The Incipient Indefinite

introduced to Erasure by erasure
a fairy godfather most divine
young and trim and brash and flaming
in nineteen eighty nine
I young guinea pig spook-in-training
wild and grim-inclined
who knows what could have happened
if he hadn't seen the signs



we can't stand
and we can't wait
we can't get enough
of what we can't anticipate
but if we can't get stuck
then we can't be late
for our own expiration date



slate skies and water basalt angled spat
arced in triumphant parabola back
to trickling brief rills down rock faces and drains
— here liquid is rare, barely a brief stain
this high desert's most sacred odor is rain
the river flows through us and all life sustains



as declined the spirits
so arose new light's pall
a beggar looked round
the long banquet hall
revealed drunkards and louts
— fine noble ministers
who were all passed out
shaking her head
the thief gathered her loot
as the President snored loudly
and pissed in his boots

Heating Up

Lidya Grey forced a siesta on me
she was simply too much
three days of endless puppy love
walkies, four legs and such
including the tail she's got five limbs
add a curious snoofer for six
that's my favorite single-digit integer
so I guess she's pretty perfect



we put them on their pedestals
groom and feed them well
tell them they're the best of us
and when they fail it's hell
no slip-ups for the lionized
your laurels are not for sleep
flit about your sun, Icarus
among us wretched is where you'll weep



bring your adders to my breast
I'll suckle them with my blood
every creature deserves a life
— even a human one
full of murder and rape and spite
brief thrills at death and pain
that is what they'd have us believe:
Holy Fathers and their big brains



vibrate an angel's feather on harp
some things I've seen are in the dark
like memories from another life
of drive-thru lovers lost to time
bus-stop afternoons remain
while thirty years of abuse changed
constant turmoil boils skin-deep
— but it's just my flexibility

Relent with Ruth

lick Death with a scourging whip
no matter how quietly she may drift
her bones will bring a clatter
she says what it takes to get her fix
so blood is dripping down her gown
so go all the wails and moans
into emerald tatters —



down the gulch there's an old swingset
doesn't seem to have been ever even used once yet
there it stands pristine and old
surrounded by cholla and creosote
walking round the hillside it cuts
see the red chains, white seats blue struts
a peaceful place for quail and ducks



a simple twist a flip of the gel
turns out the place isn't so bad
nothing at all like any other hell
good light and the walls are thick and sturdy
six by five might make you thirty
but either way clean it and it won't be dirty




In hush and still air a thought dark cracks
spills into my eyes
a dawn of grit and heat — sun's high blast
fair witless stand witness my demise
these singularities and simple facts
lonesome dancing's all there is
it is no heaven but this is bliss
time marches on as hearts react



you can polish all you want
but you can't shine a mine
polluting mother earth
is murdering the divine



at the end of the hallway, the agora at the lift
concrete block tenement has its own unique taste
blind schedule relentless to interstitial lives lived
latchkey apartments, condos, small spaces
jam-packed in airtight, unlikely to drift

Springs and Fountains

shame for things I've never done
darkens each and every morn
—fountaining!
seems wellspring's not dry
much to my shame and my surprise
as I dry my dreary eyes
and strap on in for another ride



combinatorics and human hearts:
coy mathematics performed in the dark
some find connections some fall apart
some are renditioned some never budge
location weighs more than knowledge



Presuppose complexity
everything leading to you and me
math, genetics, history
and always the tyrant biology
Assume a life led seeking out
finding truths, removing doubt
I'll assume the same of you
now what on earth are we to do?



unlocked some old algorithms
I had entombed within
got me a passel of new tricks
she brings a vibrant new life's rhythm
a Lydia Grey who likes to chew sticks
as I scrape off old skin



poets wake with the dawn
poets stay up until everyone's gone
poets wander the smallest hours
looking at bugs and staring at flowers
a poet spends every moment of life
singing of truths in the sun and the night
Why Muses choose them? They are alive.



pest control arrived a bit late, it should have been fine
but the echoes were over, they'd spilled all the wine.
that wasn't fresh paint it was blood-fed red lines
an ant waved their antennae at the end of a spine
the irony was they were the same size as mine

Oh Lydia Oh Lydia

poetry is exploration wandering
as if we're lost
finding what twigs and duff we can
specifically accost



She wished she could restrain Elaine for the oncoming train...




she cried no tears as she bid them adieu
all her traumas went away
there go the memories black and blue
one fine clear sunny late March day
her last words "it's just a flu!"
Her friends now all say "what a shame."



like balls on words to sing-along
four runners lean and tall and strong
without turning a single head
they run in single file except
for when cars pass they fan out behind
like an avalanche coming down an incline



propagandize to take out what's left of the middle
entertain them like faeries on tin whistles
— then prepare the Intercontinental Missiles
they haven't got any room left to wiggle
Malthusian erections are easy riddles
but solutions at this point aren't so simple



'Liar' is trending in 'Politics', Minister!
...what, have they figured us out?
laughter ensues in smoke-filled rooms
while some spin yarns defamatory
our leaders are plotting our downfall, it seems
there's no need for Q or the Illuminati
we've got predatory global companies

Clay Houses

in the pool she caught a gleam
a liquid transparency of silver cream
washing over the walls and yard
streams erased her disregard
slow breaths and spinning to begin
escaping the prisoners she held within



Covering roughly zed to omega
a sea one cannot breach
one can always part the oceans
but nothing can't (for now)
a love poem to a set or string
would be a cold dark vacuum thing
Infinity won't sing a lullaby
look to the light and sing



cold, deadly, and black
sink into the pressure til every bone you have cracks
biscuit shaped holes stream blood from your flanks
imps they surround you, their black dead eyes blank
there glowing beneath you a massive mantle it pulsates
— Kraken's hungry beak awaits



authors choose they freedom wise
stare into my feral eyes
watch I swivel my two ears!
read and witness, look and see
that I just write the songs I hear
there is no separation left
my Muse and I are truly cleft
we're just ballooning with the breeze
tossing out our poetry

Cumpleaños Lagarta Grande

If anything is awesome which isn't a whale
it would probably be a well-written tale
to be awesome requires a behemoth status
or to have a particularly refined substratum
but my poetry's flirty, pretentious and grand
the best medium for it is on wind and in sand



happiness remained elusive
in those neverending mists
the delerium of days inclusive
of raving howling fits
now emerged from that cocoon suspended
each breath of air and my heart lifts



My mind sometimes wanders
to memories of fear
most intimate violence
the shedding of a tear
as my scales grow ever thicker
with the wear of many years



The Pantanal is where mi papa is from
el es un caimano viejo
it extends all the way up into Brasil
al Noroeste del garganta el diablo
¿now what do you want a stone up there for?
¡mi padre solo comer los pescados!

Togetherness (serials)

     She's doing it again today, just with those beads on the spiral staircase this time. Popping them off one by one, staring at nothing.
     Sitting there all dusty. I don't even know where she got that coat. She's getting thinner every day.

    She didn't come home until morning, damp all in her hair G_d knows from where. She must have run through the sprinklers or something but I didn't hear them. Who knows.
    "Yeah! You're making tea!" She grabs me from behind, I only spill a little.

    "You smell like a wet dog," I wriggle out of her arms as she settles on the stool.
    "I wasn't Out, I was just in the yard."
    "All night?" I turn to bring her mug and sit across the little birch table from her. She nods and smiles, sipping.

The Crab Traps

much like Nash he was batshit, they said
I would propose he's like Napier, divine
they threw Georg in a nuthouse until he was dead
while John was a Lord with an aura of dread
the judgment of masses is ultimate, you'll find
and infinities seem torments to earthbound minds



there's more grullas than ever it seems,
and the vultures are recovering
arroyos all dry and the Rio is low the snowpack ain't come in years
not since I've been here...
but the crows are plentiful because of pecans
and there go some ducks on the wing



trauma doesn't define me
it redesigned my everyday
I am not strictly heterosexual
nor do I care what others say
about my life terrestrial
or mistakes which I have made
I will never be an octopus
but I can swim and I can play



disengaging feels so nice
opinions sometimes cost too much
willing always to pay that price
sometimes however a softer touch
can melt rather than break the ice
to rant and rave can be a rush
but listening is paradise



because I am compelled to by my Muse.
when I am overtaken inundated by the news
more guns and violence and little birth
they don't celebrate the life on earth
so she makes me write them down
I think her songs are, pound for pound
pretty playful and puissant poems



write a song about a circle
eight time eight is sixty four
or an orby octopus purple
that's a load of tentacles or
floating like a puffball's spores
an armada of Portuguese man o' wars
caught in thin silver webs of light
hovering over the forest floor
cast by Moon, the Queen of Night
what's the rush, what'd they leave for?
must be time for bed, all right

A Nice Crisp Solitude

por viento on the wind
be always ready to begin
gather up tacks and thorns and teeth
arrange them neatly underneath
and when they step upon and wail
hold your laughter and don't turn tail:
face your torments even those
you strew below your other's toes



way up north where the skies are grey
and the rain don't stop not once til May
the earth's rich brown and trees are green
duff and moss up to your knees
way out by the Salish Sea
if I were there I'd rather be
a Spirit Bear, not a damn Mountie



Deep predator's eyes
amber flecked
— wild
gazing bloody
at paradise



each new work is a new bud
an emergent potential sure enough
if you could predict what lay within
your work would likely be paper-thin
true art is in the dance and song
intemperate and brief, not long
inspiration comes at a cost
your very mind is completely lost!



this orbiting body is a good friend to keep
one as massive as she can change gravity
while driving along she'll stave off the sleep
and keep you from running into a tree



they see the rose they yearn to taste it
but the thorns defeat all tongues
she enjoys her thorny bramble empty
not a single suitor won
alone at last, left unpestered
she blossoms for the moon
sings her songs of night's dark whispers
hush and you can hear her soothing croon



big crimes don't measure
in an ever-escalating game
a mass shooting every day
becomes monotonous and plain
on a cloud of overstimulation
one can barely feel the pain
honestly nothing won't feel better
so they might as well be the same



she looks at her across the room
she's got her black hat on
she wants her more than ever now
but she's running a marathon
finally her face has cracked
she's bowed under the strain
she grins a predatory smile
her lust begins with pain

Nothing Too Complicated

winter's ebb the melting frost
as ever feeling cold and lost
a wisp afloat upon a breeze
I would topple to my knees
and crawl a million miles to be
with someone who believed in dreams
then we could love them suitably



can't take me much higher than this
I'm pressed up against heaven as it is
hard to breathe for some up here
the air is thin and rather sere
down below you see it all
where water flows and thunder falls
yet I'd rather be here than down below
like I'd no idea what's in store




Aine and Russell how their young locks curled
brash-throated lad and pensive girl
both identified by hairs after being mauled by bears
they sought out a clovered glen
what they found was a grizzly's den
Happy St. Pat's to one and all
may green beer flow like waterfalls!



neon and chrome reflections of lights
driving alone in the white lines tonight
the Moon hides like behind a slate
even the low clouds remonstrate
pouring down acid in lakes
what on earth will it ever take
our own extinction is on the plate
it might already be too late



when urchins sing of eating ooze
and otters hunt for abalone
makes no difference sets the mood
— adrift in a sea of poetry
singing til my lips turn blue
these songs flow through me endlessly
the simple need to sing love's truths



cry for the insoluble
as if we had a choice
all we can ever do is weep
cry out in feeble voice
for monsters always hold their breath
and wait until we're weak
they were all once just like us
and now they want to speak
listen while they babble on
they'll be silent in defeat



Humans get their heart's desire
a world alight with oil rig fires
carbon overloaded air
a brand new product for their hair
no revolutions from above
scattering all in furious ire
landing like a single dove
strangled breath's all we have left

Caminando con Dr. Jones

coiling thrashing lashing whips
the tendrils of this sea witch fly
rising from the moonlit surf
a liquid queen comes to the earth
mists and depths in her opal eyes
her colossal mind toroid-serpentine
this wise and vibrant octopus divine



por la viento soy emparedada a cielo
no tengo nadie y ningun auto a ud corazon
liebres y tortugas este tierra propio
y yo no lo tendria de manera otro



stars are coiled up in my mind
strangled til they're not divine
render unto me what is gris
pull everything into my sea
from skies of slate to blackout days
to whirling in the desert crazed
travel everywhere to learn
there's not yet a book worth the burn



if to author is to own then
I'd rather remain free
set a heart afire or set
ablaze every last copse
within the winds of poetry
tasting life's every last drop
la viento por la mundo
y todos espacio entre cado



from tidal flats to Carlsbad bats
hiking boots instead of flats
better wear a wide-brimmed hat
the sun's nearby, I'll tell ya that
ain't got too much atmosphere
the skies are mostly crystal clear
some may call it poverty
but I call it living alone and free

Scolding Water

sing tunes of the apocalpyse
as if it's going on
meteorites flying left and right
in random arrhythm for this song
let's dance around and swing our hips
to the howling symphony
while sandstorms strip our flesh from bone
in the dancehall of Humanity



dream of love and rockets
only in two ways
one in poverty, life
the everyday
white dust on dirt and gravel, scrub
swimming in low drama, blood
— the other a simple knife
A/C in black cool studio
primary lights at night
music clean and crystal clear
soothing to weary ears



a drive up to the Bugaboos
my dad and I were on a cruise
just drivin round a mountain pass
and there before us on its ass
a semi trailer big and long
a feller crawlin, the wheels still goin
I pulled on over and I said, "Hey,
"Can a Canuck's grandthing help ya, eh?"



these tautologies like crimson wine
dowsing for fountains or brief bloody showers
as landmark and generic sky align
landscape changes to postcard time
no simulation, nothing to find divine
gaze at the sunset, now that's sublime



wails are low and long today
harmony is brief
erratic and ephemeral
watch the ballerinas on their feet
toes like goat hooves en pointe, precise
dream fountaining geysers of steaming blood
—if they had skates the throats they'd slice
to dance away the day is nice

Free Dissociation

been two whole days since my winter funk
so I'm feelin extra queer and punk
grew my spine back it appears
blocked and dumped the vicious dear
damn right I went there, first time you bet
because I won't forgive pain I can't forget



red tail they perch alone and high
upon an exposed peak
watching everything below
keen-eyed with wicked beak
let's not dance with agony dear
not today, not in this light
it seems so silly, fear of the dark
only the meek come out at night



rills and creeks and babbling brooks
a range's tear ducts well up in springs
as snowmelt and with gravity
down the slope bringing poppling
rocks and twigs and leaves and things



as Humpty-Dumpty would play Profokiev
in serenading a wall
so this small man is ignored and
driven from civilized halls



ain't nothin wrong with a big ol plate
of your favorite stick-to-yer-ribs
sometimes a simplistic familiar plot
sets yer sails and trims yer jib
dialogue most unnatural might
bother yer regular sort
so hermits can write poetry
everybody's who bestseller lists are for



If that's not euphemistic
it would be kind to share a pic
for some us love a pie
whether rhubarb, apple, or black bear eye!



todos los que dicen ella es peligroso
ningunos mentirosos y tampoco idiotas
a de mi lengua y mente son ellos tampoco no locos
pero yo creo ella teine un corazon de banditas

I and Me

My theory on toxicity is a rather self-serving one
for I suspect I may be toxic but I'd really rather not
be a pain in the ass or come condescending because I haven't got a job
and I ain't much of anything but an annoying fat old blob!



radiant frosted earth tamps down
Sun's ascent to boiling crown
yet I accelerate to generate
some wind to cool my superstrate
homeostasis must be maintained
open the vents and all the drains
in four hours it won't be the same
so I'd better not exceed my range



there's too much funk to feel sad
and too much punk not to stay mad
at the end of the day another one starts
another cycle of goths questing for hearts
and minds and souls and experience
or to just clock in for maintenance
today there's no shame, no lives misspent



jackrabbits on percussion god the tortoise on the bass
if I look to the sky for heaven all I see is outer space
but the smell of creosote smoke and monsoon showers...
there's no other heaven for my soul than in this place



perfection is very simple
what's hard is day to day
rejection, yelling "f**k you!"
is weakness, I would say
and denying imperfection
means you might as well eat hay



when stupidity and whimsy collide
they sometimes make a spark
I would cross a road backwards
alone and in the dark
if I suspected that my Muse had left
and taken inspiration to the park


I'm a mystery an obfuscation a simple twist of mind
if you can think in circles you'd be halfway from the brine
some people call me a reptile and that also suits me fine
but either way I'm neither devil nor am I divine



some extol the virtues of a bullet, war and pain
those sorts have bolts and knuckles in their heads instead of brains
a gentle life is hard to do, one mistake and it can break
but when you live in proud humility there's nothing you can't take

Laramidian Arachnids

peace starts out to the left to the left
floats along with the zeitgeist breath
songlines, dancers, true love and birth
a joyful existence on our blue earth
but soldier and warrior to the weave they are weft
and war is who comes when there's not enough death



oh what folly, we got conned
we shipped our dirt across the pond
and now that all the water's gone
there's nothing left to build upon!



if I did it in a burst I was the worst and he did it first besides
now he's fresh gone and I should feel a longin'
— but I feel lighter inside
some things are worth it and some things aren't...
his lies I could never abide



a consideration of circuitry explodes from under the shrubs
rising in the sunset air just like a flock of doves
El Silbodero wanders by, his tune a whistling haunting cry
and coyote's yipin at the Moon; pray the skinwalkers stay outside



Pulp and Paper Products Pizza Party
send another invite so I can go
throw it in the trash to burn
then take a crap at the Tacoma Dome
huff a big old snoot full of that de-stink-tive aroma
and remember where I'm not from



to glisten your listen,
relish the silences



the gini coefficient has moved another notch
back and forth it always swings a revolution's spot
representing equilibrium as a certainty or our lot
Messiah is among their people, climate just got too hot



vampyropod cloak billows out
churning up the silt
fast as lightning we hit the pipe
turn into the angle parabola above and back down to dive
slide the wings of a ray from your sides and get bubble-contrail glides
dream silvering arcs into the night



Deep friars in devil's club briars
immoblized by a ring of burning tires
like a noose slowly drawn
they get rather warm
as the bristly woody stems catch on fire



Bread n Butter love no other don't split about a pole
to break your parent's back you just gotta drop a stone
but if you break their heart you'll lose your tiny soul
so don't worry bout the cracks just keep your mind on staying whole
pigeonhole the principle: rejection out of mode

A Soggy Tussock

— emily dickinson
is the best place
the em dash exists
to express her grace
the ternary —
left unaddressed by Blake
so focused on Milton
— that was a mistake.



never ask us why and always tell us lies
keep your own counsel and blind your own eyes
that is the way to truly worm your way inside
but better hope you got some rope to wrap around your butt
because what's in here is quite severe and will rip out all your guts
deception doesn't work on us that's why we're not a slut



doves in the eaves are lulling
cooing and purring like rills
weaken the creek — let it reduce to a trickle
divine silence in high pines and juniper thistles
why ask for too much when there is so little
separation between meaning and riddle?



la lengua de la desierto — an old Chevy's choke
survival is not optional for the Laramidian throat
fight or flight con las grullas en la rising smoke
rodeado por las montañas solo queremos un corazon



catacombically imperious
the whiskered rat-queen doesn't bide
from every drain and toilet bowl
her children at nighttime slide
through the attics under cupboards
and swarming through the walls
in every climate-controlled terrarium
you'll hear their little gnaws



we wish we were a telescope
aimed directly at the Moon
we're tired of twisting on this rope
dangling in an empty room
perhaps tomorrow — but never again
a dance with Arachne on her loom
tragedy can be canyon-vast
or a simple sodden buffoon



a lullaby born inside a jar
she wailed and thrashed back and forth
bottled up each and every star
from Southern Cross to Ursa Minor
Polaris burned her soul to char
she spread her lungs out the bloodwings torn
she's not Venus — he was always Mars
And now he's ready for war

(Your Own) Personal Ghetto

treading water isn't ever easy
doggy paddle this cat about the moat
throw us a lifesaver wouldja boss?
or if that's too much a paper boat?
huck it over nice and high
you know the floaty ring ya toss?
yeah we'd like to lick ourself to dry
shake ourself until we're dizzy
act as if we're very busy
please don't touch us, we're still pissy
we'll just slink out like a stoat



Lycidas wherever art thy drowned?
his corpse beneath the surf and sand
tubeworm-tiara sprouts from his skull
somewhere beneath a rusty hull
perhaps he'll be found once and for all
washed up on a sunny atoll
but either way, come the Fall
we're sailing off to the South Pole



crows ruffle
like black pinecones
snow will fall

Sinking

sin kin two hour depths and sea four yore's elf
trauma and pain beyond medical help
being reviled is better than not existing we guess
we wait patient for soil to claim our last breath
thanks to the pain and our sister, Death
we wish much happier lives for all the rest
Other nonbinary people, trans women and men
we wish had a wand instead of a pen
we'd wave it about blasting the hate
murdering every infant Hitler before they got a chance to mate



Comfort as concept we embrace
but it is not the liquid which leaks out of our face
and stains the pillow every night
—mom thought it was our overbite!
agony is a beautiful word
if it were wings we'd be a bird
but to trudge is our grim fate
and without legs we'd be a snake
so we are resigned to ache



chiropractor chiroptera
terraform these hills
fly about and sand them down
until they're flat as a dollar bill
this montane highland is too creased
for our aching worn out battered knees
so if you can't do that at least
pick us up and drop us off somewhere we can sleep



let us watch the shadows
of our bodies on the wall
while we dance together
we could imagine we were small
your shadow and ours dancing
in whatever space we chose
in a shoebox or on a galaxy
or in a budding rose
yes, we truly love you
but your heart we still don't know



Ren can't help it
we'd like to think they wouldn't if they could
but we wish they could
because they deserve something for themself
they're just compelled to be good
but who's caring for their health?
we leave it to a little bird
otherwise it's all just words



We're looking for a new investment,
a patron of the dirty looks
someone dark malevolent;
Could you be our Torquemada
to move on in and not pay rent?
Would you hurt us like no other
we're a magnet for all ill intent!
We'll never be a proper author
just torture us until we're spent

The Trudge of March

our poetry is sometimes beautiful
and we can never be so
but changing the way we see ourself
hasn't happened, no
we get compliments and presents sent
but we already considered ourself a pro
what has happened is that others now
seem to appreciate our flow



for hours every day she stares at the sea
ever ruminating only wishing to be
in the arms of someone she loves tenderly
but she settled for one she's certain isn't he
change requires courage and she ain't got but a bit
her fear overwhelms her so she waits and she sits

Marcha Marcha Marcha!

she's reading tales of bear attacks
in her love and pockets-in-a-sun-dress phase
while we play a song out in the back
a hook a line she can't erase
ba da bum bum bleak as space
la la la there is no grace
do-do-do-doo shut your face
Now drag us bleeding back to your place



dark lucent wings of brimstone fire
spread across the city spires
they feel it oscillate in empty streets
a tense and pregnant bursting need
evident by piles of burning tires
the human species wants to bleed
war and death and Cinders... hella
rape and plunder and catastrophe
everyone's a Mad Max wannabe
so throw us in the fucking pyre
we'll bring a match and light the fire



everybody plays a role
each stair is another cliff
"Hercules," asked the tiny mole
"Can a sister get a lift?"
Herc reached down without a thought
brought his sister Mole on up
the truest test of a paragon
is to lift the small and blood the wan



hate is bleak in isolation
it tries to erase, obliterate
not to promote but to negate
make our rage sing and resonate
achieve a harmonious oscillation
rage is life not resignation



gotta love neuropathy
our left foot explodes in agony
we take the shoe off and we see
no visible reason for us to be
bitching and moaning constantly
yet still it hurt so much we peed



A snake with no ribs would just be a worm
and even an eel has a lot of little bones
through thick and thin or fuzzy and firm
pleasure can be found with a partner or on your own

The Fury of the Meek

Misha don't hunt octopus
you couldn't bear the fuss and muss
when you get mixed up in the water
you got to be the better otter
polar paws are webby too
so perhaps call on your cousin, boo
you're gonna need his help the most
when you're drowning off Odessa's coast



mammogram reptilian
squish between two plates
don't put too much pressure though
or chuckwalla gets irate
wriggles round and puffs on up
settles securely into place
if they're trapped between two options
they'll never show their face



six times six is thirty six
study math and learn some tricks
like street fighting or how to lay bricks
build walls round hearts three feet thick
splatter the mortar real quick
hide your feelings in the cement mix



The wheels on the cranks go round and round
in this merry-go-round of stupid clowns
wasting diesel and clogging town
may they throw a rod and shut on down
or drive off a nearby pier and drown
these bigot kings and their hooded crowns



troubadour and bard sing songs
fools find a king to hang upon
our task is to fix some weighty wrongs
and find a place where wild words belong
to ruin wreck and render down
to strip the wicked of their crowns
a skald is a fool as any other
we are a child, a Muse our mother
wild words are the words of joy
meadows fields and valleys coy
songs of myths and natural things
the beasts and fish and birds on wing
every rock, plant and animal
deserves a poem just for them special

Inkwells of Hell

grey concrete doesn't speak about the
meet and greet on Pushkin street
alive and well in expatriate hell
a silk road market of meat
round faces puffy and graceless
Moscow sends them to die
in sickness and death may they breathe their last breath
not a single tear left uncried



we can't seem to get along with anyone
but we get along just fine
we got the heck out of urban development
and now we waste our time
feeding stray cats and writing poetry
in our high desert most sublime



this hell-spread emperor gazes sulfur
a chinless egg sour and dour
somehow this coward rose to power
sets civil livers to roil and smoulder
he shrieks of destruction and disorder
death and rape and blood in oceans
are the only gods of his devotions



ersatz muzhiks on parade
marching witless to their graves
may sheets of aurora's flames cascade
over cadavers of soldiers freshly laid
on fallow fields like monsoon rain
and may their dreams of empire fade
as if a fart from yesterday

Divinity's Erratum

follow the cracks like black lines in pack ice
we revel in this crevasse's blue like lapis
anterior visions while love leads in the north


walk smile make the motions
do ablutions show devotions
clock in shake hands agree be affable
don't make a scene that's for professionals
actors and nitwits and self-appointed royalty
dare to be yourself and go where eagles dare
roost alone in a tree



crush a forest to splintered wood
a column a broadside wide iron front
battering down and unstoppable by grunts
the little man's cold loins get pert alert
at the sound of tank tracks hitting dirt
he rides a horse and kills a tiger
Malchik Volvka never wears a shirt



whorl and curl a geode split globe
like a crystal spiral of Bernoulli's description
this desert nautilus a product of heat and friction
secret feature obscured behind bland repetitive plane
a sunken eyeball of earth's core staring up



with sandstone splintered coffin nails
slowly switchback up the trail
shamble jerk and struggle free
of this deadly fucking gravity
breaking bones and grinding teeth
heaven's deep beneath our feet



Em is for emily—
dickinson redacted or unclear —
or simply a placeholder for a fool of a brother
a never did much of anything or other
an absence noted — as if a plate were to await
some Jell-O™ monstrosity
like a 1950s salad-cake



violet creeping thyme
in sunset pastel wine-tint sublime
blood orange stains as juice creeps and seeps
through liana-skirt tangle round devil's club feet
these soggy leaden jungles of our minds
stagnation and rendition from the dry mountains divine
— civilization's crime