigs can't lactate for your milk in spoon but hairy eyes
look up at you from under some thunderous grunt
it's time to split the neon hippie with the nose ring nose ring
I put a portion in my pocket and it makes for dog food
but the panthers left the terrain to the moose
these ruins San Cristobal de Las Casas are crumble
a third-eyed face with crown, this failure of paper
churns in time machine or was it a time machete
anyway, creating archaic milk to dissolve the bone from singing
we march along against our orders and it paints us
a child upon a leopard, a leapfrog to jackal
I thought it was a fox where I stood adjusting the rabbit ears
this lady with the tinfoil hat knows knows
the stream runs up hill to the mill wheel
with that great scene 3 when the celluloid bubbles
& we're still out in space looking for the rope

45*21

my heart was broken and laughter fell out
it's a laughter that eats children
kind of what Beatrice would say
wood figurines cast giant shadows in small grottoes
it's the kind of death that kills
I might be up in the field splitting wood
or in the grotto with the deep wreath
but after a week of feeling exhausted and achy
high-pressure ventilation blew her up like a balloon
and I landed in rhapsody on your rickety porch
Please don't shoot the piano player. He's my dad.
it would manifest as a slight suction, drop in pressure
Have you been introduced to the swamp shark?
they are like the sound of the past, shifting potholes
the pickles rise below the viscous
I never understood the Joy Of Cooking so much
as reading it backwards from page three-hundred and...
teeth in imperfect symmetry on this card marking this anniversary
of doom and its Italian cowboys all lighting cigarettes
fire off like Gatling guns the smarmy wife snickers behind
in slow sequence of events that wheeze open accordion-style