but who would have guessed
how likely your tongue
fit this age cramped on
wide plains that sting your eyes

“I’ll just get tired one day
and lay way over in this
and for time I’ll mime
held together by roots
shoots” And how my boots

hold last breath of eruptions away
deeper than we do our business
“No, I’ll wipe the sides

on discontent concrete
and fuck it all up with seed”

“Feels like fire
on the mountain, boys”
But could almost just write
“the sun turning up
in the most surprised places”

Go back out there and get
eyes spilling over with smoke
where a still-lit cigarette grips
sides of the deck

Now here we’ve got
a hole cinders coal
poem rough round where
we got out back there
spilling into the street split
between here and ain’t

Dead not dead dead

Many of us can pile into
hot little car
and at the next light all
switch places

guess which beggar is your father
among distance staff shortages
blossom on mother’s side
Ribs struck out in full relief

and black and white stars and moons
like grainy wizards on Edison paper
match me to tears left behind by parents
Sins of the father on my arms up to

shoulders leather shoals pout hands
pot back and forth over cool of spring
loaded like potent as on mescaline
Everything sculpted smoke and haze

moving into our respective shapes
but never still in the corner of your eye
my ancestors without foresight
We are slightly behind

catch sigh catch iced limes on us
and you punch your own face
acid day of wondering if you’re busy
or swollen tree of knowledge
jut definitive crush on stuffed with
kinda usury

We do have a choice
agriculture agriculture make the world disappear
a friend in jesus

Last time she was dressed like a bad lady.

Drape purr. The delicious doughnut drains of, hydration. In a minute or two coffee.

Not sure what the problem is. Never run into this problem. We can be sure. I’m a drift in a sea I doubt. Catch the mystery, before it catches you.

Robert Chrysler, Robert Chrysler, Robert Chrysler likes your link. They were blamed for the bubonic plague by everyone for really no reason. I cook a mean roast beef, mean bagels and mean cream cheese, mean assonance when we say we want it that way, in this general direction. When does it become too easy?

The bills associated with business are enormous, but we figure into some clever plots to blow a bridge in Cleveland. I’m originally from.

Do you think catholic priests should be allowed to marry?

I think we may as well. When does too much meat become excess? Hot coffee and cold milk, sweet dreams are made of this. I’m wide-awake sweating.

snipped? I held scissors on streets
where power least touched
our bodies; sun ready to write
hymns in our flesh, arms

taken up with crush, dust.
Men and women program
soil to spill heat like infection’s
mouth that gulps gulfs

between gulls spun over dumps
and nets to keep fish in our bellies.
I’m the only one, coated
for easy swallow, and howling down

Long Walks In Bleach

An audio performance improvised poem, with funk and noise. Spoken word to your mother.

Standing holding food
among all the talk
to leak meat-smoke

Nothing

It’s been thirty years
since he took down
the loud warm hands
laughing at facing the deep
since he took down
the long breath before

and before that we were in
hot springs when
volcanoes ruled the earth

Oh I’d jotted down
the shape of his body

learn to repeat it
among all the talk
to leak meat-smoke

cracking my bones
the way a fire strips
all air
from the laugh deep
in his face before

And I know once and for all
caught nowhere

Talk traps you