Should I beckon so long winds?
Should I beckon so long winds?
Panting and tired of stolen trades
Etching cloud furies and hill heavens
Upon mumbles and mummy’s aprons
While jack of sons spill up towering lows
Spattering rhyming mirrors in snake city
As the clouding visions assemble
All drawn vengeance in a bubble’s year
A serpent’s prayer, A swilling seven
I growl my toes at groveling ways
Howling piece and war in a snail’s turn
Breeding night’s labor
Forced through fuse-arrested canopies
Usurping demon betty of hand arrangements
A fervor fever drawn on sprayed glass
Roses law my delay
A trickling of summer’s disease
Plummets the worse-ringed bears
Strewn in captain of hares
Viral dreaming bees dress the air
Sting my perfect head strings
I in twilight catacomb my vestments
Raping my cemented mind
Keyed up loins ooze templed blood
In a wrap of corded memories
Drowning the circle of boy’s fire forgotten nails
Hauled up in wombs of mother spider
Whored in stairway cleaving to roots
That are wound about rabid veins
Dripping the moon wolves
That surround a sordid self
Adorning butcher’s block, all goaded in silver
Peopled in spring’s mass
Returning some black kisses
Full of sulphur in a wonder’s thrust
Sweet sings faeries in a dog’s tongue
The increase of Saturn’s dreary hat
Hunted in slowing patience
Upon the thorns of Jupiter’s
Orgasmic sullen balls
Whirling sadistic
As Pluto drowns in mother’s milk teat
And Mars, all split hair and numb
Red as a babe
We speak the clouded shapes of man
As a metaphor is dirt in spades
Fists blink blindingly dim
Like sheets that fill traffic moles
Where is the resting block? What color is hot?
What is the nail’s fever scent?
Where every goat gets his rusted grass
And bird has branches to die upon
All in it’s right place
But tell me wind’s grafter
Insidious as the ripple stains
Treacherous like the blinding trees
Rocks trembling out of rhythm
A cell stunned in silence
A singing grave in December’s toes
Upturned glory meets hope hurled
A snake-wily boy in threads
Burned of autumn
Pruning his paper
A fire seeping his desires
Joys smeared in locked rooms
To grace the moonlight
Dancing jigs of heaven’s shade
Painted in the morn by hillside
Celestial groaning close eyes
In a pitched green passion
