world plasticity
whirl! and, placid, see
planes and plastic cities
and plains and trees
and plaster masturbating
steeplejacks, stealing
steel gray tufts of sky
puffing from the chimney
where the world
is heated and forged
and all the plastic
goes into spoons
and breasts

I want to live
forever in a world
I forever recreate
invincible and flawless
loved

but I can't be a dictator
without taking someone's will
surely I would grab hold
revel in the kill

could I stand alone
with no time to waste
never exhausting
forever omniabsent

god without his goddess

oblivionderstatement

lodged in the abyss where a spine used to creak
behind a caged nest of tongues trying to pump blood
to carry back in buckets to their arid mouths
is a river of acid, a liquid spider doing an arabesque
until it disappears into rotting bones
that feared the oblivion they knew
more than the oblivion they couldn't explain away

heavy scent

have a little faith
on the house
made in's chest
breath-like
a cigarette for a ghost
self-slaked
hoarder death
in the middle of November
cobwebs

smothered in pig's feet
safety scissors
imbibed
cunning witbier
smells of coriander
emanating from the floor
where it fell right through
somebody

angriest god in the room

I dream
of a world where
gravity and logic
are tenuous, and
I wake up
on my roof.

self-explanatory

image of god
saved in a small .jpeg file
corrupted and lost
harsh pixellated noise
translation of a name
unutterable, fruit-like
teetering off white dragon
tongues, grey flame
roasted god name, banshee
blasting sinister voice box
smashed together like cans
living or dying or choosing
to ignore it
fragmented

defragmenting

salvaging

the bleeding
like lambs
huddled around
a monolith

burnt out

a nervous system

new romancer
drinking brain rain
from a fiery hole
thirst and flames
one and the same
compacting soul
into blackest coal
find a gas hose
soak your clothes
grit your teeth
tight on a rose
stem, pull the plug
from a bottled water
vending machine
drown in the dream
hotter and hotter
stripped and tugged
myelin sheath
bouquet
tomorrow you'll be ok
like a drug

date from paradise

animated corpses searching for their out-
line, we make love and tie it to a balloon

let the ribbon slip away
our handfuls, nothing

short of grasping, fish-
mouths puckered

arms outstretched
bodies wooden and spongy

hollowed out
getting stuffed

we merely seek a new sun
during the break of day

before internal pressure
pops the egg, and flames

dance upon the grave
turning in its grave

shrink

why, you built the labyrinth
how is it that you're lost?

this reshaping soul
wanders in search of itself
dusty walls with poetry
scratched in by finger nubs

remember something
beautiful, it helps

so here is how to fill a void
you build a labyrinth
surround yourself with yourself
the void disappears

and so do you

what is lost and what is left

steadfastly unsteady, trembling and sick
lone temple I loved, 'midst miles of brick
wandering on lame limbs, all former allure
peeled away and drifting into fog-obscured
footfalls. I watched you, as if awake
(and which state of consciousness has more at stake
when the only blank slate afforded, is every world
before your eyes unfurled?)
stumbling under your own bulk
smiling as not to sulk
but keep the worshippers content waiting
as their beloved, quietly self-desecrating
freezes and solidifies, like a heart... immortalized
testament of mortal eyes

sum it

feet nailed to the ground I build
my tower to you, whose apex
shrugs into clouds, reduced
oxygen levels restrict breathing

but I can't lift my head that high

so I split my sides at the thought
keep laying on the bricks
somehow, this is enough; this spire
extending all the way from my spine

fever

soft music, the smell of nutmeg drifting
through the cabin, flames casting shadows
in dizzying arcs all across the walls
breath-fogged windows coated
with crystalline ice clusters

crackling, from the fireplace and speaker
as needle drags through groove
like carving fresh wounds from old scars
a tragic thrum binding some mournful
angel, whose wings spread inside her throat

she must have been as cold
as the fire, itself burning as if to store
enough heat to remain alight, whilst
splotches of blood trail outside
through an open door, onward into snow

a strong gust could interrupt the needle
but the silence is already deeper
than a loss in the perception of sound
where the trail ends, a body
lies face down, one arm outstretched

the other, clutching at the stomach

(worth) lying about

I packed all my things
so that I could tuck them in a different closet
in a model home with a balcony
I've always wanted to emerge from a room
with sliding doors, to overlook
cascades of chrysanthemums
and balustrades entwined with ivy
rather than contemplate empty beer cans and a tent
which, having survived the soft snow's
immense weight, the squalls and tremors
that betrayed absolutely no pain
are worth nothing lying about

in how few or how many words
may I describe how it feels
to be unable to feel?
the point is that sometimes, when my stomach rumbles
my heart quickens its pace
I open up like a budding flower
the corners of my mouth curling up into a smile
because I am able to feel everything without
touching, tasting, seeing, hearing, smelling
or in any way feeling it
because it is not around me
but I am strong enough to construct it
from the scraps I find lying about

the trouble with pursuit

a fragmented network of thoughts
I've fashioned the key
ring from the inklings
leaking out of the cracks of my own skin

impish little insights
cavernous depths for meager frames
and I'll turn each key
until it turns
the handle I've been fumbling for

and every word wears every word
as a cloak

and every hole is there to snatch
your stark naked eyes

and when the masks shatter at feet
no one will be concerned with ownership

I will grit my teeth, roll up my sleeves
clench my fists, and fortify my gut
brave the darkness
and you

key key key key key key key key
key key key key key key key key
key key key key key key key key
key key key key key key key key
key key key key key key key key

the door swings, not open
for there awaits yet another door

words

floating freely in the non-light
weightless, fleshless, no place to hold
what I believe to be my self

only tendrils of color mimicking landscapes
in alternating instants of false clarity

I begin to see a woman flailing her arms
jerking back and forth in the vacuum
of godless space

a screaming mother wrenching
loose from the moorings of paradise
blood seeping, solid amethyst beads
a color more like poison
peppering her filthy rags

or crashing in deliberately chiseled waves
pouring from her exposed chest cavity
as the dream itself recombines

it is my mother, and her arms
have been robbed of strength
gravity, love, tenderness
they are just blades of grass
in an aimless, violent wind

the blending landscapes in my mind
fail me miserably, but their scope
is more than I can perceive, as when

I wake
to see her
jerking back and forth in her chair
arms flailing
her hair matted and coiled
and I reach out to her
and I am not recognized
so much as acknowledged
a fellow
wandering a shimmering horizon
searching for the right words
that will sort everything out
once and for all