4 poems

RANDOM ACTORS, POISONOUS SPIDERS

Shrivel icicles to a city ablaze.

Cast down sea waste of the virgin in riptides,

Oozing small defibrillators tangled around the fins of otters.

Unfrozen devil, my unmade feet dream of your parachute.

The dream recognizes itself as urgent, mist-gray.

Streets break into a thousand sheep.

A stream of fire on their heads instead of rain.

Boils, fields, bones, pails

Pity most the lewdness of the grain.

MORE MOON

white door

blank moon

no night

more doors

night mime

blank white

THE BODY DOES NOT HELP THAT

I die before

what I am.

That I am

a river emptying its same things,

I die before I get this.

There's a world before

I am this.

Solitude and same things

empty all I understand.

The body does not help that.

AND AT IT

And still.

Also so

There is blood everywhere.

Between rich and poor are fleas and lice

Having their silent piss.

Five violent seas dig it.

Five violent days 

In space; all I've thought is

Unproven blood in my past.

I just want to walk

With a belly full of living things

Wanting to live.

Upright melon.

Hearse sunrise

Being sticky-hot.