bumbleweed & tumbleweed

bumbleweed mist, puritanical
liturgies gurgling

atop the riverbed; average
tulipped rosaries

wishing the cant possible; a
mouthpiece avariced

from the throat of abandon;
this whistle caws

tumbleweed strays from the
green rosebed

wintering the bushes, posing
as wordbubbles

do; the resin is perturbed
by treble & whirr

as each petal remembers, the
bramble caws

a steady incipience

footsteps of the sun seek to
light up the way out of the

thick; each remembrance is
the echo of a million stars

coalesced; the stars are not
the footsteps that carve a

lighted niche: they are lit
up by the smile of child who

runs ahead of others; where
is the shroud of harm to contain

such joy? the sun has returned.

a steady incipience, margins

enamored of itself, crowd,
since, bun

of light, verisimilitude, a

a steady indulgence of cross

y emancipations, widgets of

to admit the river being spent   its mind full of pebbles  its art condensed into butterflies  we care to admit the river   its place long and full of antonyms  we stand to admit the river  its art condensed

I ferret out the difference

I ferret out the difference that one
night will bring to a bald molecule;
a bright sunlit droop of the atom’s
mother and its barricades of solemn
attendants jumping up and down levels

of undisputed energy; I ferret out the
mourning parachute, the catapult that
hymns and toots; the ferry of fate and
the roast of lacquer and drool; I ferret
out the boast of my cancer and multiply.

Most of my luck is in service of
   dirt; its what to do is
   axiomatic; its have and
   have is torn; but you

Can ask me for the time of your
   day, and I will respond; you
   can tell me if it needs me
   to feel, and I will respond.

poet as abstract

the truesomeness of the abstract

forms an inadequate tryst with

& grasps the root the supple dint

of root & miss – the grappled un

what is manged by the volume of verity   it is dust’s own   what is sung by tremor by noon’s surrender by the tap of a hungry chord   it is dust’s own   we cannot arrange this word as it falls off the tapestry   it is done   it is the opposite of word   the scene is rife with other words   it is dust’s own

The arbitrary plonk is
this river’s demure

upbringing; it will swim
when it can, and when

its wrists slacken, you
don the filament of ash

Perhaps you
  tuned your
  mouth as the wash of ancient

Mouths would
  have you do;
  perhaps your art of deliverance

Is shoulder
  and head,
  and perhaps this too is oblique

come listen to this hoot

An astute asphaltic
      child; “you are born with
      out a star on your back, you

Care with the bee’s
      whistle, don’t you?” the
      reindeer will not begin to

Cry now, it is not the
      hour nor the wish of
      day to mourn; such is such.

when becoming streams past
    as the firemaiden sneaks
    you in custody

of her lair, the most, the
    womb, the ire of birth
    when becoming screams

past as the firechalice casts
    hubris as option, praxis
    as molecular dystopy

this triple adversary: i) bang
   of night’s reluctance

ii) salutary premonitions that
   breach every uttering

that maws the goo, floors pits
   iii) our ague, valour


o votary of speech/mang
led vituperated railing

o vesper lying thrashed
threshold of residuals-

o vine of mangle vitupe
ration railing ghast vo

id thrust into volition

the dagger bites your heart in
tiny decibels

come listen to this hoot this un
lie true to

nothing but the sound of scratch
and urn &

hiss turn blather…

the blade & its etch

In the repose dances distance
wary of the

flick of the pencilburn, wary
too of armor

the blade and the stencil patched
with arbor and

the smell of corporeality – burnt
avidness about
the small bit, the heavy bold auxiliary, the riot that spells rain – we call the blades by their name we slip on the timetables of a timeless parrot we give a little twist to the auxiliaries of emancipation and the rain spells riot, the names call out their blades, the bit is small in a parroted way: actual about auxiliary
when the etch of a glass eye torments
shade when

the bulge of the rootness in your binge

you tear the pulmonary rasp you sting
as if your

ear your inner ear hurts by the sound
of reason &

you wait delicately carrying the burden
of treason
This rut through which the green
passes, this

ponderance, often, etched, extempore –
we tend to

break often in estimation, the kinds
of wordplay

rendered are probabilistic, multi-
The large exuberance has tooth
In its stead; for ever the
Blade stunned with smear, with
Blade stunned with smear, the
Reason why everyone turns red

The large exuberance has brought
Sun, dew, twine, and the blood
Of christ where it was needed
Most, where it was needed most,
In the tunnel, in the window of

This harsh wool; the large exuberance
has blue in its eye; for ever the
Mother will stoke lucid care, stoke
Lucid care, stumble where it may, in
Void, rubble, the blare of heaven.

consolation in the chemical

the momentous
raven calls and you slip out into another

rote music momentous
craven your soup of missed remembrances

momentous oft
heaven is your mouth’s orangeness vivid

as in momentous
raven calls and you slip out into another

consolation in the chemical

there is consolation in the chemical
in the institution   as potency   as

latent wishes crawl and store stones
where crumbled hashtags whisper anew

entitlement is a chemical dependency
on soulless repetition - wow the axe

tow the wonder - self be-hoved  with
in with/out      wondering chemistry

the aspiration is tangential

the aspiration is tangential to plane of solicitude manged heart tumorous 
bulb of an unspoken want - 
    the aspiration is tangent
    it is too bold to respire
    too clouded in sweat bile
    fear to breathe too dross

the aspiration is tanned to a hue that soots the sun manged heart tumultuous 
bulb of a spoken haunt -
    the aspiration is tyranny
    it is too caught in fires
    too meshed in sweet brine
    fear to breathe too dross

the poem poses

Here there is a simpler explanation

By a fire entombed in a nether tepidity

Sooner than we could wish it born; here
Is that

Ancillary hope which precedes the beginning
Of time

the poem poses

the poem poses for a while midstream is
where nuance bodes a fire a river stone
bulge of neolithic shadows carve itches

of rumination lax halfhearts cusp of me
you and the terrific other show us this
leewayed path out of a nuanced ruminary

Now when it’s season, now when
The dime of willing

Has settled to bore, it runs –
Now when the bone

Runs dry, the season will turn
And say, “son of a

An unwilling god, why is there
Need to wish now?”

ounce of a pitter

The deepened stare
             gaze ounce of a pitter
    whiles   us to remove the lens
    wishes   us to prove the lemma

the flip
the absolute opposite of the
atomic grip

sieving its potent portent
and you rip

the sleeve that arms the mince
that bears

no brunt no grief no filament
that brews

& hahs

smitten by road its voice of
love endured/brief ly smitten by

trope its loss of move eyed/easy
ly smitten by the new its wish

of dove pieced/low ly smitten


i) flecks of the improbable, seen
in the nonsense

light of expectation ii) tripping
solemn, light,

as if crusted day is slave to the
roving eye

iii) so many statuettes of hope,
so little time

iv) we shall agree to meet half
way and then let

time absolve us from ever having to
remember v) the

having of the needless eye needled
into extravagance

vi) spools of nervous laughter asking
more from less

vii, viii, ix) the cathedraled temple,
spectacled toyness,

dry embrace of the relicced other.

Sidestepping tradition

You sidestep tradition, its mope,
Gather, drool,

Drop and muster. You prolong its
Swipe by terror

Izing each syntactical misappro
Priation & why.

You sidestep the wish of
Reason, its

Meandering in cesspoolish
Wonder and

What is ought

But the thought out rut?