I bud off
into another I
whomb follows non-phantoms
moving outside
Saturday’s
reflection decrescendos and
acting on the nowbeat
snow forms
I bud off
into patient I
watching the reality rain
at nightside
Tomorrow’s
shadow rectangles
into loud, tumbling
possibles and
I bud off
into identical I
watching the barley fall
the thrill of the scythe
Litter
In the graveyard:
Outer space’s shadow
Borne on wild autumn wind: stings
My cheek
or redream your face
in water’s indecisive surface
fills obsidian vase
set centrally of wooden table
painted cracking white
.
to lick your teeth again
and tip turmoil over
and bow to blindness
tasting orange instead
either of those hot air balloons
roar
.
am i ivy?
were veins of you
ever antonyms –
did we even see
each other’s hands?
.
gasping and dancing
sweat of forest air
beads on spider threads
melting aviaries of mercury
.
frozen of viridian
uncontained sky bleeds out
in stranger’s memory
YFOA.PZXO.OVAL.WBKP.LCHB.V
PQL.QFJB.FQPB.ICFX.JPIL.TI
LR.APLC.QPQO.LKDC.XPQV.LRZ
X.KPBB.JBFK.IFKB.PXKA.YXOP
JBNU.SBQQ.FEJO.
XIBU.JNNB.EFPG
Small view I live my world through:
This cut-crazy luxometry, so plosive:
Twenty-eight you’s and me’s crash:
Wring colors into it: They’ll marry:
The same Patterns, same Matrices:
Their view I live my world through:
Light trapped alive in a wire cobweb:
Rectangles trapped in a well:
The same: I catch my views in the world:
Either/or cyclones, I wring with my hands:
Now you’re twenty-eighths: Colors collapse:
My small world of patterns and wires
Scrying her nine million microscopes,
Mind drunk on laniakoscopy, she
Plucks with lust a loom of golden leylines
Harplike to focus the nlimnite crystal
At her one Gargantua Particle
Bestowed on the angels each, like their gnames,
The Particle: a corpuscle of God:
She enstashed that hraw monad in her mind
Working an eviternity till now
To coeurprehend its weird architecture
Crystal, keys, chi-glyphs each in syzygy –
Sophia wrings a splash of ylem from an
Ygg tree growing in her laboratory –
Crazy apples cooling on the timepane:
A wicker basket of black holes for snacks
The sounds of Yes om slow and molten from
Her intricate instruments – unichords –
For now is the wowly kairos! she sings
And tipping accidentally, her cup
Dispills its psychedelicacies. “O!”
Dripsy daisy the liquid seeps in deep
Drench-and-drowning her only particle
Oiling over those glittering leylines
With the quality of oh no. The Oo
Eximploded and Sophia with it
I want my words
in bed
with your rods and cones.
I’m a young gun,
but I can rhyme some sounds
and I am down to go down on
some extended metaphor.
I want you
to open wide
your eyes
and I’ll do mine
and we’ll read each other
and scream things.
I want discursivity
and your fluidity
and your phenomenology
and ontology
on top of me.
Let’s talk.
Let’s have a
conversation
about your form,
‘cause it piques me, honey bee.
Get me off
this screen.
I’d love to be
between your sheets,
wet with ink.
Let’s alliterate a lot
and let lyrics lick little
liminal spaces lightly.
Let’s write each other letters and seal them with kisses then tear off the envelopes with the hunger of younger lovers.
Let’s let go.
God keeps talkin’ shit, Callin’ me out by name, Reminding me I’ve been made, In my own image, And she ain’t to blame. Her hands are clean Of my conscience, Even when she moves in, To slap my mouth silent, The sin-stain stays with me. I can’t wipe away the tears, Pooling […]
⨀ 