december 13

the lights fluttering below
in blackened darkness
in flame orange, yellow, blue

ecstatic nine minutes of arrival,
unexplainable weirdness, this
dilation of time, that irreparable

precious loss of the clock
numb fingers hitting off
poems on the areality of a screen.

orange, I need orange,
that inelegant prurient color
of a grapefruit pith, not

spreading vociferous yawns nor
laugh-worthy widened mouthes,
nor automaticity of the mind…

it is Wednesday night.
it is orange and blinkering.
there is sonic adjacency in a will

to be fugal. in
the three minutes left.

a warm restaurant

The opacity fogs over all hope
and we can't even feel
a breath against ice.

I am a spider encrusted
in white paint submerged
within an inauspicious rock.

Sometimes all we can do is
wait and tear apart.

I'm going to have to leave
my heart in the present.

weird winter fire sexual attitudes
somewhat cold with freezing fingers
morning haze could stick to the lungs,
keys, and not be given to creation
fire burns cotton and cotton is withdrawn (?)
objects and combustion – life and combustion
boyle and air-pump, written on bladder –
paper—yellowed and wrinkled by
turmeric tea. stains untrain the eye
from steady work and concentration
senselessly sitting in an auditorium
with mind wandering to nipples and cocks
and all folds of fabric, bulges, roundnesses
whence will the scission occur
from which my creation may appear

wet, this crinkling cloth
which shrinks to fit
the nest-like hollow of your
hand. quivering over
bereft body,

thousand-mile distance,
thousand-mile difference,
a thing comes from your beating
hand. glassy, smooth, white,
veiny, misunderstood
, curling to shreds.

I am fine with the oblique glance,
with the flare of lens in sun.

o frangibility—

waking dream

his back    pressed    into my back
          like friezes
like sheets melting
          and I penetrate him
    with the curve
of my balled-up ass

the numerological
splenditude splendaic splenda
-sweetness of the sibilant
cero zero ero
-genous erro
r arrow
vect         or
     0
simply, plenitude
analogic [of]
numerological
splendor

no. 9

whirl, swirl saturn(ine?)

vertiginous threads,
pink, pink, rays
breadcrumb curlicues
scent of flutterwind.

leaving space for the
angels, which shimmer
through retreating holes

the birds and crickets
might as well come out
of the cracks of the dead.

light, a lament for
a splashing style?

it is so dark
you could load film in here