Mad Walls We'd So Carefully Mapped Precisely as if Asking for Change

 

Some cold night! Wow! 

and us, first on the watery realm—

rich ashwood 'gainst a current as

we battle on boards shaved from 

mad walls we'd so carefully mapped

precisely, as if asking for change. Listen

to the rush of the coming scenery

mist, instantly a mysterious atmosphere —

I told him so, but mister

the ruckus was his vintage ride— we rise

"from here on up the skies taste just like hope"

most strictly just ether of course but copious

the flow, blasting, man

life —what reckless throttling isthmus or else what holy 

bounce our role-models flushed down to the feels

— blows from a horn

standing next to the amp of pure darkness deafening

the test of the affected knick-knack inaction.

Like light-headed ghosts, career-sitting as we say, 

weighted by a meteoric scale —

sightless— imagine maneuvering woe with caution 

like anchorites in a pool of mornings

what they'd give to know courage fused to completion.

Don't rush pal the deal is ready. Bright hope is astringent

You caught me perusing clothes to vacation 

to a landscape's shaved neck —where breathes the young child

cobwebbed by dawn, "but it's desire" she said.

—the vast chasm a gate exemplifying tensions 

mere steps from the limits of space

a scene, terrifying— it isn't exactly across we go

but to the present— mouths repaired full up with ephemeral 

old truth, my daughter, touching my hand

with all the right words, on all-fours 

come on with

she says 

not 

done 

not 

yet.

Ev entual ly

yr beaten and burnt
bones orgasming grafiti
fragments, fire, text, sense
-ational mind games a
broach baring this ache
falling from the finished sidereally
sea sheathed in
suprasensual skin she
names a sensitive library staircase stretched
out over auroral existence and
I'm so
Constantly becoming
love,
teeth, flesh, spine —
less tautology than sunpouring
in patient
broad phenomena 
perfuming the barriers of language
quietly
coolly please real heart,
don't be a bland coat because I will
watch in the closed store windows
Sunday clothed and
constantly casting
shadows built for sex
screaming shapes and
my soul a lonely pillar of song
exclusively passing
heavy
trash kisses
riding the bliss of uncertainty
yr pupils help, I suspect
the beaten halves shame a heavy
pity mossed with
rushing, unglued,
unattended I pretended to flesh
out our felt brain
twisting off
any pure grain thought
convulsing, somehow
stupendousspinning
whoknows wherever
 elsewheres and otherwheres
otheryous and us

My Walks

 

Been walking in the mornings, the air cool on my face

repeated mantras dance silently across my lips

syllabic placeholders utilizing the tempo of my legs

and yes I must mention the dog normally an extension of my wife's lap

tethered tightly to a taut fibre between my fingers

marching up and down the exurbs muttering my nonsense

sniffing all the sidewalks for a sense of the scents of my neighbors

Why? I ask myself

Perhaps this morning I'll find my answer

if there's meaning out there we'll find it, somewhere at the end of my leash.