Gris Víboras del Altiplano

mock us for our flow they do
for it is intermittent, harsh
snippets like lost melodies
or splinters of broken arks
smashed to bits by krakens deep
the goliaths of the dark
call a poem a song and listen:
The rhythm's in our heart



proceed to be a person of utility
until a reputation is set in cement
at which time you then proceed
in light of this solid precedent
in the erection of a procession
you may intercede if there's a need
and if you've followed these steps in order
you'll necessarily succeed



look at this humanity
what greatness and what majesty
ok look ma we're revolutionary
or passed out winos smoking trees
like an iguana upon a limb be free
until the winter's next deep freeze
then we'll reach our perigee
drawn to earth by gravity
done to death by reality



we like to keep cats
a house a car this and that
a horse of course is what we want
a camel or an elephant
some great steed a mighty mount
but such things are for the rich
not for a poor punk queer switch
who pulls up a hooptie in front
and won't set foot in the restaurant

Somebody's Prison

en mi concha yo soy mas mejor
dige la macha on the seafloor
exterminado dos ángeles cuando ellos bailado
tampoco me gusta y no bebo alcohol



accompanied by our shadow and a whispered far-off call
we sidle through arroyos and each crack in every wall
exploring every cranny from under leaves which have yet to fall
we whistle from each canyon every notch and every col

The Twister's Mom

flip and sit to whit can't take a hit with such little wit
assay your pay today (it's layaway) play or affray on clay
write a writ to slip the clip over and under hold onto it
hey anyways say they graze maize on mayonnaise quays
we admit the twits remit a bit



moonlight fires from eyes of iron
climb spiral staircase ascend the spire
may we please retire this hour
to this bower of lucent power?
it's not too hot, not too cold
we'd like to die when we are old
drowning in a field of flowers
but until then we must respire



every structure has a key
a building is not a stone
keys are made of teeth and bones
and tortoises dwell under every home
like angels they are busy with
undermining monuments
a well-lived life was never meant
to stay in place or to pay rent
so get a tent and be free

Dreams of Eternal Silence

it shouldn't look as if it hurts
these simple short arresting words
indicators incidental indeed it must be
they and she and we and oh yes he
So why don't they seem so when we weep?



sew our lips shut shall we then?
should we ever whistle sweet?
if we strike a key or pluck a pen
will we be too indiscreet?
will we lose our dearest friend?
we don't enjoy such secrecy
a secret stinks like rotting meat



they shot God down last night
the poor tortoise was gunned down mid-flight
Kylie crashed to the earth as a meteorite
and while the humans are fighting over media rights
he revives in his burrow of clay and dolemite



if we were the sun we would live in the dark
if others then called us let's say "a bright spark"
we'd deny it because we'd imagine we're dust!
after all what else would be between us and stars?
just some tiny specks like Jupiter and Mars
an asteroid belt and some cosmonauts



do as we say, not as we do
don't listen to what we say, watch what we do
if can't means we don't want to after all
then won't means we're an unscaleable wall
these scripts don't seem suited to the task
to a poet, a queer, or a sassy jackass

Forests of Overconfidence

opal octopus plays in the forest
kelp shadows deep fit her like a glove
as otters dive down to prowl and to prey
she's courage and confidence, no fear of above
a life of learning exploration and play
to mate and be finished by love




a tug at the rope gives a choke and a wheeze
in white clouds of dust as we fall to our knees
in this brash land of violence and new possibilities
the highest aspiration appears to be psychopathy



As long as our loves require
our heart and soul will thrum
yet when we expire
our loves will all be done
so why should we pursue them so?
and nurture them to grow?
like a dung beetle it's what we do
for this is all we know



violins in bowling alleys standing up like pins
sussurations fill the hall as the bowlers stand
in one row they throw their skulls
and down the lanes they roll
and every revolution they just begin again



crimson-bloody and palled by low mist
ethereal colors appearing, life's gifts
dawn emerges from the comfort of night
darkness recedes before the day's light
the sun creeps above and burns off the fog
a new day of traffic and loud barking dogs

Tactical Jokes

monuments and memories of people we will never meet
Armageddon is aspirational Ragnarok is just a dream
abandoned homes and vacant lots up and down each street
visions of these solitudes as movies on a screen
no last man and his library no gallant tragic end
better off to be a bee and make some buzzing friends



buzzards circle in high blue air
barbed wire tangles like tumbleweeds
this is the steppe of the wild and the free
sun-bleached, brief, esoteric and sere



one pill two pill three pill four
one more in the morning just to make sure
we're all filled up with chemicals galore
ideally not native but from distant shores
better yet from alien stars or
just pharmaceutical pimps treating us like their whore



Beastly barbarians best be barring no bards
our lord is a tortoise from New Mexico or Mars
our own mind is made up from others' discards
and while the miserable misers are mining sharp shards
this mock-snake sarabandes in gardens of chard

Whittling a Tiger

darling let's party until the morn
start the next before the first one's done
we're nearly deaf from cracks of guns
blinded by the powder burns
all future battles we have forsworn
we're tired of all the dying sons
sick to our gut with uniforms
shall we pause the war and revel some?



let's play a game of confessionals
we'll be all starched and professional
like proper little penguins we'll be marching as if to sea
all dressed up to the nines, we'll forge onward diligently
it's off to church to fill our bills with all the sins we need



Oh agony, partner in life
your amber waves of pain....
four sleepless decades of delerium
please disconnect us at the brain.
if we could float above it all
a simple severed head
one hand to scratch out words in sand
would suffice until we're dead



Desert hoodoo trash-heaped slum
as if to be describing our very own home!
is strange, no, this poetic song?
how somehow we all have a connection
the zeitgeist or trends or popping a quiff
like Newton or Leibniz and the Calculus!
—AN: Cassondra Windwalker insp.



Don't mind us, we're just a fool
not fit company for a queen like you!
A scold's blood is all we have running through
these scarred-up veins and reknit bones
yet Sister Death is our dearest crone
and she will greet each queen and king
for everyone must kiss her ring
—AN: Natasha Link insp.