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Friday, October 29, 2010

Densities 228

Halloween is purple and gray above

brown below

skeletons of poplars bend at the waist

and the white snows stir in the cold blue


and the blue rain

all the invisible blues

the sky that disappears

the sea that goes gray

the moon impaled on an icicle

that remains indifferent

I notice the stars are magnified

in cemeteries

it is the infinite that blankets our bones

with speech

and also muffles every utterance

in a chorus of inarticulate murmurings

the language of stone is about to be spoken


by the lipless ventriloquist whose silence

makes the dead dummies dance

Saturday, October 23, 2010

Densities 220

the last hour

the air gets thinner

takes so much longer

than all the rest

every minute sinks

in concrete

I am old enough now

to stay up and watch

the asphixiations

I shout at it to stop

but always stick to the


amidst pumpkinheads

and hyenas in formal attire

herpetologists hand out

the awards

once I was a pinky

half way down the throat

of a snake

the seconds ran away

like gazelles on fire

time was a small black spider

that ate its mate as soon as it

finished giving birth

Sunday, October 17, 2010


Metamorphosis reactor
mentally fingering
spinning my thoughts
to a suffering
and savory
my building

crawl up inside
my hollow
of long,
and lonely man’s
of spiral
and sorcerer’s stone;

lift deep
the smooth
of my casings
to moons
eating other
lost planet’s
and beg
at my alter
of heart
no more.

There are galaxies
thrumming beneath
my arch
of magnets
and skin
and turning
time dancers
with bursting
of stars
in centers
of orbiting pits—

begging life
and begin
and begin

Bring me your findings
by way of love letter,
to the demon
lurking inside
that long
Machiavellian hall;

address him as, Lumos
before leaving
your scent
of red rising wax
at the door—

then watch
as I eat
and then lick
my still
beating fingers,
and strip
my vibrating bones
at the gate
made of candle
and pillars
of smoke—

and know
we are all but a dream in the making
as our fate
being born.

my house of wind-chiming reed bones is becoming--so beautifully quiet

I can finally see myself

The sucker-punch to the gut

The crumbling walls shudder less—
floorboards grow roots in reverse;
time has stopped watching.

A cloud-shaped woman
holds the spider’s end string
baring her home’s
knotted frame.

Owls come to her windows to pray.

It is so quiet.

The house remembers her days
in Eden’s woods—

sees through each tree’s eye,
hears the heartbeat with the ears of deers,
the song of her skirt lifted high.

It is dead quiet.
Gone quiet.
These walls are alive, quiet.
Gossiping staff gone home for the day,

after hours, quiet.

I feel my pulse in every limb.

An owl turns its head to see—
bite the head off the lazy horizon.

When He comes
peeking around walls—
a neo-natal vacuum made of dust.

He is the same every time:

nothing to say with no mouth;
nothing to do but keep watching.
He’s all eyes—
God’s perfect indifference.

Screaming outside.

And singing.

A parade of Hawaiian-shirted guests
walk single file
into the dripping blood sunset.

They are chatting:

praising in awe
the midnight gazelle
diving in
and back out
of Her golden thatched roof;

the new boss
to hell.

Saturday, October 16, 2010

Densities 210

I might have 20 summers left if

I live long enough

I will caress each of them

with lightning over the mainland

wind storms that shake the trees loose

piece by piece

while the waters rise up

while the sun scorches the cities

while wild men massacre themselves

in the name of God the Economy

and the beast in the seed that lingers

I have always loved the dust

in all its forms and figments

as it slips untouched through my fingers

Sunday, October 10, 2010

remembering michaux

Against the window of your nakedness –
a mortal frost
eyelid against shoulder falls
to solitude that sorrow cannot mend
and wakes to absence,
morning passing to exultant day.

And in Krakow,
before the thousand-eyed cathedral,
a man sinks to his knees
wreathed in the gliding breasts of pigeons.
He is singing almost without sound –
Panis Angelicus
light fails and the birds,
air lifting through their feathers like breath,
in vain do they use their silence to reach him –
it is absolutely in vain.


now that the world will not suffice
I come here to your beach,
and watch as gulls ride shifting planes of wind
your flapping coat a shadow over sand

it is not time to mourn,
surrender in absolving sleep
all that skin had sought and found in flesh
in beauty that no memory can restore
or change this moment to regret,
the suffocating wave,
from which we could not rise –
but we have risen
climbed through stormy air
to find a shape that darkness cannot shroud
nor time's dissolving breath disperse

and here, where saltspray carves
its pattern on the sea, I watch you paint
until the light is gone

Friday, October 8, 2010

Densities 202

my heart holding 3 people opens

it lifts the bar above my head

suddenly a multitude of strangers

in robes and hats and fine shoes

whose radio tongues babble nonsense

rachets the squeeze around my baubles

and my gemstones sing

another puts her head down in my lap

and weeps hopelessly alone

the others line up to be cured

in the name of the 3

of the 7 loaves

and the trees burning in our kisses