Ickerrbak

The dart sled roses grew in dusted fire bended 'neath the forest floor at the foot of that great orchard / inside the softened sphere of lighting the flames took swift a cause crackling in posture spoke relation / brethren of our waving hands and rising cheeks sinching redder with the overture of another apple heart / sopping seeds and stars we carved / a steel blade runs the length of thumbs to a nail, string known and hips informed / if only these were mine / if only I was yours to own / we might spend the stone and agitate / acoustically in languages that only you could know / you taught the serpents symmetry / the snow / starving hares we parented barbwired through the throat / beat tread paths that danced like we do in the fire out of necessity / or to turn our nerve ends outwardly / we were oaks with upturned roots that lead us leave wherever we may go / and wherever the sky boats tow / there we will follow into a night crossed as canvas hatches / the bridges of branches wet as staved matches light up our way and point us to day with windows that glow and gates open latches

torches / there / north star / bare

spade nose upwardly gingerly we follow

for the wretches of clouds reflect the trenches of sounds / glinting as the leper shard mouths stapled in a lax style bound / accustom to corn rows gold leaf textured as kief coarse as the wool of a hound / the hides we bleed ground south from the poles cadavers under ice

heart beats melt the sleet the sheets of still polaroid snow

through a thin layer of frozen water

uneven with the skins palpitations

the hazel flecks of an iris skew in ellipses

reminiscent of the seed of the apple of your dissected eye

cut lengthways we embodied the shape of stars to come

on lesser days we were glancing sideways

and mistook the slipping blade for the rising of the sun

the symmetry of freezing rain evens out our pores

and we appear younger in the white out than we ever have before

when our shadows spread long enough to bend up
across and over the white wash picket fence...
when our shadows spread long enough to bend up
across and over the yellow as squash aging dog with no chance...
when our shadows spread long enough to bend up
across and over the worn through walls and roof of the home we built
but who's life over the last decade had been tested and spent...
it was in these hours that we allowed our powdered forms a seasonal step from threshold up across the caking dust plain stretched between the whispers we panned from goldmine to one another at the bottom of warm baths lips locked with a feverty exclaiming the length of canvas over planks we carved and set together we'd cross from cushioned caves and screen doors in a tone wavering as cellophane the traceless scar skims the hairline of your face / eyes accept the dust like lakes the dry heat and particles freckled our skin in circles / boney chests to perspiring nape / shoulders that bronzed the summits sun summoned our brooding mouths dictation from tractor chakra to cow tongue cuticle into yoga positions reminiscent of kung-fu studied widthways / the only difference is that, on today / conjoining the curvature of shadow our lips bent occular in an awkward attempt to rise in the heat of whats best for our souls and our nest to sew what is left so that they in later years in an hour not unlike todays can hold their swollen jaws high and in contest with a smile at rest and stand a chance at the shades judging stance we cast on a mushroom patch that we had nicknamed hollow
for that was the orchard where we learnt how to swallow ramifications and give way to a freedom our joints thirsted for on the dust plains a process of the combining of our marrow
for that was the orchard where we learnt how to swallow
and when we fed it was always the notions of an animals dying child
we are so sorry for the pain we've caused you
we just mistook these vestiges for bile //
we stood above the infants barefooted on shallow graves as we watched the bodies stave and swell / twitch infectiously as if they were the tunnels and home ways of something larger than the space that contains it / as if it were less when visible / wanting to disappear so that it/me/you/we/us could again be as it should / so that together we could finally be whole

and I know

\ I now know /
there are some bodies that never let go of their soul

A Record Slowly Backspins

My toes between the sand
the forest fogs wrap around my hand
my heart under the needle
endless intake of grooves
upon the vinyl
the shivering breaks induced
by the flow my knees make
collapse this jaundice babe &
rise the nodding head of the
man that I have grown to be
of the spirit that I have made /
of the tracks I am known to play
subliminal curses hinting words in
verses on where I will come to lay
two records fade
as one /
slowly /
backspins

13 Petals Of A Sunflower

And she remembered last november
skate deck the booze mess loose dress
the 26 by 52 eleven dollar canvas
india ink when we agreed free
thought is a silence that creates
a silence that breeds / a siren was she
lost myself in the curiosity
under the sheen / corsets skin set
bare back / no sleeves
memory is a muscle
so we work hard at memorizing
where our fingers lay
when there is no one under them
no clasps / gas masks / no keys
fresh face of the ocean
massage stones / stop motion
rotoscoped imagery predating subtlety
the bleeding bite is temporary
you know the dose / what is necessary
flick the clit of your cigarette / invert
put on the damage / I see you in the vestiary
UV paint / palms pray to merry
under the cloak you know what ain't
and I'm about to / so meet me in the rectory
and I'll show you what a living canvas looks like

agro/rant

So last night we're kickin it in Bastion and aeris and i were keepin warm by thrownin down some and we figured it would be fun if we went and busked our shit some. so we went to murchies and we're spittin and chillin and just havin a good time and then these 3 crackheads startin yellin at us to shut up. like they got some right. so of course we didnt start nothin. barked at them for a bit and they barked back and soon enough everyone involved went on their way. but man that shit gets to me. theyre panhandling crackheads contributing nothing to society and when i try to speak some art they got the nerve to give me flak for doin so? i call bullshit on that. anyway heres some agro rhymes to let off some steam:

It was just me and my boy Aeris
rhyme sayers boxin' and tossing verses
with hat down tryin to scrounge
some quarters for coffee in our purses
nothin on the street but the fog and
far off screams just us and some junkies
never doin much but skulkin and fumin
always bitchin about you know who
scuffling bout on their hands and knees
lookin under rocks and leaves for you know what
figure they got the nerve to tell me to shut the fuck up
what / the fuck / you just say to me cunt
comin on all agro and shit accusing me of callin your bitch a bitch
when i aint said nothin of that sort of offence
but while we're on the subject i gonna call it like it is
crackhead is just another word for dead so i praise allah
that i been and do roll with the crew of Ain't Dead Yet
still you shout bout how im so lucky cuz youd mess me up
if only ya had a shot or two or a couple of beer in ya
well if booze is the poison needed to go kill
give me 3 body bags and i show ya how to fill em

lol k im good now. and thats just it, keep it off the street and put it on the page or wherever it needs to be. just keep it off other people, or try to anyway.

Where The Swing Lingers

I write poetry to satisfy my oral fixation
my hope for another generation
my aproximate detenation of ready triggers
sanctioned to be the bringer downers
behind the mask I have bannered the final obliteration

at which I scoff and ask what for?
what of the toxic omissions missoned
from a darker place inside of me
a carbon fission heart and a set of lungs
even with the energy of cold fusion
spat on me and refused to start

so what of my practices
what of my spirituals my rituals
so what of my part
I was once asked
"so what is it that we do art for?"
so I will ask myself again
"why did you start why did you take any part
what is the purpose and why is your art?"

I was once told
"once we get into the swing of things
then it's time that we can start swinging things"
and I always wondered where it was that
we had to go to find where the swing lingers
and how once we got there the swing would
reconcieve us into a womb that pulled us
into a place that I don't remember
but I'm certain I had been there before
without ever having had noticed
'til now with strained eyes sore

and the profundity sometimes belittles me
in that when I awknowledge that I had been there before
I am akin to realize that I had never left
I had never left