together

thru all the glue

filn history's glossy cracks

and all the pines

from wane to wax

we were(are, perhaps)

moonrise bent

lain with backs

pressed on tarmac

slid red, long

longer than we thought possible.

dream-licked heads

shattered and spread :

painted lines on painted lines

on

painted lines

down along this serpentine road.

without a motion ...

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lain in, thinking about 

the soft roll of hair and 
gentle exhales and 
soft, pressing folds 
filled with tiny collapsing sounds
sighs, held on high
near imperceptible if not uttered 
direct
and deep down 
and deep down
and deep down 
like the brush
of my bones
where all the gaps between could disappear 
where we don't need to know where one begins
or the other ends

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warmth 
like a dipped oak 
an aegis of honey-words 
folded in layers 
carefully made gifts
(tho hastily wrapped)
best taken while still soft
still hot
like candied ginger pressed
 between lips parted in awe
in rapture 

the steam of kitchens and
the drawing of breath
tumbling bedshapes 
unmistakable 
and knowable 

warmth
like a waxen wood countertop 
dangling incandescence
in...

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i wish the forests
could take me back
puln deep: 
neath the shake of
the leaf
and ire 
of the rhime 
fed way 
while my bones turn to rest
and my soul to the deep,
knowing spores

from death to the winds
carried high to the rains
falling
again and again
again and again
again and again;

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when time pines, 
it happens in a vacuum.

blue-lipped and ecstatic
coloring the automatic 
raptures ruptured 
and the bubbles burst
counting down 'forgive me nots' 
and pick-up petals buy the hearse 

amen

bitten-pens 
and day dreams
and
teethmarks in the shape of you
and
pulling blind bridles
we'd ride thru
tl so much nothing 
stretched before us
a skating rink of fate
spl...

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it's 12 degrees
and the marrow cools:

we catch  --
breaths hitched
 to a cataclysmic gait
a crooked pace:
all-damned 
while you wait

god's sticky magazines 
pages pregnant 
with guilt
regret
the ilk of resplendent idleness
of abandonment
in this blind-eye of a city, turned 
to rot, mitotic
never-ending 
a car crash of ashamed sex
but it's just too good 
to be any other way .

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consider these solipses:

measured, carried steeples 

round a brined Mary 

suspended in the plasma 

of hapless, desperate donors 

centrifugal refugees

all unknown behind glass

this is a king's country:

a throne grown too small 

phagocyclic in the flesh

bedsores in the shape of sin 

and

lead of goblets held within

my crucifix is a bullet

made from ...

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leapt down

horse steppin automata

breaking guiding rails

and the groan of servos

to tilt skyward

a maw unanswered, 

cloying the gods we might invent

dragged tablet-tonnes
in malcontent

what's worse

spit-wash the worth

in the hydraulic whine

drowned in the apathy 

of deserts

of blowing grit

all until this body, unfit

fails

and my light goes out.

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the see-thru states

of liminal infamy

"don't let me down" 

sung in desperate drams

beacons prain

from a street corner

affixed and shorn and 

bare-truthed,

snaggle toothed:

cleft palates and anaphylaxis 

sanded down by time

into a shape something 

much like mine

(too much)

please see me

but don't look;

a shared hypocrisy 

wrung motes of p...

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