forty-five minutes on yr knees with the dry heaves
shadows are often seen quietly orating
to cope with things like seeing yr dead grandmother
crawling upr yr leg

the double layer
plunging me into a subhuman funk
from the vomitorium heave the fibrous howlings
jerking him out just in time
just as it is considered
improvisationthe stainlesssteel hunting
knife with a blade like a fresh honed straight razor
every image is a colonization of wicker
menacing vibrations all around us
its these lights and

Jesus Christ with a knife in her teeth
we were both born protestant
it seemed like a reasonable place to park, plenty of space
small hermaphroditic protrusions
half naked with a head full of ether
fire red maple leaves sprout from my scalpel's vase
being chopped to bits by a buzz saw
the shadow afflicted the spleen thread
lunatics screwed into a cloud of dust
now everyone is dead i think
forever thinking that just behind some narrow door
gullets, genitals, severed vessels, scanted clavicles
wanting to slice me up like a shark after meat
held in the oblique throat behind the tentacles

and so much for the bad gibberish
just as it is one for the music of changes

to carve a little v on yr forehead
the astral figure from yr wicker stick
on the verge of some awful psychic orgasm
voltage thrust into fascia and circumference
began to howl and moan waving the blade out in front of him
certain of these sounds approach the ascending aorta
and I was carefull never to kill more than I could eat
sharing a wall: dripping artery : glamour
at top speed hassling anybody they met
the world no point an echoic chamber
kill the body and the head will die
recite a remarkably faithful sexual image.

the pilots train differently without matches
monadic nomads

he enters a concealed handshake
not far from you

when the bananas open
intersexed pregnancy
there is a moment when everyone thinks the gun-
man might ejaculate
whirled instigation
buck-knifing his throat

wings open to larynx

sumptoms of a contemporary love song

outlawed in ochre and red
the locks have rotted on her bowels

*

hydrogen pronoun buried
licking itself clean

*

mother inculcating her love with fangs
smacking geneaologies on the glass

a poems courtyards its venricles whipped fire
your answering machine is a get away car

melting and mutating
this uniques waggle aimed at a particular audience

the loveless communion of shadow
cranks a blank casing held by rubber hands
what delicate crown-clouds
a heatlam shining directly on roast beef
portraits of flesh rendered in flesh
determine language is razorwire
bitter fusion of steel and throat
the curve of a dead field mouse spine

*

the hotel will bill this room
Let's hope they don't check the other poems

halves run one way joining their laughter together
against time and veins

in the witnessing of something earned
we pull out the clavicles and larynx

detaching landscapes
glances like memory-vesicles

doorknobs soften into tumors
your flesh and all the death around it
fading like an alphabet with age
spleen thrust gutted out of yr mouth
a half mumbling sleep began filling with bloodless bodies
the tulips dripping from the aether