angel

i ask the night sky where are you,
i am here i say. no planes land all night,
man is good for once. a butterfly or moth angel
went hello past my window side tree
i did not know her name,
but i knew
her

wooden dad gift

the wooden knife dad
made for me
he keeps and keeps and keeps
to make life safe
for folding but not for what wood could do
were he a tree and not
a pail nailed for sap
on the blood good plane tree
that never knew amelia
only the song a busted guitar may try
to get to London
by floating or flowing under ocean mountains
doing the lindy
just like the painting said,
said the sick of more tree

oil ya have

frank never used words
such as prelapsarian and his name rung
different than a painting of a ladder
going toward clever
like a bullet full of empty guns with rocks for parents and shoes to feed
going to avenge the only mouth of a river
in which everything flows with dean numbers
and books of judges on which to sit
for a better perch
as they say
in Vlishing under the Arthurian tennis lights of truth
in which moths dally their coins for owls
or a hotshot sharpshooter too drunk to wait
to tell his neighbors that their nightlight offended his sense of being King
of HW 51 and too sober to linger at age 15 past age 51
unlike some Injuns he fot wif willy nilly
in chaps spurs and tobacco juice the way real mean
don't not like two children saying shut up
in four kinds of chilli recipe contests while the babies nap
and are very unaware of the oxen
the saws the blisters the trail Dale built on our birthday
all the way to Glencoe for cowboy hearts
and ten gallon earthquakes hats empty
of oil you have to offer.

is that Oil?

map

hell so sweet as her
showering sweep
may good
blood boil into a sap
mapped
wisely

miel

Me el, honey wine
her A list
boy

greetings

steam loosens wooden knots of time
self burled in acorn stasis, bitch carved, dog humped
as a hydrant hatched of two dark eggs
shoots a moons worth of gold
into our solar plexus or at least tickles the evening news
el otre noche con vino e plata e mucho trabajo todo el camino
over the cobblestones of port land markets
preserved in harmony
as easily as vapor never escapes but
greets

stronger blood bjorn

True my Blood runs
for her in circles
heart maiden bird born soft,
but as klondike my king,
tesla's surreal queen gentled by meeting dwarves schouting
&schepening canals
in which roam an
ant's glide,
stronger for their feelings, aloft to sprinkle the only iodine
p67 flung heavenward as dog and god
agreed, sirius
lee

bower

 "Gna's name comes the custom of saying that something gnaefir [looms] when it rises up high."

did lightning source himself from sheer air
or her whispered moans thundering
i ask the thor burn running counter quantum wise
to greet many suns in varied foliage
making mulch of aspen cottonwood oak and yew
and lyre strings silver best worn for shoelaces
keeping herme's wings from overheating
there in the volcano's grape bower of Life
with tornados of ice off her distant retreat into the future
shimmering in orgasms
bearing children stronger hung than basic math
against velvet pleases
and acres of whale expanse dotted with memories

arrow

i hunted her or she me we forget
now One in each another's other,
white black red yellow four eyed two hearted,
hounded as bait for wodan there under
shattered cedar runes
peppered in acorn drops from that Tree
one hundred thirty million
ligos
ago

orchestral

down he strode a dead heap of living slag
basalt born his thighs went toward the Thing
as a raven red harlot whispered at his neck in line for coffee
and her goon nervously loitered window lee to eternity
as my surf gathered girth and goon lumbered
into thick frozen fear or the wish to inspire that
blocking the exit in psychotic trance or brain suckered confusion
i stood abruptly black leather boots shorts and athletic tight shirt
he quivered, opened the door and left, as soon did
the messenger failed lipstick coiff and all
and as i followed momentarily out this very door the sky cracked
thunder followed in torrential rain and ice
so great that the hills off mount tabor were mills of water
six inches deep stream once streets
i on my bike laughing full raingear dry made it home to vast rainbows
and when i came to my balcony there perched
the most beautiful bird i have seen, a kestrel i believe,
as the book leads me
to believe.

hadland

my sycamore radar installation had the sap
bucket way up on that first
branch 7 feet up filled with riddled holes
galvanized in that puzzle soft bark
of the sycamore, my other brother
fifty feet old and literally never fallen out of in 19 years
of exploration, my roost boosting giraffe
whose branches were as familiar
as possible seems
to any jungle boy from deepest bavaria
or gotland
knoweth

light

magma deep ruled by owl's own volcano
forged the cleaver shield in minerva's tiny shell of hand
within her father who subsumed that which
imagination planted as prophecy by heavy water
in his head womb once hammered
sounded in bright birth tones
drumming rivulets of history statues in her wake
down a self sledding syncline
toward the columbia
or nile or danube
or from hydra
at speeds that light admires

bard

M 3.1 - 18km WSW of Helena, Oklahoma
2017-10-30 14:49:49 (UTC) Location 36.496°N 98.471°W
____________

looked up Hellene this morning, calm clamped
to mount tabor's monadnock, four hundred
feet above sea level fluctuation
as glaciers calve and indra mows and lows in clover astral
injecting radiance into the substratum
earth squirms sentient, made object: objects,
rumbles like se hinton across tulsa or other OK environs
daily calving quakes around my home
town mt etna as i thor burn fish, kingvlishing bard
eaten by hummingbirds for spinning gold music and wine
in the good guts of human time spread
over Tree for tinsel, once upon A
spine

-ion -ion oui

first came the mesa from beneath perfect
-ions
flooding surreal followed the flowering robes
in her wake, the lakes
as sister isis gar-like dredged the sun itself
toward in
fame
-oui

pulque chamula

pulque in chamula
old old man
hitting on becca,
hosting us, as becca
grows baby surreal.

moon men

pulled out with loving forcepts i am told
blot mirrored sun on the hospital wall as mother
gave birth to a 6 pounder on the 7th day
of the sixth month who grew to be 67 inches
tall and could weigh 134 if his twin
didn't bathe in hefewizen or wallow in tahini
but mother mishandled her coffee
it bubbled my wee arm i had scars well into teenage years,
and where my foreskin was taken
i'd really like to know
loving foreceps and epidural smiles and men on the moon
stomping

mothers nine

atlas hugged an isle of Skye
held her of his Aye
caved out of
mothers
nine

visit

ringed in royal colors the falcon godDis
shined her ass on my moon, horny to merge
again in a few billion tears,
putting keen edges on better than sharp feathers
from obsidian cradles in deep mountain mothers
so quickly she stayed and softly
left.

wand

thunderball on sun's day pulls the plates
between mo la la and van groover
tennis is the mortal tongue on monadnock tabor,
with a maple tree mind
reaching to lake carl blackwell, or we all be fools.
practicing serves, making my self a wand
of the season passage, playing games on all nine levels
forming rubber in jungle distances
giving shade and berries to the felt creatures
growing fibers to make a racket able to swat black holes
away.

demi

hera's milk of silica endowed sharpened
hero's heart cavern in which strangled snakes resemble
pasta in a sauce of threnody or hot cocoa mixed in ox blood
from fields butterfly guarded and lyric in aeolian tempers
battle hardened blades of wheat
made the cusp of heracles onset a formidable
travail thought thor as he bashed
unabashedly his silver rattle on the sky pane to bring
rain

city lush

after the baths, more wine pot and smudges
from carts of smouldering foods clumped in pods
so that clean is in the eye of the betrodden
going past the fish stalls to jumpstart alchemy
using gravitational waves only a parsec wide
but full of halloween candy
and a rose ready to eat there under mona lisa's moustache's
southern tip

scissor

the narcissus of wind's flower overflowing
to recapitate the heads of seeds
pollen or dander off godDisses fragrant brows, here
in twilight's twin's eye of unborn blue morning
holding the witches in stead of sleep before coffee
errands and yoga behind the wheel
drags human toil into the mudane sects of appearances
as athena knows marble best played
not by eye by ear as fingers
unseen plink the cornice of colonade in geometric collusion
with golden ear hairs no scissor
ever cut

god of lull

fiery mirror handed him a bowl of sauce
sun cooled to sing the throat's birds
lulling decades into aeon dust as the planet unfolded
backwards in that apartment room
with the kettle burned into dioramas from a japanese garden
&eagles landed to roost my soul with their clear talon sight
lifting fog over the ranges
to appease summer stupid fires arranged to quench
a moon's bulk in heavy ions at the speed of light
certainly but regarded as timely
long hence from
now

kelly green

may loves are cousins
of octopi winds shaking our Leaves,
mixxing sap, as only
knots of Juniper have "an anvil chorus"
shelbi, care o lynn and mare o lynn
lace of Rachel's eyes,
warm palm of Cecillia,
clad in Kelly green,
weaving Kristiana,
my robe of Hope spins from the one sun only hunab Ku
ever never had

europa

underfoot cortex the slut of gods spamish

new not of the old.

teotihucan

down the avenue of the sun tho
-rex stripped owl eyes of their retinas in total symbolic
hysteria, well tipped, spears obsidian jaunts of phallic envy.

sonorous

made of wheat and water we glue
our star to the portland cement with trace
adamants of gypsum, iodine.
rebar made ready the tower keep,
rails to haul the soybeans cotton&  corn
from which we are constructed
not in three dimensions
but in a mother,
vessel sonorous kind and warm.

for enid

alas

circes meanders toward apollo
wishing his most
were hers
alas

dis

in drawing she
wrote my form next to hers
i the luck key
she a chariot boat comet and firmament well
suited to charcoal
her diamond eyes were mine
to explore

quail bracken

the quail peep
the quail scurry
there by the flag of death's dumb oak
in a larder of bracken
from which story moves

whooping crane

father took grant and i to be the salt plains,
to be the oil, to be the granite and heavy breath
of stars collapsed
and for his efforts was shown the swan
but we seed whooping cranes
when there were only 13 alive.
what did your dad ever do for you?