Crescent Suns

On late at last on summer nights when
the dry voices taunt the grass to breeze
with the singing voices of the childs mothers
I grasp from the branches of uprooted trees

oil soaked feathers and tangled nets
forest fires I only set to leave
I've never witnessed never noticed
the burnt earth beneath the stormy weather
I've too many terms ive yet to set
too many words I'll never be

a thousand paragraphs I have never scribed
I've seen this through but never seen it free
I'll scrawl twelve drafts upon the window sill
a dozen revisions of my epitaph
I've got days on end and years to kill
in this moment I've the right to be and
know in my own right place I'll take the stand
take the floor build a nest have a seat
never conscious of the waning past
the candle flickers in the curving hallways
dims against my bending knees

sometimes under the curvature of crescent suns
there is just too much smoke and speed to see
sometimes over the half way moons
there's too much fucking smoke to breathe

a prayer for the walls against every closing door
an attempt to enter each calling knock
a prayer for the loss I've suffered
under every gain more than I once thought
a prayer for the wolves licking teeth their pointing fingers
stave over my shoulder I never noticed the guilty one I'm always figured
a prayer for the cost of what it took to realize
eyes fixed upon the horizons shining stars setting nights
contemplating the colors in my head I missed the orb burning bright
merry-go-rounds and paper pinwheels I've been too blind to see the rise

crescent suns the half way shape
promises I dreamt I meant to make
the half way shape of crescent suns
what is done is done and done piss poor
I've been too concerned with what is more
what is sore is what is left for me to take
and when what's done is gone
when the moon is here when the sun has shone
you'll find me in the forest fires
a hanging scarecrow a fucking fake
you'll find me nothing more than
the space between the horizons
a half way man a half way shape
nothing left but what the sky can take

Sympathetic Ophthalmia

Drifting off in a hot bath one night
my eyelids fall to the sound of vocal
samples didgeridoos drums in length that
peel me like lavender or a deep rem cycle
I find myself in a water main curving
by my spine underneath the occipital lobe

the faucet drips when my toes slips
the dripping is dark
while the echoes are green
the walls taste like rust
cut my tongue to birthday ribbons
how does anything exist
when nothing can be seen

I walk the length of the water main
dangle my feet at the drop off
if there were a piano I would play it

over the years my eyes reach
the size of my skinny swinging fists

the ambience has become
more than I can hear
less than I can touch
nothing I can see

I just want my girl

A Garden of Grinning Knives

Last night with the slates of
sun shifting in through my basement
window deep in bed I dreamt of you
of your soft tongue tasting me
left flank to shoulderblade
of you swallowing me whole
heavy in the muscles you made
the tendons you grasp
and ask me to pull
of my palms taking you in
like a wide breadth of landscape
covered with vineyards
tall grass and wild flowers
of looking into your eyes
until there was no seperation
between your stare and mine

last night I dreamt forever
even now I am awake in the
shifting mosaic slate sun
yet still dreaming on you
you consume me infect me
you drug me intoxicate me
my pupils are wide and open
catching the breeze
you make as you move
my grin is as wide as a cleaver
and jagged full of words for you

I would lose my mind to save you
I would let the streets run red to protect you
I would hold my breathe forever to hold you

my high eyes and cleaver grin would bend
the stars to carve a path to reach to you

eyes try
though caustic I may be
I would stretch the river full
to be with you
a perfect drug
catching the breeze
to be with you
awake and dreaming

Stain

This sly cat slits under wide brimmed hats
soak grins since denied his buckets of rye
rusted clogs can fry the phat twixt contingence
and what was known as my composition
drafted in the grain cross marks in the marble shrines
wanting jadite third hence bulimic eye sought where
one could only derive under these clothes
are the only rivers where the rose hip lies
hardened flies bite my notes comply
no liquor? no sty?
no loose skull of symbiotes too sober to fly?
best fiddle to die is the first spanning riddle of your splitting mind