Under God’s glown gaze
my flaky face melts like snow:
heavenly winter.

Accompanying music.

Light that leads me through the blizzard,

white in flakes, such snuggled blankets.

Tangy sugar never withers,

though this season never bakes it,

only baked so long ago,

you remind me o’ soft bread,

warm tan crescents made o’ snow.

Noses itch in strong, fresh scents.

Red lights warn you: stop & breathe,

drown the death in breakfast tea,

touch the crystals on the leaves.

Ciao, adieu,
& sayonara
till next time.

Accompanying music.

Viewed through blinds, your smoky scents

with your rattling tracks & wheels

passes straight through my brain stem

with the rusty steel that peels

scraps & bolts & coal-black fire,

painted muddy brown & red.

Midnight chugged without a tire

& a million-meter bed.

Sure your ghosts are sure cliché,

floating in their dirty rags;

I’ll ride nightmares any day.

Still bubbling–
sidewalk spit.

Crumple all my papers under

bellies hungry for a scratch;

feel & hear your dormant thunder

while you ready paws to snatch

jackets trying to pass by.

But I know you always flee

from the wall-clung fly-fast lights,

even though just made by CDs.

Playing poker, you beat me;

now I need to pay the fee:

scratch your chin eternally.

¡Por ahí! ¡Mira!

¿Ves aquello espacio de estacionamiento

que tiene las grietas y los bultos en la corteza?

Es…

No, viento, no puedes tomar este poema.

Malo, ¿cuándo estaba yo?

Por supuesto:

soy eso espacio agrietado yo.

Ahora, ¿Ves aquello espacio con la boca erótica de tormenta?

No soy eso.

No seré eso nunca.

No.

♪ …así arrugamos… ♫

¡There! ¡Look!

¿See that parking space—

the 1 with the cracks & the bumps in its crust?

That’s—

No, wind, you can’t have this poem.

Anywhere, ¿when was I?

O yeah:

that cracked lot is me.

Now, ¿see that parking lot with the swanky storm drain?

That ain’t me.

That’ll ne’er be me.

♪ …so we creeeeeeease… ♫

To all the

chewy chocolate that’s

‘tween my teeth,

to the tears

o’ stormy clouds both

sour & sweet,

to early

evenings’ smeared lemon

restless lights,

to bus wheels’

jingling thunder-struck

keys on kites,

to flapping

jackets that make the

cool winds warm,

to clapping

firs both ecstatic

& forlorn,

to the tea

& coffee scorching

cherry leaves,

to the bats

that flap their purple

tapestries,

to night planes

giving me a wink

as they pass,

to sluggish

November lunchtime’s

foggy mask,

to the wood

spiders chillin’ on

the drywall,

to skylarks

shrinking into blues

without calls,

to pop-up

ghosts drenched darkly with

neon green,

to buttered

toast drenched starkly in

strawberries,

to the gift

that mixes the moon

& the sun,

to the warm

opposites present

within the

light that’s only bright surrounded

by so many crevices so

dark. Don’t not be gloomy: fountains

freeze next year still always missed, though,

still when I watch shadow pines

brushing far away I find

like I almost like to pine

death’s demise

shaped like fallen maple twigs.

Autumn’s cut so thin.

Hope I get to ‘gain begin…

Blue in red hell,

not where the roses rot,

but where the rotten roses sniff unsmelled.

The heart’s not warm, but caged in cold,

told the warmth-made water would only feed mold.

Cleanse the black rock o’ fuzzy green monsters.

¿Why e’en bother with those who don’t e’en bother?

¿Find these fish fit O so snugly

in the sunset-drenched canyons o’ Sorrow Ugly?

Show you on the newsprint where the ink smudges—

I just fudge it,

’cause this isn’t it the grudge pit?

With femurs & hamshells,

where the woods sip lakes from the moonlit elk.

That’s such a flimsy pelt.

That’s such a flismy fingernails.

Catch the yolks in all the rain pails.

Find me where the bent cardboard boxes hug me

in the charred forest corpse copse called Sorrow Ugly.

¡Night!

strikes so early;

but its early strikes are stricken so early,

trampling the trampled grass in a hurry.

¿Whither to wither unseen?

Come with me

to the moondown that is Sorrow Ugly.

Coming this fall

that fells us all.