Sunday, February 28, 2010



6 poems 


FAT-LIPPED

God the mantis flares
Black deer belly,

Errs the god
Soda spans

Eyes of animals spring,
Don't grass

God the porno
Eyes moan makers

Separated by weird
Flash-lit bots;

Fried pools, unshapen feed,
Instinct-crusted roads

One God: the Eye that lives on
Perfect parking machines

World-wears out
Animals flashing lights in their off



IN THE TONGUE ON BALLS

Windows clone
Soft, sunset bats
Then empty of fly.

A fog whispers
Saucy
Opal raisin sog.

Anywhere sprinklers
Stick right out of tits
I zoom

And point to the moon
Tracing a finger
My head escaped.



RECTANGLE

From voracious jaws
A cross carries Christ
Shooting spooge at ceilings pre-recording

The Mystery

When I push its panties aside
Has a jungle and
I forget my saliva
In American



STRUGGLE UNDER THE BUN

stones, wind
thrown where
another days wind
throws
same stones to
all the same
disintegration

wind, stones
belong where
another wind throws
same day to stones;
all is
wind my
disintegration intends



SHORT LIFE

Voices form a bucket
Night-moths warn 

Voices form the moth
Buckets swarm

Gurgling tonsils adorn 
Hollow grins from black

Moths harvesting the bucket
Night-voices core



ATTACHED TO THE LIGHT
 
Asshole clouds with minds like bridges blown up
Achieve the huge mass of birth in my eye

In my cock
There's small airplanes crashed into grammar schools and

That natural bison range is a kindly bumpkin, just
Some middle-of-the-road rain of bodies

Consuming billions of blindfolded computers
Wet from boiling overnight

Assholes
Collide and the distance

In my eye damns my cock
Birthing huge blindfolds for minds



Friday, February 26, 2010

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Sunday, February 21, 2010

Friday, February 19, 2010

Thursday, February 18, 2010

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Monday, February 1, 2010


2 poems



BEING/GOING GANGS 

Plan lives within microbes
Not certain why I begin.
To reserve the best numbers possible,
My imagination plays coffin-maker
And composes fast a population
Watching the storm while the storm loses interest.

Life is falling into the sea in flames.
But the just born went an opposite direction
To guarantee they'd be modeling a type of
Ready-to-eat meat before seer-season ends.
By flying glass, I write swallowed groundwater.
Microbes have no memory of that.



MISTAKEN FOR JENNIFER ANISTON

I find myself stunned by news sitting in cars.
Every engine's running, daring some daylight
Of demons melting backwards.
I am afraid of shaking all over.
I ask who said nothing and save myself.
The street is oily furniture made from plant beds.
My stomach's lost its legs, the smell
Has no head.

I find my skin and a few wings for the baldness.
It's been a hard decision trying to survive.
The poor people have Internet
Made of water the size of boulders.
It's in a dark well in my neighbor
That my wife and I are provided shelter.
With bags of rice we wash the snowball fight
God continuously shakes.