I held the summer’s sun in my throat.
Of the palaces
the water was dead.

From road to wood I walked in the swarms
of one’s shadow,
the stones turned their heads.

A flower’s wing
told me her name
though silently

on the path
of white cold
shimmerings

where I laughed
at a waterfall
from its silver top.

Then off the satellite’s
path, into the piney
wind’s translation.

In a field of clocks,
I waved off my arms.
In the city of death’s note

I discovered the goddess
stripped of her veil;
between steeples

and domes–
like a thief
after marble

or precious creak
washed stone
I chased her back

into the wood,
back into the pine
and the laurel.

I wrapped her in all her veils
feeling dawn’s immensity.
When I woke

It was noon.
My body
on the wrong

side of the bed.

The first thing to do
when you hear
the Syrens…
is to have a good [sic] Piss

before the ground starts to swell
and the Earth becomes the base-
ment of Heaven for these ‘stewards’
to learn the true word of verstehen

by meaning of ‘rapture’

In Las Vegas In New York
London Salt Lake
Houston Los Angeles
most will be rather lost

than found (confounding
I know) as these pigs
refresh & refresh & refresh
their scroll of digital bets

and scratch at their lottery tickets

Meanwhile Musk dreams of building
brick by brick an igloo house colony
somewhere undisclosed and classified
on the wilderness of Mars hailing bright Venus

(Argh!–hardy hard~hardy hard)
Elon blows a tremulous flock
of space-x clouds
from Cuban cigar

and clears out another westside
for grass lawns as green & soft
as the bourgeoise sod
of Pinehurst 9

In the meantime
on Wimbledon’s crown court
the chalk lines are appearing
a...

From time to time, a cliche slipped out
Alles hat ein Ende, nur die Wurst hat zwei.
Literally, everything has an end,
Only the sausage has two, meaning
Comparing pears to oranges
To get hot water in the artichoke’s kitchen
Where I slept most nights
Viewing the radishes from below

Yes. From time to time
Wo sich die Füchse gute Nacht sagen
In the middle of nowhere
Scratching the back of the beyond
Where the foxes say goodnight
And dogs poke at the beehive

Anyway, keep your fingers crossed
Our silence will be commandeered
By a phone call through which
Little Hans interrupts with dirty lines–
Literally. Wenn man dem Teufel
den kleinen Finger gibt
so nimmt er die ganze Hand.

If you offer the devil a finger, She’ll take the whole hand

I

When it comes to the final, the end of
The end of the end of times it is hard
To rhyme on such a pinned stockpile of rime
But where for to: I’ll begin on that Island
Of Man, that īeġland (manaháhtaan;
Manna-hata) of Many Ills, meaning
Where once the brave would ‘gather’ and ‘bow,’
Before the Dutch of East Ink filched and filled
The foliated Limestone and Quartzite Gneiss
For the ferris-wheel, third-eye illuminutz
Grounds where, in fact, this very own tale of the
More a Man Das the More a Man Wants
As (s)he points and peers, peers and points
Up upon the electric gas peddle of future’s present,
A demesne of Tesla’s coil about to boil
Through the foil of our Tic-toc present bit-
Coin, mind-kontrol, crypt-oh!-currents
Seeping down through the Houston, TX frack
(weep-womp) straight into sepia-tone’s past
Of its very own cut & paste tracks
A steppe of lame duck space and crooked time
For...

Ach!–we are comic. The train’s
Achoo shoots like a Western
From the TV channel’s fool’s gold
Burrow: yeah, out of tunnel.

A caboose of maimed dwarfs
Led by a fat balding colonel
Throws back to Jodorowsky–
His 1970 black-clad heavy dose

Gun fighting flick of templar quest,
El Topo. A gross play on un-
masked Zoro–gallop, gallop,
Gallop. In tandem. With Hijo,

His young naked son bouncing
Like a blow-up cactus
‘til Ach!–the barb, the crunch
Of tragic, shewing Hijo

To the dark-side mission of some monks.
Thank God. Praise the sky. Praise
The desert sun. Another bastard.
Like father. So why not the son.

Meanwhile. This just in. The world
Is firm on their word that I shouldn’t
Be writing this. They spit, they say
“Now you’ll never get published.”

But I am. But I do.
From the zoo
From the mental hospital
On a Vlog not so svbtle.

The train keeps going
'cause it thinks it can
...

1

A few arguments on the unreachable
Yeah. It could have been that–
But the doorbell rang with a punch
From Venus, from Mars beneath zero
Dark uneasy clouds, those that seem

So sharply permanent

Before one steps dizzily off the devil’s
Merry-go-round and with the rusted car-
nival’s slinky of defeat trailing smoke
Of some Joker’s blunderbuss: Kerplop!–
Pow!–Oof! followed by Foo!–of tall-rain

Cloud punch!–

And so you tilt, tumble off, back into
The still spinning whirl of the known
Unknown all-of-the-sudden; just imagine–
As Sartre writes what “we are dealing
[with] here,” that the top hat of con-

sciousness (from conscire)
“Appears” at a certain point
To boil out of cap for the embryo
(in short) of the moment
Which before having ‘a past’

(back to that darkness)
Springs up in the [sic]
Fractal obfusc before
Picking up a drum
Snaring off from the Erlebnis

But what is the meaning?
...

Far from you
As it might
In a 70’s flick–
Hard mirrors
Distorting glass
That are deaf
To the eye

I live in the fall
Of Spring
Feeling Baghdad

The point now
Is that I’m in a hole
Feeling burnt
Feeling ugly
Feeling K.

For a bet
For a tithe
For a plate
For the table

Of Hitler’s Lyft, Hitler’s Reich

It was never
Hitler’s at all
Too bad.
The table
Is dealt
By billion-
to-one strike
By dug-up
Of the buried

What’s more
It’s the beginning
Of a glorious story

Where I’m Deadpool
Waiting for Batman
For a bear for a jack

They want my balls
They want my eye

Come and get some
Apartment 2N
The Twin Peaks
of Vtah

I’ll spring you a leak
With just a slap
From the Arc

To the naked eye
My spinal chord
Is out of whack

But nobody wants to hear about that

Boo!–boo!–
The drum
Is not dead

After blowout of mount heartattack

As prefaced
Apparently
I am alone
But some
Cowards
Are invisible

I look...

Where is there an end of it
If you came this way
From the mouth of the rat
Taking the Lyft you always take

From dumpster-dive of Florida.
What are you going to do?
Why don’t you quit?
Pigs want to bite you

Put little bits of you
Into themselves
And watches
But I am not a dildo.

More like the crying
Of lot 49
Before the beginning
The book shut

With shot-
gun snap
Of L’s yo-yo
The giant

Crashed
Broke
Into
Humpty

Dumpty
Satan’s
Whole con-
gregation

Kept clap-
clap clapping
With front row seats
Ripping their Tesla

pew, pew, pews

But no dice
LvcYfVr kept stunting
With Peter Pan’s
Shorts and shadow–

You know what a miracle is?
When the world becomes
something out of this world
(Houston, do we have lyft off?)

reading for broken bell the intersected loop the mute beyond the zero

z

I slapped Gabriel’s horn
Out of his hand
To play
The crossroads

For encore
Took a piss
On the Sons
Of...

Sequoyah (George Guess) bequeathed the Cherokee hieroglyphs.
A page from the Cherokee Phoenix prints “the long ‘a’ as in father
Followed by its unstressed two-faced counterpart~ rival.
From where I sit on Wednesday, ‘nothing could be finer.’

From New Echota to Sandy Vtah
In Ikea white-washed gulag
His blood My blood is that of the cult
Of the Phoenix of the Crypt of the Cardinal

Guess signed his name by the ᏎᏉᏯ
Of Ssiquoya, a polymath
His Tesla top-shelf ku
Dripping the purple word

Passed from peace pipe and mouth of the riddle
Banished from the east: we are agaawli, ancient
Cave dwellers of the wilderness, the real people
Of Israel issuing from tsalu, the match and lucky

strike to those brave Angels
Who fell for bearing the fire
For which Prometheus was bound
For which LvcYfvr dropped his halo

Knowing his brother was playing Papa
Building Villages, building Kastles.
The whole...

The Castle is walking toward us
With her congregation of super-
Intendents and fuck boys & their
Village transformers are out in force

Burning through their brake’s berserks
Screaming not war cry but for runoff ramp
Apocalypse?–more evident than
The barking dogs in a town dubbed

Hirsute, a town that makes razors
By Harry’s This past summer
In Albuquerque, the Duke
Of New Mexico popped up

From dead Like Oscar the Grouch
Out of Netflix His middle finger
Let out a cheerful hello I was touched
And gave him my God loves ugly smile

I was black cat in their ABQ cathedral
Who after a few cheery months
Blew out more than one power grid
Just by smiling to Killer Mike’s “Reagan”

And ‘walking this way’
For which in Texas
Not Aerosmith but aero-
plane touched down

In Texas with either my dad
Or ward–I can’t tell one
From which; the joining flight
Was fumbled; well something

Like that
Just...