MastoPelagic

Still normal or Norwegian

Some wet light beams through town

Wet fishing the streets or corroding

The bank face and street mood

With cold, wet ship light, what is after

The radio and disasters of weather

What stings through line-of-sight

And whale sounds jaw loading

Dark shapes from ripple beams.

Saskatchewan brims landed

Solidarity in grass shelves, girds

Not fear of slipping, falling into

What is the water, sufferable held breath,

Not city shaped, sewer of burning lung.

June 24, 2006

"Now then, thought I, unconciously rolling up the sleeves of my frock, here goes for a cool, collected dive at death and destruction, and the devil fetch the hindmost."

--Herman Melville, Moby Dick

Old Betrayal Mountain Road

Into Hot Springs, everything leads to Hot Springs.
Away from anywhere, Tennessee, that road stalked by ghosts.
The Confederacy of Suffering. Prisoners forever of history.
You can find me hidden in a holler in between.

Fang Bastard

Squeezing the Tubes


Beyond the Cave of the Fang Bastard


Wrong in the head


Or just fucked


Squeeze the well, toe stubber


Your rage feels furry too


The Fang FANG bastard


Revel in the tubes to machine


Mind a way out of this beef stride of impotence


Think of little Bruce Dickenson


In his SaXon fur bikini


Belting badland badassed despite ridiculous nakedness


Squeeze the Fang Bastard


Into the cave

The Envelope of Hornets

Which shelf bubbles up skin
The sketched out mothers huddle
On the dive dock moored too out
In the current, they give thanks.

Fish and alligators mimic indifferent
Habits, buy some hotdogs and gaze
Off at the Spanish moss and cypress
Kneels. Meanwhile the hornets

Collect the beach, the sand and gift
Shop. The spring burps up another
Set of mastodon bones, a million

Years set adrift and still a current
Of fear makes its way to the surface,
Finds a crowd to press into the corner.

Cruelty

When I relapse, it'll be straight into a pine box.
They can say He did it to drown the jagged thing
In his belly, That which made him hurt. You and me.
That way I can be ahead of the game.
When the Radiation Cloud calls us to Rise Again,
I won't have to run away. It'll just be a matter
Of clawing to the surface. Released from the weight
Of feeling anything except want.

Negate

Another black chapter, words crossed out
Whole sentences, ragged, the pages fluttering
In a harsh wind. There is no way to make this better
There is no other way than to pass straight through.

Goat Song

And revised to wit
Like the bombshell or afterward
In the tabloids
Pills each inference tangos to
Ordained the ever rafters
Diminished, canticle organization
Resist the smooth juncture’s fetish:
Farm-rooted to the bleary contest.

Absolve oh detangler, absolve
The mesh nylons, the fast fact
Of continence, obey

Lurch church custodian of the watermark

Hang two corsets in the lumberyard
Next to a knotted dream
Carpathian wheat grinders in stockinged
Resistance stand up and goat dance
The Metal finger flags delivered
To skewer, prancing daggers of impotent rage.

One nimrod squanders the fringed
Leather jacket on warm afternoons
To loungey spring-like for hard looks and metal
Accessories, soon the skull rings and cross necklace
Give over to a crack in the car seat
Floor mats of obscured treasure

Excess in the soft core, the switch of hair
For music the concession of mind

To will, to wit, read about it
One farm raised length of angry resistance
Three chords heavy, some drums.

The House of Poetry Slated for Demolition.

28 days later Sandra Bullock gets
Consumed by zombies and not in the nice way.
31 days later Baby May has Toofers
And She Bites.

Rodney the third shift C.A. for our floor
Told me last night that God is in your feet:
Keep them moving.

Rehab Poem Attributed to Todd S.

This alone is what I wish for you: knowledge
to understand each desire has an edge
to know we are responsible for the lives
we change. No faith comes without cost.
No one believes without dying
now for the first time
I see clearly the trail you planted
what ground opened to waste
though you dreamed a wealth
of flowers.

There are no curses-only mirrors
held up to the souls of gods and mortals
and so I give up this fate, too
Believe in yourself,
go ahead, see where it gets you.

Rita Dove, Demeter's Prayer to Hades

goddamit that's annoying.

Simplemental

Suppose imminent suppository




















Candle to fabric exact exquisite





















Composition detaxed from fashion






















Shoe storm quake to the ubertide





















Comminatchya whachitnow























Bend over waxcakes we got your





















Remedies in a ball wax and rubber banded























To disband the group’s grippy edge























On the whole caboodle, wax myrtle






















Whole tide in a tiny bullet shaped suppository























Hold um up, stretch it open and smile






















Wide like a turnpike























Scalpel insertion this time temple dream



























You got your heart on. It’s a bleeder.































.

On Radar

Prance your royal























Pain in the













Nefertiti pie





















So squelch – there it is again



















Sasquatch



















Turd.




















Bleach Bonnet





















Her moral tax





















Skews the seesaw





















Bonnet –there it is again


















Prance your royal























Bounce monger




















Destabilize the pile – there it is





















Your kindred knipes






















Mushroom handsome
























Wallet – there it is again























Bounder, blurred blonesom drub




















Third bonnet



















In the punch bowl



















There it is

















The wax coat



















The punch in the ribs.

Eschatological

A mounded wooden heart
Carries more cargo than a man’s intestine

No one disputes this, but
The agency of manners sends forms
To all the employees and their information
Levels, ordained by blue haired women
Crouching over tea sets
And television data sheets

Mark dark exes next to the matter
Which is substantial
And red smiley faces next to that
Which has virtue but no form.

Tempers flair in the bulwark section
Of the local ship works.

Reductive Shrine

Or sallow in this light your bonnet
Hovers teaming with special forces

Rope down ladder sophist, head on
Train rail, bob like a nail

Bomb the front style with hearing
To Doric convention, the high bonnet

To shred up, to layered reduction
In the pot, plastic consumptive

To her opiate virtues. What
Makes us sleep, how we cry to defeat

The bad ones, feeling like whispers
To retch from, to screen from

The orders to demean, to prop up
Coronate, be-haloed candle operation.

Squash Bonnet

Reach down valley, around
To something, new shelving

Ignore the candles and knives
For children, for disaster relief

Hello, hello, your pills are ready
Is there anyone left to take these?

What do hear in the echo back
But teeth filling in for captivity

The sun in a sluice of dry rot
Somewhere near the leaf line

So rock climb to a rehearsal diner
Get fitted for star sighting

Get it down for me, ok, my hands
Are shaking, draw bridge to the show.

SUBterranea

subterranea

As they investigate
So enormously, we dredge
Facile, fact-bombs, hope-bombs
Prehensile projects of the tonsil
Unearthed lounges

Lozenge to the tripe, trip
In stone leading half and half
To Subterranea
The destination of a clod
Of bones, the sample decay
Threaded through with
The off-road tread
Which nightly deranges a housefire
With gowns of sound clawing
To consciousness the wet earth
Her scarlet intention

The names withdrawing to canvass
On tombstone, the all-terrain
Scramble of some time-balls;
In with the oils, gray-green
Like candy in a dead rat’s mouth
On the highway, you pestilent
Exterminator, how long do
The carcasses make circus
Statues? How long do they remain
Soft Sundays in the hot-hot
Tabernacle

Heavy migrant
Foot beats through the mitigated
Darkness
Shamble my prayer box
Into splints for broken bones
Broken dream stems and bicycle
Accidents
Trauma like a toad, like a dream
Of a toad, the gentle bump
In the high far off
Caressing the highway
To accident.

Neufchatel Hopes

The scalpel sees its ancestry

In the hanging plastic casement
Where dog’s put their ribs out

To restraint.

Scatter my ashes on a lovely salad

Which costs an entire family reunion

I am cold, I am cold, telegrams the scalpel

Spending time on my habits

What the common folk worry about

T-shirts eating their children
Postering them like an invasive species

With opinions.

I Smell A Winner

Yet blurred, buried like knives
In hatchet ground, mistake:
Cued out

Blanket stain
If you know the name of monarch
Please press one.

Yet stirred the bowl primordial
Stalwart rubber knife
In the back.
You tried, I felt it like unhinging in
A dream, the fryer still on
Somewhere in the dark:
We all hold our hands
Away from the counter tops

Stainless.
Yet high the hats surmount
Yet blaze order from magazines:
Stumps of soup, ingredients
Shaved off
The finger, a carrot maker,
Juicer-exploder

Or better yet
Confuse me some more with a map
A phone head,
Set to jaw.

If you know the name of the crime
Being committed, press one

Check out this knife:
Chewy, My favorite.

There’s all here.

Steak Knuckles

Another reason for the military
To bomb the civilian order

Eyes
The sought for
Head

Shares the tomb with my concentration.

What few economic meat-hooks.
So many went wrong to the tender eye

The brilliant engines
Planting their own careers
Into the surgical opening

Phamrcon breaths out from
The chips in my head

Or fuel celled urging
Me to bloody a wall with frustrated

Steak. My page telling on me,
My rage a sharp rock beckoning.

Blah blah, god. Merciful incoherence
Blah blah infinite
The heads rolled out
Perched on marching boots.

Armies of the Undead