Cosa Nostra

In this thing
of ours

we say without
speaking
know without
thinking
act without
moving
change without
trying

in silence
we become

Adonis, descending.

You may feel now the blue winds of changing
yet we will call up a stale, run-of-the-mill tempest
to fly every seed from your lush window-boxes.

Howl down your trenchcoat's sanforized attendance
explode all the grains of new living's enchantments
we collect in the folds of consignment dependents.

We pack souls in pale light and on dreams wet cement.

The Hyphenated Ma-n

Pierced by the Ar-row of T-ruth
Ba-lance-d on the Ca-nine Fulc-rum
Weighed up-on a Tin Halo
Me-asu-red with Ja-de Inf-in-it-ies

The Hyphenated Ma-n
Con-spires al-one in Unt-angl-ing
Endless Future Gods

I Al-ways Ob-serve

Automatador

Quaver memory's dappled substance aflame.
Zephyr's foundering glory.

Crimson echoes an empty arena.
Mithras has been forgotten.

Agapi Tigris

This inner Tiger roaring
tearing loose fetid bonds
leaping jaws agape
knowing warm flesh again.

Absentia

I shed a diamond
for each moment lost
that I might linger
in springtime sunlight
showered with fragrant blossoms
and holding fast your racing heart.

Glass Knuckles

Head-spinners all
couldn't punch their way out of
a paper bag.

Ear-ringers calling
on piggy-back dialup accounts.

I'm thankful for the
laminated aisles of consumption.

Checkstand drop-outs
waving glossy deviations.

Meantime, I'll be soaring
over the walls of the asylum
in my red balloon.

The world below melting
into verdant hues of
folded parchment.

Call NORAD-
I am an UFO.

Corpsicle

The artist has no right to survive his art.

Bats in the belfry.
Mice in the cellar.
Every niche is overflowing.

The Hunter has become the Hunted.

Don't bother saving me a place at your table.
I will not be joining you.
But please send my regards to Kurt and Chet and Spalding.

faux-gras

Electric-eel toothbrushes
breeding Dolphins in dixie-cups.

Force-fed plastic geese
reading Braille sports-tickers.

There was an Amethyst glaze
over the night sky
that told me
the True Cubes
are always round.

The moon caught fire
because it was made of
Lucite soap-bubbles.

So I put it out.

I'm through captaining
these inverted Asphalt Pagodas.