geese nonlinear

speaking in stereo the water and sky

fulfilled the landscape with snow

vanquishing the terrain with softened distinctions,

serving to accentuate other features, the dalles mountain,

hill curves the threshold of eternity

socks worn all the time

eat chocolate& stare out windows

because we dwell in no end of luxury

play in the snow with gaspowered toys, boards

lashed to torsos, geese nonlinear

travel east waving, in tandem of riverfront trail

where kids go googling googling google-link

building facilities

dump trucks shuttle soil& rock at a superpace

their metal shed palace nears completion

as coots float the columbia and wind blows

first season's ice ain't too bad this season

we probe the sandy beach

see a barge cruise by tug-pushed, working

being of use

the snow isn't sticking

yet later the layers are transcendent as ocean all enduring

side by side

within reach

fission for monsters

the monster is neon tetra and noun appreciative

as to advances of slash edit redact

upon heap where limbs burn as they should with subsidized diesel

from noggin' casings too fraught with freight,

finger placings somehow always late on fretted brows

making jazzy out of temperamental pain

-tings that kid'n gardeners call art

spelling the seeds with hexes, making secession suck cesspool

not because ore wants to be gone

but because the filling station is never serf serve

round here the monster is square

looking you in both ayes, your conditional and overly mouthed assent

that rulers take the measure of how to angle their castings

so that theater not be stymied by worm riots

under expensive poultices on insubstantial solstices where lots of blood

always was spilled on formica

to cover the reflection's power to turn one to stone

no one will read the tooth

no two may lie under lain paths without a leash on life that wraps the cosmos

about the balls with dialectic precision

enhanced with monstrous marketing making seemly virtues palatable

for the fangfaced denizens and their burpy cuspids with arrows

prowling for jarhackers and carmackers and tarpackers, leaving

the crosses of home in the guttural safety of sheafdom

where cowardice rolls no dice for flee

up the heel a flock of geesebump

s hamstring Achilles and turn hamlet to liquid quitter

frozen in tracks of tourment

a thousand darts with suckercups on the fake fur forehead

a joke in the headlights with punchlines over the collared nape

a monster less ready to eat

than to poke with a teen foot pole that is melting the polar swears habitat

bye bye making swimmers of the fiercest as a yard of ice

looks good when hunted by bad dreams

in the full moon shuttering of eyelids

too indebted to ply evermore

planting everywhere in everyone

aeration begins between the teeth

of dream and our breath folding the thick batter

following umbilical strands into the sun

an old child hunab ku

simultaneousness

a story in a blanket on the sand

skin and pottery of song voices

work wavering waters

tones crisply muted to bond with sense

forms of backdrops against void's presence

richly plowed chaos somehow yields

the seed rich in-formation

planting everywhere

in everyone

swale canyon, washington 1997

one foot out the door

deer crow coyote snowmelt waterfalls

gentle swoop of electrical lines

over the valley

formed by the klickitat river

i be lichen them mosses too

pine fir oak one uninhabited barn

of potential, a porch overlooking

mountain adams,

so numerous the rich trails

silent fires above our head

***

here in portland at 4222 glisan

the empty beercans

pile into pyramids

music happens too,

liberty jones is sing singing

for a squeeze

uh

the tequila limelight

portland-klickitat 1995

avid

my friend broke a string
during a furious set of music

and managed to change it
while the blood flowed thru his skull

in such dexterity and facility i were amazed
and still was.

and still, was.

world war sheep

we pull the wool over our eyes, W. W.

the wool pulls our eyes over our ayes, W. W.

W.W. spools the school over our sighs, aye aye.

W.W. schools the wool. i eye.

joinery

nothing in common. not brands of soap, nor church affiliation,
not genetics, nor heaven forbid, the roadmap used

to find the way home. they don't have homes; not Common
homes. their hearths are made of gold, ours: of crap.

their food is different, their speech on another plane, their
mice are docile and don't carry diseases: they sing.

nothing in common. born with eight hands for the taking,
six mouths to be fed while the others wield swords, of gold,

they shed not blood when vanguished, but a sap-like goo that's good on pancakes.
their children are all smiles their soups never burn

they are so unlike us, we have nothing in common.
they pimp us and we pimp ourselves: big difference.

nothing in common, nothing in common. i wonder why we only have
a couple thousand nothings on our side?

the less common, the more crowded nothing seems.