___________________________________________

Grist mill    lithographs    embonpoints faking the fat

"like a diet"     I saw you dreaming just like me

    Can you come into my room for a moment

    Don't worry      I won't bite     I want to

enhance your appearance       enliven your

chance of disappearance     as if this were

    as complex as a Gaussian process

blinking with full attention       Yes      I feel v. silly

It may seem posh enough    Anonymity of grey

must come with a domain for aerobic digesting of white

like a district court's analysis about how a pig

turns into a pig   (not pink)    Originality is originless       

Sleet before the harsh snow    now    is tomorrow

because someone ahead of time is trimming

away "the" clock       There's nothing left

to photograph         Too many clavicles      much

of the same subjectory           a  cut  copy  paste

re-arrange    borrow    

                Every camera-eye

                                              should

                               have the glow

             of Tapetum lucidum

                               The pictures of the winds     

I bit my tongue        Nosferatu moaned

notwithstanding with cheeks         distended

Richard Strauss melodies in my airy allegro

tonight          Tehran is pushing Hizballah hard

to attack Israel           

Oddly enough (or a routine passes my life)

what of the dire to puncture a hair dryer

    What of

to push me hard     to tear me into     layered strips

like a wax museum sculpture holding back laughter

Oval light illuminating the ceiling          (in a funk

I searched for Horror Monster trading card #45    

for my uncle         (unfound               

            The calender lacks character          (rages

Daily life       my life       reflecting its Privilege

The windows seem to be echoing tempers

of Yeatsian echoes     I respond like a Grand Pianist

THE LOVERS THAT MAY OR MAY NOT BE

He wakes in a lighthouse     hears the yammering sea

blinks out somnolentia          Steam of rising waves           

He thinks of salt      how it changes secretly        

His Love awakes simultaneously     lamp-light

still glowing             symbol of glimpsing ringing

in the ear         She thinks of him & their love    

but what of this accurent unknowing?    He feels her

wake with him     pulls gravity through the lungs

of October as if so accustomed to this engagement

that it has become monopolous    Muscle-memories

collide     thin as Quisque     She lunges herself up

from the cold bed          peers out of the window    

a glistening starry sky from all directions    as if

Waking were merely Sleeping      A release in the belly   

like a peacock opening its feathers    Bursting gastraphetes

of solar-plexus spark          This       "To Forever"    

galaxy of love in a goblet     large enough to "globalize"

the universe         to milk the moon             But! to be

-ware of possible madness!    Where are the debris

of these Lovers?   A stitched invention     music-tongued

& forever imaginable       Where are these sculptural

mannequins of my making?      In
                                                 the
                                                    greasy
                                                  fire 
                                           O!
                                      On
                                           the
                                               tailwinds
                                           of
                                      my
                             heart!
                         An
                          absolute
                                    tangle
                                          of
                           magnified
                Possibles!

___________________________________________

Radical Islam—as if

"3-dimensional represenations of a 4-dimensional thing"

                     could re-transform           

              with diction of vengeance

the materials

                    of a hologram

                                         in the city of bloody lips

Legible sensories malfunction

     a single fleck     plume of perfume     breathy bows

of a blooming unalterable impartiality

        WHY AM I WEARING A HAT

        on a day like today

The ice in the water has melted

         I drink to you    

             with "trammels of precision"

like a televised war

The windows disappear

                     into the doors       bad philosophy

anatomical into spaces that are quite economical

    You make me feel Radical

If ever there was a place

                             in need of more comedy

this is the time

I will write the Afterword later

    I walked past a graveyard whistling a melody

A group of ghosts perched upon a gravestone "booed" me

Just call me Boris Karloff

                           as I walk past your residence

as loathsome as a crippled carriage    as slow as a Mummy

A bamboozled child screams for his mommy

                   dropping his   iPod   iPad   earbuds   cell phone

I wait for you to notice       Maybe you heard

the horror of the child         but suddenly

I notice that the light in your home

loses its sunshine

Mary & Percy

                            for my uncle, T.H.

Imagine Mary  
in a graveyard 
with Percy

Thin lips, full lips,
lanterns distanced
by their
Oneness of breath

Familiar spirits rise
to watch,
covering their eyes

"Must be something
in the water"

Nine months later,
Mary's water
breaks

The gravestone
cracks, crumbles
into a powdery ash

___________________________________________

As the first eye of light
          makes itself known
                          in the morning


          The coffee-maker
on the counter
                
                                celebrates

___________________________________________

The man in the dream said,

                            "Let's go find 
                               the silver of the beach."

                                        So we appeared there 
& saw fragmented banks 
          of rock-formations
                             
                         several feet underneath 
the ocean,
      vague 

                   but agreeable for discernment;

silver-linings on top of them 
                   shining like 

                                      metallic fish-scales.
 
Unwritten dreams 
               re-form

                   from different interpretations
of raw data. 

The coynage of conforming 
                             that old storye   
                                      into a meer romance. 

I write letters
                    to no one             (meaning that I do)
 
but while writing these letters, 
                 a face always appears 

on the paper (without a mouth) 
                       with voice-over commentary, saying: 

"Your eyes are like the flawless seas. 
                               May I Supersize them?" 

"Yes," I say,
             "as long you come out from behind  
the white curtain 
              & be my personal pantomime." 

The dinosaur in my dream 
              could have been my            eye-muscles 
dancing during sleep,

or if I were The Time Traveller,
               wholly mysterious, 

this triceratops would have had 
                   gaping jaws & wings. 

I want to find that beach, 
                   that shore-line of foam,

                                      like the Holy Ghost 
                             burning itself
                  into my spirit.

A great leap! to burn one's lips 
              on the joints of an image.

                                      I want to venture to this beach
                           & allow a rough draft of wind
           to dash right through me to the heart,

to calm the sores with the boldest
                  hands, quicken my blood. 

To be able to live in a dream 
                                  for a time or two

                                 as if I were the same person in doubles;
                  doubled in two, 

into "I" & "you," 

where "We" becomes 
                   a blooming first-born.

___________________________________________

Wait and cry out, until he sees her, Caesar
of the valley, white in linen, shapeless in shape

-lessness. The keyboard I touch is like dancing
on a frozen island--fingers like the Equater

reversing itself inward, the earthen-orange core
glazes like lava boiling upon the decline

of a sinking culture. The faint sky, a noirish
brake-cavity, lump of cell hovering above, rain

slides from clouds, a vibe of sprezzatura.

Tonight's fortune cookie fortune:

            "The evening promises romantic interests."

Is that criminal slang for

           "Put the other end of the rope in your mouth
           and clamp down with your teeth"?

I am picky beyond the physic, denying error,
as if there is an art without failure.

           "Who are you?" I ask to bestir my curiosities.

           "I am your mind, and you are the runway
           in which I never run; you swallow the words
           that I provide you, as if with blank Bingo cards;
           the triumph of word over flesh!"

quoteth the mental Sayven, forever[sayeth]more.