20 years

this is the hum that will take us there
background now, the throbbing operation

past is all here, but future depends
on this humming, absent calibration

reality, direction isn't fair
when you consider possibilities

as I cut this wake through soup or glass
what will be thrown upon the surfaces?

as I etch lines in this negative
who on the other side works against me?

I see twenty years of piss flying,
one clear brick of present with yellow waves.

pride, enemy

this grapefruit tree haughtily
honorably bursts into fruit
as a symptom of death.

these stunted ones do not have
a mature life; they turn yellow
small and drop, young and dead.

It was the juiciest tree
reluctantly drank lawn water
and stayed put in a freeze.

animated gif of his face replaced with jesus's during lightning II

Back in the cave, Reptily searches the men's pockets for liberty coins. Across the gorge, the high priests' sign has lost hold on one end. It now says:

E
I
D

E
W

"You bastards and your easy wages. I will take your future!"

The floor was seething with crickets, which were trying to sleep so did not chirp. One would try to scoot in further or mount another for comfort, and there would be a ripple effect across the entire herd. Their scratching and flicking whispered in the dreams of the courtiers.

"Only five. Only one kraplich. They have spit their lucre into whores."

An altar to the Fish Princess began to rock back and forth. Reptily stopped rummaging and grabbed her large golden hoop earrings.

"Bless me savior. You are pleased."

Reptily was neither bright nor curious. She repeated things her grandmother had often said out of superstition alone. Soon she had gathered eight more kraplich.

All Fire Burns

all fire burns
many barns lean
whistles may blow
work doesn't feed

all kids learn
many are keen
seeds may sow
sheep don't lead

all days turn
many aren't seen
cock may crow
eggs don't bleed

all milk churns
many meet the queen
banks may owe
rich don't need

all fire burns
many hearts stop
world may end
poor don't shop.

all fires burn
many don't smoke
love may heal
whores don't choke.

Craw of Day

windy black october night
she wanted to carve out her own place but
for demons that couldn't spell

all this vivid time and space
suspended in a dark obscene slime which
behaved as a godmother

each pumpkin plucked from amongst
the spew of vine couldn't not be rotten,
fruit of juggling cats or eggs

which is why in these small hours
she and I and a whiskey sour spit rinds,
stir with impunious bats

we dine at one right from the
cauldron or play canasta like spiders,
throw runes, sing, or speak freely

and crawling back, november
morning, silver, bearing too sweet a light,
the dead craw of day widens.

cargo of diamond and no shields -or- Countries Starving in His Rectum

grinning picaro,
chock full of gold dust,
invites his ruin.

over-shoulder glance,
the butt shooting gems,
wings of spun candy.

tight yellow curls in-
furiate the dogs,
lips of lamb roast taste.

O patrona de
los cazadores
que nos ayudes

to stick him with a
pin on parchment, a
pen to sop the stain.

deification of gay men

once we were pirates
now here there they van-
ish, sprites, resemblanc-
es. you: symbol of

the gone. pert fairies
appear around us
like good friends fading.
goodbye! elfin trove.

raptor in a tree

Sylvia stepped out of her office and noticed a raptor in a tree.

There were no pre-prepared vittles in the cafeteria that afternoon.

Roof rats had been invading houses in the area since the typhoon.

In his depression, Alex explained that he could only see himself as another dirty link in the food chain.

At sunset, a huge visual distraction had begun: the Blood Moon, or Autumnal Equinox.

like a horny crown of thorns

pool water keeps dripping
from my hairline, a
long way to go.

my bare palms were lifted
toward the phone wire,
all akimbo.

the god priapus shrunk
from the thorough soak-
ing. stigmatoed.

forgot what i was going to say

because when I slid past you
in the narrow hallway
you jammed my frequencies

and like some hydroelectric therapy
all thoughts and memories were purged
and replaced with the hem of your tanktop.

now i remember it was to be a
dirge, a plea for it not to get worse:
"The Strong Desire to Erase Tomorrow"

not wet like mars

faces in the moon tonight
are irritated primitive men;
the sun we can explain.

fat hitler is cheeky, now
has sideburns, now does not;
skeleton face has a normal

back of head; then the two
pulling taffy masks, each
seeming to protrude from

the other's brain. earlier,
it was the solid rim in heaven/
demonstration of a circle

as not a shape at all, but
rather nature herself, a
drop or stain, beaten up

the spinning started by
blows, a golpe, as a boxer's
jaw becomes weak.

then the babbling starts,
tongues wagging at the sight:
that circle becomes a hook

and rather stays there, grinning
it has no effect on us
except for it's cold breathing

it seems to say that our lives
have no meaning. deadness
of dust, not tundra that jets

into the atmosphere
when a tragectile hits.
the moon can be deceiving.

this bowl of dust

zeros in the long years
somewhere we stepped through them
tires on the roadside

someone flipped a pancake
all surfaces are fried
chaos, pain is general

when they call the flag in
our sky is pink and brown
this pole could be nowhere

our windows are lit squares
motors rage between them
storms approach, moths to flame

they've drawn your name again
be quiet till it rains
you can slither away.

Land of No Bumps

We don't expect bumps here
this is an ancient lakebed
where someone's ancestors
feared the goddess Cahuilla
who may rise to reckon back
her waters, but no bumps.

If a mark in the terrain
appears, we slam the brakes
for the vehicles through the
years have flattened into
sleds, hovercrafts, skiffs.
We didn't bleed in the

first two wars to have
bumps in our traffic. The
naiades tossing their hair
in grief smoothed the sands;
their sorrow did not broom
to be stuck in ditches.

vietnam vet

i don't think i'm gonna kill myself; i think i'm gonna die.

if my body standing up, my life, my perception, was a pie

chart, the bottom right quartile, measuring from my eyes,

would be on fire. this is the type of flame as from a hardwood log,


like it won't go to ash. It's in back of me; it starts just a centimeter

behind my peripheral vision on the right, extends about as far

as my arm stretched out, circles back behind me, like a police officer's

got me in an elbow and wrist lock, with my face up against bricks.


when I drink it crawls up top of my head like a laughing squirrel

on a farmer's cap. Asleep maybe I turn and face it; i turn a lot

of ways, like i'm rolling in it. when i wake its pulled

down over my eyes, a firing squad blindfold.

i march off to coffee like it's my last cup.

pig latin plath

Alloonsbay
Ylviasay Athplay

Incesay Istmaschray eythay avehay ivedlay ithway usway,
Uilelessgay andway earclay,
Ovalway oulsay-animalsway,
Akingtay upway alfhay ethay acespay,
Ovingmay andway ubbingray onway ethay ilksay

Invisibleway airway iftsdray,
Ivinggay away iekshray andway oppay
Enwhay attackedway, enthay ootingscay otay estray, arelybay
emblingtray.
Ellowyay atheadcay, ueblay ishfay ----
Uchsay eerquay oonsmay eway ivelay ithway

Insteadway ofway eadday urniturefay!
Awstray atsmay, itewhay allsway
Andway esethay avelingtray
Obesglay ofway inthay airway, edray, eengray,
Elightingday

Ethay earthay ikelay ishesway orway eefray
Eacockspay essingblay
Oldway oundgray ithway away eatherfay
Eatenbay inway arrystay etalsmay.
Ouryay allsmay

Otherbray isway akingmay
Ishay alloonbay eaksquay ikelay away atcay.
Eemingsay otay eesay
Away unnyfay inkpay orldway ehay ightmay eatway onway ethay
otherway idesay ofway itway,
Ehay itesbay,

Enthay itssay
Ackbay, atfay ugjay
Ontemplatingcay away orldway earclay asway aterway.
Away edray
Edshray inway ishay ittlelay istfay.

my brank

i feel thankful now that I am allowed a pen. the scold's tongue may be a weapon unfairly turned on others already weary with their own complaints, but mine, now aching so but with much less blood and spittle, is just an instrument of the words that will be there and be there and want to take to air no matter how Richard or the children or the neighbors or the council or my loving parents would like the member static. It's a rambunctious little worm though, I can feel it burn way in the back even when I spell the sound of r. I must learn-- ouch!-- to let my mind and its words have their freedom without betraying my body with signs of thought or ill feeling toward others. There i've written most of all that without a twitch. I believe it's not the blade as much-- for I've learned to relax the naked monster into the bed of my lower jaw to avoid slicing outright-- as much as a little nub of metal on a part that had not been envisioned as a jabber-- ha! jabber-- as a connecting bar to hold the four-bladed spike at the threshold of my gagging parts, so that I must be careful even taking soups when I swallow. This little nib must have been created while the metal was still hot; something nicked it, maybe the corner of an anvil. It's certainly bugging me now with the wound its created which i am sure is tiny but thats grown a hard defensive bruise all about it and a good deal of pus, from the taste. It's the little things that get you.

Who'd have imagined me, of all, taking the road of the wench, the corseted rebel, with my solid and treasured fame for years as a source of comfort from my wealth of verses, freely shared, even if I had to put something down. Hanging Jill's stockings on the fence or clipping kindling from a wrecked carriage can always come second to engagement with a fellow communitarian soul. Dick would prefer i stick to business, of course, and of course now i forever shall, His grace being abundant.

But I can still hear Auntie Shama's stories of our Christ and his pain a million times more searing than this silly brace. They couldn't even get the ring to stay in place when they tied me to a mule post on the green. Were there old friends present at the public penitence who witnessed my quiet patience and respectful demeanor even as I stood there with the rusted cuff, salvaged from an old brig, pulled loose from the rotten wood, dangling about my waist? Standing just behind the vicar as I was, would it have upstaged him further-- perhaps there was cause for condemnation even then-- as a lady with less pride might have fallen, fainted, or even tried to run and jump down the well, with her hands locked fast in mode of prayer? That they would have understood; they would have understood me then.

But now I am on this path, where it takes me. Goody Beth returned to a measure of favor-- they had her lighting candles and giving out sprigs of lavendar at Thursday vespers. Even women who were never her peers, maybe especially them, found it easy to smile and thank the poor wife and exchange an earnest Godbewith, even with her funny way of speech since then.

animated gif of his face replaced with jesus's during lightning

Again, the priests reminded them the end was near. Shu Volcano was rumbling in the near distance as if pleased after the meal of virgins and handicapped.

We wondered if previous generations had felt as though they walked in a dream of imminent destruction. The bones tasted good.

Reptily, our Persian maid, hit the gong with a pig's skull on a stick. "Time for prayer!" You couldn't even argue with slaves when it came to P time. She shrieked as if it were raining liberty coins. We considered beating her after the second bell, but most of us fell asleep during Promise of Blood and woke with our faces in our Ga bowls after the lizards had shifted well behind the smoke stain.

It was still true. The keepers had spelled it simply in Tu vines hanging from their cliff loft: "we die. "

symbiosis of ice cracking underfoot

b's white bitch tried to hump him as they were about to leave. pool robot keeps flipping over on its back. windborne sludge is gone, but it's still artificial-blue soupy. b's pups are trained to luv only; everything else is reflex. they said it would learn the layout of the bottom with its tiny electronic brain. now i am its organic helper.

a flat tire and two weekend days slapping dirtily forward. just keeping things filtered is a heroic measure. flotsam is not sickness if you can get it off you.

some things rise to the surface but just can't pop. some people's faces look like they're bearing a high lateral wind. my decay creates homes for other creatures.