Adhere to the linnea or retread the cursus.

An inverted triangle encloses the chakras, the wayness of the zone.

Strip off the skin and cross-caul, the lined identity of wound.

Continue to hold your mind in course of its course, in continual spiral revelation

in an orderly structure already discarded for habit and frame

in the shape of limb, bend and retrace, your gesture both unreadable and open.

Puzzle, if you can, the gaps between the growth of thoughts and a holy verb

so there is something that’s not there, omnipresently, your phenomenon; a kind of mise en abyme.

While changing channels: here is the buffalo thunder, here the annulus on the shutter is open.

Axis the circle

of origin, audience and outcome fixed. Flat. Hollow. Charred

root. Mount. Micturate. The mark—

alluding to rigor mortis of the tongue—

x-hollowed, rubies jellied into the marrow,

where the juice of sap-blossoms leak through

nostrils in the X, dense concatenations of words, numbers

covered in liquid lice

—Of course, I mean you

feeling the slithered craftings of interlaced planets

wrongness and the

reptile downflow of that nonfeeling chemical

locked in the lock

quenching the summer with carved pink fire

But what about spermatozoids with their cilia or white bloods,

replete in life and praying for healing of their own?

This terrain of wafer, the noetic snow

covers every stratum.

Of animals that I am not.

Behind each mouth, there is an eidetic parenthesis

it’s the nothingness in the bell tower with vocal chords that brays truth into the madness of the nonce

In the capacity of closure.

The coffin tranche

has holes for eyes. On ecstasies that

become bodies that do not contain bodies

distinction becomes the very condition of the congruity, of

dissonance giving rise to opprobrium, the rule-validating dissidence

erected for the

speech-devised we, the Indigenous Sisyphus of public office I see the vast cyan need

Postmodernity, with its mollified hands

along the verge of definition, extinct at first sight.

Come in, come on, you’ve gone astray; the door is here: Eggshell poetry deafeningly, carnivore light

leaves the air tight and stale in this humid hell,

I think the wind must have slipped inside the front door

the doorposts are infected

existentialistically

federal politics and the peach ooze of DNA

Where father, can you help but believe that this life goes on, the eyes you once sought to protect, and no doubt yours are still there.

From, what are you?

The wind presses at the balustrades

Transparent curtains.

Ah, where do you think all this mystery will end?

Of beauty you see only its indices, which no longer correlate.

The missing scalene bound, so as not to startle anything more agnostic than a wren

the wrong way, a diving flag, with a coruscating vortex

littered over its tip.

My oh my,

when will you stop winding me up

in the sunset across the silent plains of birth

from enlightenment to dusk, while sunnings with the ground smell

the rot and the spit of polluted moons in hunger.

What is rustling in the tiger hair

of this sad state of rationalism

to be lost, long before speaking

Fuck me, stop fucking with me

fetch me the goddamn wallet of light

feed me Jupiter

O come, O politicizers,

come toward the way out of the world, and its end-ascent

These are scenes and digressions I insist upon

subsidiary to the ocean of luminance if this

endless day

were but a cadaverous tulip

freshish presses in precious places

primal physical

infracta

nominative neuter

suffragette ascendant

me of the

math of arrows

fallen into reflection in the Sun stomach

the waves, water-spreads, and

shiver of lava

wild persimmon, cannabis, dry moss, anise

together, by cigarette in this scene, by me, I mean you

this picture in a picture

my tiara of the electric blue rattlesnake

pure to muscle, mute the vascular opiations, swastikas of cloud

Is there really a new dawn

if your child isn’t your friend?

Ask yourself

how did you get here from there.

Slower, harsher.

Homeward, me of dog feet

topogravore

moving past a ghost.