at last

a fistful of flowers
knuckles kneaded together/white skin white heat
a yellow peel falls
coating your nail with air
a petal flickers
moving down toward wooden feet
a gleaming feather
wet moist fire in the dirt
a welcome cry of thanks:
"dearest earth, dearest love
hold me strong and take me into you
cool my fevered mind with dew
and vanquish the dread night"

Ode to Tolstoy

mechanized responses to death a circumventive blur
pushing the glows away from the mark
spur the trains beat the slow with my thick crop and let the doomsday snap
the dreamy grove for other futile matters.

the beautiful death, imbued with spectacle
a self removed from the glory and the wealth

"harmony of sublime movement"

astute snaps crack the whip and slip through all ephemeral tracks squeezing my multidimensional whole into mere lines weaving nebulous with my heartstrings
I find you after many quick nights, my movements so fast they move past time and render it worthless
I swallow it down with my monumental tongue, a glossic delight for me, as you know
and what do you know?

Not Fond of Her Skin

belly pushed up the spine
skins thick
no room for to bare
clogged the plots
too hot for fruit
a buzz more like a gentle scrape against the lining
to sink? to float?
the acid throbbing
a holocaust of the nerves
what is the movement
from words to air to ear to brain to perception
to the trickle of noise
down the glands and into the stove?
a sojourn prime with fear
no reins with which to steer
a white hot needle
threading itself through your consciousness
scalding all your bloom
a hurt that slices straight to cement
I have none
take my guts and plasma
my own gift to you
my hallowed home of ribs will house your dread
my marrowed cage will be your cathedral
soon my vibratory howls will cease to quake you
and dreams will come
ever yours only yours
mine are motionless
a slumber void for a creaking mind

Ode to Descartes

chromatid mold beauty
with psych screen
true to form
roaming shelter
benevolent fields
tell my keys
the tongue of kings
ding a ling
twelve five days
and thus the birth
score all the grain of the brain
the flow of blood
magnanimous crimson
sputters of heat
move and turn and pulse
body is not machine
cogito ergo sum
details
unscrupulous pock marks
fearful of forgetting and not noticing
the veins of flint
a spark heart