POT

MANHATTAN RIDING ATOP HER HEAD



Abyss horizon and when my horizon is skyscrapers
Dream-day is this glorious aftermath of
Shattered glass and egg yolks across the
Busy ever-busy walk

I Took time off of work at the Boot and Shoe store
Out of Fathattan to twist around the forest
The girl in red
The wonderful cliché’
Of a twist and sprout
Darling-smear and twist that soft glorification

The Edge of New York
Sunsets and the slender

BUG SILENCE

RADIO WAVES



Set the island of bones up to the Indians cloud
On a bed of eagles wings
Resting in peace in the tigers jaw

Close up to the roar
Going limp
From dancing on the banks of the abyss

Every next choice
I will meet you on the platform
Collar up with hands jammed
Ghosts coming up from the pelvic

I wait






THIS TO THE ABYSS


When the sea falls onto the earth
From the sky
Or from the horizon
Miles of calm flat smooth tenderly
Flesh of the abyss

To where we know nothing
But to listen
To hear the rising of your eyes
To hear the splendid sight of a blasted fuzz space

I can feel the heart of another
One of those other towns
With main street vessels and lighthouses
Coasted rock with jagged tooth marks on
Thighs and split lips in the frigid cold

Obsessed with struggles
Then when a smile or even the most remote
Instance of feeling
Act upon it with space noise
The kind that make the sun sound loud

Yet with a vision of blasting out atmosphere
Just to hear how loud it is outside the helmet
A rotted vegetable that is sinking right back into the wormhole
With that vision I get the other side of substance by
A lighting blast of a cemetery on fire

Feeling it to the bone
Ever been thrown down maybe a mouth
Full of water
Till choke and throttle
As one we conquer ourselves

Three Poems

MOTORCYCLE


Dark deserts with shadow bones
Dancing along

Turning out the shooting stars
One after another and one more
For the blind man
My greatest fate will be describing the
Vibration that comes with a shooting star
Over old best friend beach in Massachusetts

Spinning a big catch of kisses
Twirling out a meteorite that will
Pummel the
Flesh to the melting point













FULLLY CLOTHED IN A FIT


It all turned out like this
Beautiful
Or
Falling over and getting up
Yes oh yes and wake

Women falling over
Spilling their lips
The drinks kept coming
With the turn of the hours
They kept pouring down

Like a shadow in fast motion
As the coming dawn
Saints take to the streets with
Whiskey and sunglasses

They take to the hills
The rise of morning and my blood
Is murk








WEIRD EAR

I heard something weird in my ear
So I leaned harder into it
Into the soup of your whisper