November 21, 2014

Yes the moon is what I’d like to eat
Standing in the extenuation of space
Waiting for things to come that would not
If I merely walked by

Even in a less annihilative mood
To you I still don’t know what to say
Ten fruitless summers and autumns on

September 16, 2014

Obviously I’m tied up
Between two mirrors facing each other:
My handler—

Overlap

(Who would not burn
With the ineffectual menace of a storm outside
When he is hid?)

Everything is far away:
Those makeshift sails of thunder,
Telemetrically mine,

Have almost rescinded their ardor,
Their hand
To pry me forward, shake me

Onto other custodies,
And the enactment of a spring
Never mine…

September 16, 2014

how I’m framed,
with a sickly adenium for company,
creating steam for the life after
(no doubt it would be even briefer
than the shadow of a leaf in water)
those little efficiencies,
softer spines
come unattached like a diffuse toxin
to lay me down
while the sun is
to a different degree
by

Image

August 28, 2014

drift in my atmosphere
orange & blue
you, your mission
and that backlight too
and if I seem to move
you know where to vector to
because we've seen each other do stranger things
than change the parameters of our orbit

Image

July 1, 2014

Mark the herald of a dimming hour,
Its very stifling coming near,
The other gait of its approach,
Slouched in mocking supplication;
See how it wears a coat of sinister rose
Like a shaggy surrogate of its wonted pallor—
But I am sick beyond it all,
And will not turn aside, nor avert the embassy of any look!
Come invest me with your gross posture
And chant whispers of death in my scornful brain,
And show me your sleeves burdened of ash,
The large calamity of elemental decay;
Yet I know all your grimmest ordeal
And the smoldering end of all possibility—
So, enfold me in your tattered display,
And stagger onward darker off...

Image

June 8, 2014

Stems of tea
I cannot
With ferocious effort
Sink—
You are like
The opposite
Of a name
I’m ever slower to retrieve.

March 13, 2014

track me best in muddy parentheticals
by margin of exhibits ungreeted by light
in summations of all insufficient will
feeling some maze of desperate design
what am I really meant to make out
hanging on these green-sick and moistened walls

March 5, 2014

Your brief visible life,
Near the end of its message,
Winks to oblivion
Like the crawling embers
Of a burning page—
Then let me not mar
By imperfect aperture
The fading to dark,
The subtle capture by night
Of its last curled-up remnants...

February 26, 2014

Forbear me by hours new episodes of silence
To act out slow study of associations,
And ask me to make no gestures to be seen
Of picking up small values to suborn my thought—

Then, for your best and only gift of patience,
I shall not finally neglect to requite
With all persistent proportions of beauty
Due most to those who most mutely abide.

February 12, 2014

What my best-dyed lips
Will clutch and devour
Before the closing up of dusk
When your shadow is larger than you are
And I am, like the Sphinx, collecting cards of misshapen people
And eating those unable to answer—

February 9, 2014

The little that you remember,
Like a sharp corner in a dream
Amongst landscapes all denatured
And phantoms reluctant to go,
Is really something to crash into
In a surprisingly violent way
Just when you begin to feel
Somewhat safe in the dark.

February 9, 2014

Let's rope in and be digested—
(What are you like inside?)
It will be
A room full of faces,
Some with eyes still smiling,
Covering every wall with gazes,
Not noticing as I wade by—
Oh greet me with folded arms
Like a malcontent genie
Still mulling where I can see
Your fingers touching blue,
Scraping the past-all,
Reviewing
The sequence of my distemper,
Your disquiet,
Your upset
Appetite.

February 9, 2014

switch, remit
(I do love)
the glancing way
(the coming up)
of dawn
so
unlike daylight's surfeit glare
barren, not fleet

February 9, 2014

I know your pose, your shadow draped on the rails,
Leaning to the air that will not catch you
But, parting, shows siren-like and beckons
Your silhouette to a gusty doom—
Though in this game,
With damage turned off,
You can leap from mountains without dying
And play the jester to the windy sprites
Rattling by,
Yet my breaths here looking on
Are full of ornament and unrest,
As if a harder thought
Would push you careening over
And feed you to the trailless sun
In pieces ripped or waves blushing
Like scrolls of visible turbulence
Flowered—

January 17, 2014

Under a fibrous cap,
Some bareness and reserve drily whisper
In punctured, nodding breaths
Of the cavities that house the dead,
Of those caricatures of time's addition
Sealed with limbs of mortar
All cracked.

In this place of burial,
Scratches and flakes of chalk,
Skin
Settle, reside.
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