A Valley Of Giants

The last time I ever did sit in this place
we drank by the moonlight
I dissolved in your face
A vibraphone badder than sound in the silence
floating in space like a waterless island
decrepit intrepid, a beautiful violence
loveless, unique -- the last of decidings

A new home enraptured
A distance uncaptured
A life that you lived that might not have mattered --
the particles flash in and out of existence
and foreshine the movement,
they can't ever prove it,
but the fact is that pathless there is no resistance
the fact is that pathless there is no resistance.

A garden of heathens
A garden of time
gives meaning to meanings
but nothing to mine --
and leaving the loved ones that formerly were
we step into endlessness, nouns without verbs
our bodies as copies claim us as our own
never to read by the Rosetta Stone
original dwarfed in the face of the clone
now a valley of giants that must be our home --
has arrived.

The blood of the marker
is the same as my blood,
only darker.

holistic

cool cool plastic
make a man out of me
make a small-eyed deer out of unsorted thoughts
make a monarch with crow's feet to make difficult decisions
skip breakfast or work or life today.

chime
notice oft-beskirted men and women,
damp at the crotch and edges of eyes,
curious of sudoku or horoscope or obituary,
smelted and smoked and cured;
perched mundanely amid dust particles,
water vapour, finely tapered.
chime chime chime

cool cool plastic
make a bottle full of oil
with a clearly printed label
and caress with sinking happiness
a surgic'ly constructed wound indifferent to stitch.

chime
notice many feathered flyers,
filled with air and malnutrition,
pillage strong ambivalent backs
of fronts where all the dumpsters live;
scattered timid swirled and sliced
looming great delivery truck
that honks to end a meal
chime chime chime

cool cool plastic
make everything out of me
so that I may not be anything.

I think I like that curls
are probably the only thing she manufactures. Ever.
I don't walk the space within
where the sadness dots the skin
but I'd like to be that kind of kin,
regardless of the weather.

something magnificent.

blinds and drapes, fines and rapes. Lost grapes in your refrigerator; I won't taste them.

the jeans are mostly stained with grass but there are other things, less present, that aver perception:::::::namely, your bodily fluids and oldest memories:::::::::::::::::your faces, changing shape and size::::::::::::::::::::thousands and thousands of digital photographicly emphasized longings.

A riverbed, soft with muck and sleeping sickness, narcoleptic nervousness climbs to new heights, which you avoid just in case the eyes cannot maintain their energiesuschrist,whenwillitend?

Masonaryo (Draft)

Subtle enchantress, your eyes are moving in squares and I care not to see where they land
might the distance between two and three break and take down the tyranny of idle hands
don't move quickly; feel so sickly sweet; it can be hard to breathe
birth your brothers; undercover, hidden by seasons and sleeves

If I had the time I'd have written a eulogy just for the sake of something to do
it's a story I'd write just to bore me, implore me please to be better for you
in the dregs of an unholy union transcendent light fallacies beautifully dance
in a room filled with fresh murdered flowers that wilt by the hour,
we've all had our chance to see.
To see.
To see.

Adrift in a sea of serious sleeping snakes,
A love so terrible it never fully goes away.

The Seeming Day

"It wasn't so long ago
that I professed a memory
of words catapulted weakly in restricted reverie.

smatch smarch smurchandise;
search in dyes
merchant eyes

epole htiw enoyreve
rof eht ekas fo ti?
yan.

subterfuge.
I'd like the walls to be cleaner.
New bedspreads and sheets; colours, painted colours in my mind.
But which colours are they?

straiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight and narrow.
poison arrows in my wheelbarrow,
gangrene thumb, bad soil, no fun.
pollute my eventide until the mourningtide comes.
yellow bristol hills
paper plasmic sun
stupid and elusive; in seclusion, everyone."

worthless/priceless

I crushed you one time, between thumb and forefinger.
Wonder surrounds the meaning of flowering bruises...
growth in broken blood vessels, wounded flesh,
bringing forth the fruit of fleeting pain.

your face disappeared for a short while,
but it has returned with a vengeance.
I wonder where it went,
if photographs were taken in impression of itself,
contorting interestingly alone amidst a sea of bodies and blank heads.

Arranging the words just so means very little in the presence of bewildered kindness,
ensconced in love, I guess,
and the business of perpetual forgetting.

If I were an Einstein-Rosen bridge,
I'd make sure you were ever transported backward to stay just as you are(n't).

worthless/priceless.

Cry

somedays I stray and say I want to be just like you
how filtered can expression be,
with sights I didn't want to see,
to see to see to see to see right through
inside, behind, we walk straight lines
convinced that they're our own
too free with my body sometimes,
telling people who never should have known
and glaring aching symmetry,
is limiting,
it limits me;
from beds I've wanted to be free
from heads I've wanted to be free
but built into this precious thing,
nestling, cuddling, festering
cleaning, dreaming westward wings
could clear out notes from how I sing
with swollen wrapped presents to bring
I shake beneath a billowed cloud
of love so cavernous and kinged
it seems the dreams took on a life that murdered everything...

the songs they sing themselves
and I see you coming out
of houses in your wombs
that strangely rhyme with tombs
acoustics echo proud
of loudly distilled speech
encased in violent crowds,
the sweetness of a peach
the sourheartanthem child
the brittlempowered teen
cracked in impure thought
disposed to impure dream
fallacious as they come
convinced of the obscene
drowned in ancient books
that exist within the scheme
caressed by codgers,
lost and crossed by vivid vast regimes
and screams of gentle villagers
inventing future scenes,
supported by your poetry,
reinforced with knives
visions creeping through the walls,
the buildings of our lives
the planes, they shimmer poisonous
and thin beneath our eyes
and closure and composure form
elaborate disguise
constructed from your brilliance
the unpublished B-sides
the purple stamp inside my wrist
the purple bruising eyes
to take a punch while sitting down
to breathe drunken defeat
to tell the friends who aren't around
of everything you need
criminal submerged untruth
has faces coining terms
worth billions and billions
of lessons we don't learn
shattered fragments of asteroids
bewelded iron flasks
filling cannot fill the void
a Vaudeville gag in tact
words just matter for their sounds
they resonate with hate profound
they leave us manifest and bound
the Euro, dollar and the pound
my overdrawn chequing account
the fossils in the underground
and trains they vainly go around
sacred soil and burial grounds
were left untouched and noone found out why.
skip double dutch in spaces in the sky.
walk with a crutch even if it's a lie.
because when you let your pride into it,
the answers will just bleed right through it,
Cry.