Water's aisle

Crusaders,hanging on to rungs
of old ladders
left cultural notes that crowd the streets

Vivian who was a large shadow
in one such place

often broke down,like a pot of all the opera
that was left in corners to rot
staged to faces that had nothing but the floor to look at,
His feet wouldn't move when he had to piss,
so he looked for a new place every night
after sitting in the sun to dry,all day

Home is where the heart is

Is it anatomy to be poor in thought
or accidental to be poor in putting
it to words...

Sitting by the street with no reasons for waking

I sit occupying the doorway
like a castle of fading rainbows
swept against the ankles of a door
opening into a street
that wears the flesh
of a winter graveyard
tread on by torsos,
devoid of skin
feeling for the last
colorful explosion of tears
across their eyes

My feet are dewy
with the reminiscence of
collapsing existences
condensing close to the ground
like buckling knees
of the brightest moment
under the dark side of the moon

Between me
and the next breath
free of metallic sounds
born in a basement,
is the voyage of a man
so naked,
a quintuplet of stars
would be his dogs
for the night's howling

Heaven it seems
is rolled up to its shin,
For the only smoke i see
is rising from between the lips
of a pregnant woman
who brings together
this morning for me,
with one little smile

Between the whore and the moon

I stabbed the moon
with a wet paintbrush
i had never used before

I watched the blackness
of its heart
spill over the earth
like colors
off a young prostitute's new underwear
dissolving in the rain,
the night all penises hide

Nights of the living young

An hourly child
sucks nipples
in doorways

where pants leak
morphine like change
for the night's sexual transmissions

as their mothers
stand half-dressed
like empty syrettes

poking at the moon's
asshole all night long,
waiting to be milked

Confessions to the moon

Did you see me walking by the ridge
one legged to keep me from falling
into the arms of a dream,
the new growths on a darkening torso

Dawn is carried around in a handbag
that reduces shoulders to ash
whenever hope walks along the
arms of a common heartbeat

Did you see me,dissemble my desires
over stones like cutting fingers
when even the smell of morning
left me hanging over the kitchen sink

Night is a bold queen
that undresses in daydreams
and pricks like a scalding trident
cutting through body and soul

Did you see me,never look at you
like i never looked at seraphs
that were fed to me through
tubelights and emerald book covers

Life is like a bubble of vaccum
An emptiness in this thick air
I never asked you to be beautiful
You just are

Junky

O night's kitchen
has dawn hatched out of an egg
for i'm flattered by cartoonish growth.

Painting after a nightcap

She smiles like fire
staring from above the clouds
When the sun slips between
her sweating legs,piloted by my tongue

The roof blindfolded with aprons
of a deaf mistress speaking to my taste
moves slowly,like snow
ambling over water

I grab avenues from the air
and hide them behind her head
resting upon which
is the tremolo of near death

She believes this is as far
life will let us be,
In the dark, her white bodice
is the burning shadow of my underskin

There is this murmur that elevates
dirt from the floor
like magnetic doornails
perforating through a metallic draught

To all graves of our antiquity
with a mouthful of the mortal earth
i kiss goodbye,i kiss goodbye