Walking opposite the moon

our hopes inside its fleshy pockets,

spotlighting teeth and the whites of eyes, wide and vacuumed.

All while the city below dissolves in its particles overnight…

Composting the garbage dumb Govindas.

Dumping its shadow into the sewers we created out of shaving cream, pet fish and semen.

I’m standing outside my outline

drying my heart out in the pages of a spineless book.

Wringing chicken blood from kitchen rags with arms cut deep in seasoned salt.

As rats bathe in the shadow of the Redwoods- anticipating angelhood.

I am spitting broken teeth like stars onto the soil,

planting love into the dead grass, I am meat fooled into repose.

Flies in the kitchen of heat and stink…I am your substance…

Walk along my curves and corners ingesting crumbs and morsels that fall misgiven on my clothes. Bloating, the puddles of nervous ants drowned in the quiet of oak tree worship.

And it’s all a familiar comfort, an easy dream, teaching me the dark of its corners…

like this hole in my sock.

And I think I’ve been here before focusing on the cardboard box of whatever punched out winking its flaps at me…

Knocking on some memory in an eternal midnight page.

Flicking away a spent cigarette looking for the sun to come on stage again tomorrow.

Illuminate my dimming thoughts, my beads of sweat and knuckle scars.

An ecstasy hangs in the mind, tricking darkness upon my dream wall.

There's a fire settling on my shoulder blades, cracking under the weight of the white sky.

And there hasn't been a city yet where we haven't met.

We're on this bloodless highway sprawling like tentacles of thoughts forming out your mouth

every word is a delicacy,

even here in the desert…

Where an ocean labored to fashion life out of its sand

eaten up by the sun upon the take of a first breath.

And I'm left trying to turn this heat into a single sun ray, tuck it deep inside my eye for later…

Holding onto petals of flowers I've murdered to press inside a book…

So later we can know this again like we did today.

In 1989

I awoke in Ladispoli,

an inception of consciousness rose from the bed with me…

disarming my sleep,

against dust with form and rhythmic quality

I tiptoed to the opened balcony…

Bums in the sewers sang in their

sea salted skin.

While the Tyrrhenian nightfall aired, gasping from dream

I slumped my eyes over crumbs and a council of pigeons beneath…

The timing and tone teased unrest from my heart.

As I watched the galaxy part with its lights.

Enough for walls of the buildings to weep.

While the sky opened its eye and stared right back into me

I went BOOM!

and swallowed it whole with the stink and perfume making gods in the point of the light in me.

I grow a visceral fever right here

in between line breaks and stanzas

where time shows and

reveals in a space

my Borrowed

and Drifting

stages of Wandering

In the park there's Gypsy technicians

engineering freedom around the oak trees that lead to nowhere.

And I would have hung around

saddled in the stars titling in the shadow of foreheads passing by.

I would've dragged the constellations nearer to the earth.

A midnight blue scattered around my waist.

Turning gold in the pink flesh of the crooked arms of the moon.

In February.

But,

I'm capturing blood in my head instead.

Dashing mentally into what seems an eternal corner.

Rolling in cross legged nothings of restless meditations and spent cigarettes choked between my fingers.

I am hungry.

And I don't dance very much anymore.

I sigh about it and start to believe it.

Sing it like a song.

Biding my time

battling the urge to break bread under a bridge...

Losing my sense of traffic upon the rivers dimpled wave smaller than a hush- booming-

make room for my eyes caught in the privacy of trash bags whistling against the wind.

I'm fighting against this poem

Because it reminds me of how desperate madness was to dance with me

Undone by its own weakness

I’d like someone to look me in the eye and know exactly what I mean.

I’d like a ditch instead of a city.

Like before the inventions stole the magic out of me

Before a wrinkled space replaced the feel of a labored manual embrace.

I want to smell the smoke of a climaxed match

strike it as I exile the love from the corner of my smiling mouth and toss the flame into existence.

Jerk and watch a deal the devil made with me in Vegas...

Exchanged a single heartbeat for 20 dollars worth of gas...

In that space between the beats

I pumped blind rage into my viens.

“Sign the dotted line my dear and watch the gates close on your dreams”

he said while leaving me alone with the sun in the desert.

Lets go,

Before the time on my shoes runs out and they forget the feel of the avenue

Before my listening too closely resembles another message from the dead.

I promise myself that dawn will barge the rooftops opposite the sun again.

Staring at the moon laid stupid in a cloud,

as I’m eye to eye with brake lights

Taking inventory of my dreams.

I wouldn't want to spoil my appetite just yet,

already full of honored guests in the pit of my void.

I am not alone in this vehicle

Driving…

In the perfect flavor of my age

Helpless in the great beyond

Stupefied in the eye of eternity.

The unrest I find while sitting still

approaching stars like moving targets

misfiring my will crushed thrown in heaps with all the trash…

Taste buds bloom in the wreckage of caffeine,

unflattering

I drowned a phrase traveling across my tongue.

Its shipwrecked death sticks to spaces of my teeth.

Whistling I walked my mind away from it, proud of how I murdered it despite surrendering.

Unlike the

Locusts

And the boils

Or the blood of the first born

A taste heard only in my head

I'm stealing some joy from the narrowing back of the river.

Take its ribcage deep into my eye,

sunken in sun...

Gifting me it's clumsy souvenir,

the ceaseless dance, an unrehearsed eternal choreography.

Around the muddy fingers of its bank,

despite the protests growing in its mouth from fallen trees.

I desire to describe the air between the captured images in words...its taste of me as it loses its name tangled in my tousled hair, its feel on me and its own feelings as it strikes and rushes past my cheek…

maneuvers around the corner of the groove above my lip- parted in syllables unborn and mysterious to me.

And I realize my flaws are perfectly refraining from a wish because they're flawless.

A prelude to the ghosts of word

I'm an ocean oscillating

sitting in a Thai take out place

Spice infused the big FEELING rippling through my veins, explode out my chest with cumin

All the waters of me in attempts to confine press wicked against their own death, flooding to turn a void into an occupied deluge.

Some have a fling with words sporadic out of lust...

inflamed in temporary heat until the sweet and self serving release undoes them-

Mine's a love affair ethereal and engulfing...

indugled in privatized entanglement complete with rawness, newness, numbness and endless seas on fire …across all time and galaxies hung silent in my eyes.

Wore my comfy clothes to sit and wait for sustenance, so please do not disturb.

I am an event in process

in constance… situated between a pick up counter and someones loud breathing...and they have no idea about this wild ride I'm on.

My words are finite just as each letter begins and ends with the mouth of a pen- gives life to a word and ends its purpose with a graceful but heinous withdrawal from the page.

I will end not the words but the fiber that breathed life into them.

As I nauseously sit in my waters.

Holding an Ocean within my small frame is imploding...

Each drop on fire.

It's thunder in my throat.

It's lightening in my teeth

Walls around me closing in

I'm crumbling.

I am not made for love stories

She says “just look at the butterflies”

I talk to dead friends through live friends

while I walk the dog

into morning dew dressed grasses, plants and flowers feeding on the sun.

My thin fingered lashes play catch with the rays grasping the light to keep it, to bring it...

it aims its arrows at my skull

I am the keeper

The wanter of want

The escaped

Returned to myself in one morning

I have ghosts standing over my shoulder and the death toll is staggering…

I evoke their names

sometimes while driving and catching a sight of birds flapping into existence

or a motorized hum in the distance

Susan…

The dead heroes lined up and coded by color alphabetically entombed on my shelf are a joke.

The true heroes are the ones who tried to hero themselves out from under the teeth of sharks and got caught up in electric wires left out by idiots to smoother some sense of a spark.

I am writing this stream of whatever as this noise of a washing machine rumbles and throws itself against the neighbors wall…

And its mechanism isn't any different than mine

These are my favorite things...

Plays and carries itself past the candle scented in rain past the ceiling fans dusty embrace past my lips parched in need of some passion or a little change

past and through the opened window to the tips of the tree…heavy branch’d and ghostly cloud shadowed.

I once wrote about an ocean

thats inside of me

Oscillating

Overflowing

And how hard it is to contain such a large body of water inside my small frame

and how I cry into the iris of the night to be released from being tethered only to get wrangled in again by my own chains.

All fingers extended at me with a smirking and knowing

And she says “just enjoy the butterflies” from her grave in ash forever sleeping in the wind of her laughter spread about the air - thinly- whispers in the ears ever so slightly - barely..

and I laugh with her- audibly

so that I may catch her wave

I never said goodbye because there was no need

because she knew all this

Eat your trashed goodbyes

I found that scream I screamed into

it was just my own history

good enough for concrete where history don't mean a thing

Listen to me for just a moment

I am somewhere tired in your stores

your shipyards

your shoes jumping into big business and politics

drunk in your pockets

Its becoming harder and harder for me to recall the wallpaper

my memories are a million lost corners

so go

go somewhere

Climb a fence…

Get caught

trespass and get lost

because I could get thirsty or hurt in your industrial trap