Vertical Lines A

by Decomposure

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released May 7, 2007



all rights reserved


Decomposure Kitchener, Ontario

i live my life differently. i have it together for fish in the sea. but let's go back to the tv screen.

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Track Name: Hour 1
my eyelashes froze on the forest's edge;
i don't recall the order of events
adrift in furrowed streaks, the snow had left
to crop the fire in framing through my hands

and if i were alone there would be nothing on the walls
there never was a response,
i picture them in a van reading aloud,
hanging words and wheeling them hushed
across the spaces above our heads
so each deviation extends past a carton
or through serviette racks

bottle misery
where trucks are distant bells in fog
the love conspiracy in wooded veil each endless walk

'The swing's one push away from flight.'
It's easy to kill flies in an all white room,
at least until you go blind
and strip the skin from your palms
to blot every streak and mirage
and pretend that you're lost in thought so cars will turn
two rain path air back covers
fingertip staring plus nine precursor pm searchrope
expecting that from those cels, the rubbings will brush aside
to descale a saturated lost clarity
with three or four rows of teeth

it's a mystery
the second cloth diffusing pause
the love conspiracy sealing every finger off
(there's enough anthemic pandemic poisoning wells for that)

my eyelashes froze on the forest's edge;
i don't recall the order of events
adrift in furrowed streaks, the snow had left
to crop the fire in framing through my hands
Track Name: Hour 2
it was hot.
half-float, draw it out and cast it aside, but it will always return.
we built slow refresh rates and dark yellow and hip boxes
around white windows and line of sight
painting an epic battle helmet vs. nailmapping foot nudges
to a sparse sleeping choir behind unbreakable swine necklaces
as my invisible fence ad dash melted snowfort.
ladder against the wall
or a prayer for the poor instead of an air war
throat dusted with flour

puncture the semidethawed icepack membrane
between the twostroke lower case e, i
and twelve month handdrawn circles
five slip under the sediment
stuffed to be short and proudly wear a hanger;
i hope my facing foyer mirrors will shatter fully before i wake.
nose to the mural/image virus
spin tires on identical mobius thirtysix minutes in folded towels
or green trucker alarms
or competing systems draped over backs of mornings;
bullet hole handprints piercing frosted pane
even as beads join like lined featureless faces
span each shut with a red pen
when each poison action spider drags its ashen paw
across dry fields laden with land mines and gopher homes
glom opposing sides, clamp forward
when exponents pick height sickness’ marked car from under your arm
in a prerink plastic chair reading slogans, awaiting a blink
from the aging red or blue candy handbook’s monstrous white pupils,
anchor anxious arm raised under zero weight of wisp or clearing stacks
between absence and blurred black rattle trailing umbrellatipped silence.
your name carved in a desk; etched bruisepurple
below whitebarred stalactites and conscious laughs
that flank a skipped chapter.

we leak on the green legs rung,
nickel and timed ’til days are hung.

do you dream in webstats? sanding a toothpick
thunderhead over fused crayon candles snuffed at both ends
when another dark tuesday is salted bottom left with unpeeled onions
waiting on crosshatched etm triacontahedron
downing milleniumaesthetic clean white squares
forcing your foot to twist and slap to the ground
baby talk cults. paper eyelash insect
darting windows to spout (a hand cupping sand to the edge of a table)
over smaller snowhills,
notched untouched paper.
twotwofour and there’s only mist around the plant
and red seven segments to be divided and catalogued as in high school,
tired but no longer encoded.
red eye, green eye, flattened in a remaining crumpled wounded deer.

and if this pale sheath buckles under white wind spears
i may join either side of the boiling tongue if only for toques and dry shoes
and bite into scarves heated by clear nest handshakes
none to split a pizza from teal in a storm.
it’s a whole other sheet of cellophane dropped to reveal
a fourth set of pews listed only as shadow shapes
painted concrete floor through a screen door floor hockey
transports meat to a former statepainted redbrick wall
shouldertap lost (or a funnel double m gym,
burning inlocker firetruck notes read in left-of-luxury stall
postfinal, prefinal,
dizzied unknown but anticipated
outcome from autumn to winter;
stoplighted chili rather than desperate heatsink
pencilled all caps through thin blue
unsent as bc rolled silently by
but that had only occurred to me in pieces)
Track Name: Hour 3
how many months in mp3s
and rows of dvds would graph a fourth wall?
it’s what i eat and what i do;
glint blankets crude hewn pebbles without waking
gloved greeting like accidental epoxy
in a franchise transaction during a flyover snack stop
no party, only varying venn knots
inhaling and exchanging silence for (moving) rattlesnakes...

no rest from mathpowered chalk, damp sweater
winter spring forehead wedges cragged letter tails
projected clouds flattened against solemn intake of breath
under the distant curious emptiness lit threequarters above
with whispered breathless linked axes on the table at the back.
right now, still thirty feet behind a moment
peering through three holes quicksanded through the floorboard receiver
at fraternal bluegreen crashes and outline dragging
a dark mass muzzled an inch bleed vertically from each side of a foil candle,
encased like headlights beyond the outside wall groping clay arms
for a snowblind map of street stains and melted tablecloth fire cord.
gliding hunched with leopard legs
over sealed ground
over sealed car house
over sealed vhs tape box;
there’s been no offwhite phone nub to chew in four years,
so can i explain that i’ve changed?
your kind is not welcome; join us only on the chorus

elongated sun smears the sole trace of nature
against demographic dots curled inward to cold fire
blue card mugging is currency, wearing pumice color brands
during doortodoor disappointments
blocks on tires

others on our lawns encroach;
pitch recoiled in assumed homes
my stunted spinnerets
cast strings in search of fenceless paths

all these ones summed are less than half;
a parrot squawking on a titan’s shoulder
i’d been there before, but it had since been furnished
a jail flashed harshly in memory:
i found my former wallet at an odd version of tetris
with a control pad like old doorbells
(although i didn’t use the down arrow,
i used a flat, telescoping toggle switch).
this was after circling around the opposite side of a boat
so no giant could see me,
then walking through diagonal pepperwood halls
to luke’s temporary school apartment
above the roof next to the building’s first hollow ribcage.
in the second, the janitor indicated his belt sander
on a distant plywood island,
and it fell as if pushed to be replaced by another purple one.
i entered alone but trailed by a friend through an angled room
with a light teal doorway boarded with only a square opening
available at eye level.
just me and the lost doorman stalking night and previous days in advance
with styrofoam footprints in eggshell bathed in shadow gauze
blocks and bubbles apart, behind steam blinds

elongated sun smears the sole trace of nature
against demographic dots curled inward to cold fire
blue card mugging is currency, wearing pumice color brands
during doortodoor disappointments in elmira.

the walk’s pure snowbank weatherstripped
facing coats with concrete script
obverse smiles parked in bare lots,
unbound stamps disperse in clots
Track Name: Hour 4
they are drowsily incessant,
this braided bedsheet ring of torn fabric:
a cone of protection/berlin wall sprouting in the smile lines of cracked earth,
stepping pallidwatery slow back from my corneas.
offhanded venom extracted
through a peeling brown christmas swordfight with lensed end,
burning canadian tire money ants with underwater eye cups
and boxed ivy boots like blood’s the disease,
never the sequined curtain upholstered mouth father figure
(polluted oasis)
rolling broken crackers downstream into the bowl
readonly playlist with indignant bearshark taxpayer numbers
acrid smoke hammered to passing grey light and coffee chain windows
that scorch the tinted throats of passengers;
spitting in wounds and flowing silver lobes
faceless with sudden suburban ferocity.

i’ve never been afraid outside,
but they congregate with clubs under support beams
neighbouring film grain clouds drawn in grids;
a single shallow spotless plate handful of metal cubes
for an ordered chaos i stir like juice crystals
(drink powdered gold)
that crests to rest in preparation to shave fractals
disturbed by bent space, compiled picture-in-picture as our tball exhibition
to shade the compiled clarity amassing on the frozen lake.
i find clarity in vacant ceilings, crouched in turrets
instead of vased wide over countertops, throwing arms

these are days through penguin scars, feedback feet,
amplified ink as soft taunting from a toppled eight’s dugout
these are parcels sorted as secondthursday false starts,
bookends, a sled in a field pillowed to survey the sky,
omission slides with dandruff, marble air storage
and the following surrender: (line, incremented fourdigit date)
become a rain seether running newborns through streets and dyed celery
all my friends are death sticks; so there won’t be a block party
because in the zeroes we don’t share tables or see the bones

i wish i were shivering on idaho asphalt,
ejecting unfilled red circles and indents
if not for silk webs and tapped knees...

but i return to that suspension with strained internal sinew
in denton’s disabled hand blind at seatac, twisted around metal arms
and to the divine fibreoptics (from frozen hands’ unconscious fleece,
our crude flooded rainbows and sunrisen rust and charstreaked
hall to a dot’s dose of pointillism)

so i’ve finally signed my green construction paper cutout in the shoebox’s heel
because i’m camped in the loading dock,
and in two years i could be pushing pulse
to selected dime balloon sweatshop shoes
like steve martin backstroking in the sewer he once lampooned.
pause in the faded corner of the room to lose what you were fighting
while caret to is typed below but not yet sent.
congruent, and yet my hand doesn’t disperse under
the flickering overturned pale golden bowl dimly revealing an unrelenting opus
frameless and fractalic. this stick figure carpet (orange or otherwise) is
lifeless as the vacuumed burnt grass description it was photocopied from
i can’t tape this window, paused, next to prices and remade ink beds -
it passed under the doorframe for only an instant
before fading to exit from entry, like life.
there’s no room to breathe.

i bit down.
lifting your shirt to the train
doesn’t stop the railroad
slow down.
God waits in the absence,
i hope that i’m a failure
Track Name: Hour 5
confetti with a pebble: save, bump

a bristled sod clump
hyperventilating lockjawed
for undrowned peace
in scuffplastic envelopewalled biome
distilled into a crt tan,
long signature
and avatar.

and then recessed, argylecheeked
and scuttling in the corner of fusing breath
from stripstar stare blade’s unflinching buzz
(monstrous white pupil)
with nothing to shine between floors.

who will know when you leave town?
bottles pawed in dust between rounds
with tendons snapped from printouts
still just lidpressed light underground
who will know when you leave town?

reliving room cartooning cuffed hung

flying home alone
with hoodcaped earthworms
to septic birds across bit lips,
wrenched from roomandboard sockets.

graze unsteady mutt
but agree to disagree when the topic is
initials carved in backs,
declawed cats
and the space between walls?
‘fixed’ by dragging roadkill into nurseries,
or ladle ice into hollowcoffin putrid vats
seeping on speeding flatbeds
your own fractured spine eyes.
Track Name: Hour 6
the iron hail clamp scareraven stalks
with ink streak arms and split jaw
streetcountered fridge drawn on rubber bands
and skewed shoulders as if snow falls from lamps

covered in milky skulls chasing free sound
tabs foaming in my drained right knee cloud
pitted bloodless in hail sharks
ephemere against crows

the iron hail clamp scareraven stalks
with ink streak arms and thin sure claws

* * *

wireframing handmade constellations
across the unveiled mirage bell’s brim at its rear,
dusk bobsled relaunched to hail
all shrinkwrapped furniture
encompassing complacent blank noise,
just plattered to softly sag concentric circles seaward
from your honeycombed hidden eyes masked underwater
and dash the mp3 player
against the brittle stone hovercraft deck;
(hat statement)
you can buy another.

spilt milk creeping to
swallow’s victory+nature signs landing,
repelled from ravine pumpkin roots

slowramped bowel midreboot
to witness the splitting covert egg in midtransfer,
which bids the teeming wind fish school retreat
to the opaque yolk unclothed
and trail, carbonatecurled,
left to paw the remaining shy downy feathers
suspended in the blurred glaze cast in board rooms

this is two edges of sunset
exchanging cubicle plexuspushing pivot
for another layer of web glass skin
tinted frozen mud in wheelwells:
lock me a year in prolific
and tap to find risen synonyms
dreading dishracks and dumpsters
or keystone chicken clubs
to lift pies from piles of letters
font nova and typewriter cartridge
lain dormant in the cardboard move rainless box
beneath my armrest desk’s donkey dead
peeling sunbeam shingle
Track Name: Hour 7
divide water from meat, swallow minus eight crescents:
what is to be retained in blue tubs taped shut in removable stomachs?
sundappled gate formally composed
pinholed across the quiet floors stolen from middays and
empty rooms soundless as chalk on windswept stone.
face smoke eyes

eroded veins enough to feel my own ghost limbs pulse like white trees
backward burning old man’s beard on galvanized ground
the tyranny of archived lives propping eyelids ever wider until they split
photo/coffeeshopping mall reunions on particle down
edgeless to burnt pyramid, uturns,
artificial hem train catchphrase,
armymen over rain poems charred for comment funnels
and plated to highway dusty friends,
switch to diet plaid, but we’ll all wear baggy pants until we’re old.

the burning tires roped ’round waist
drag snake ink flares, backmap scourge
to shoulder heat until dark lung, twine and prints
absorb to the forest floor...

this snap of measuring tape
will wag sixth cancer open
second sequestered digit than work shirt
the smell of gradient rainworms found,
a scarlet stump,
leaves bleached with winter.

horn man years from a day for an hour in minutes

eroded veins enough to feel my own ghost limbs pulse like white trees
backward burning old man’s beard on galvanized ground
the tyranny of archived lives propping eyelids ever wider until they split
leech plugin preposition
wrapped in thin painted felt snapped with rulers on skipole shins;
under my face: balloons connected to liquid crimped pockets
and dry fireside remote sauna
three hands interlaced like tetherball and lost bottom steps,
steps lined transition cold nerve endings

don’t believe the hope.

precipice away swiss hours screenprinted red
and parched on charfolded water billable hours
depth in reflective glasses centered in a mirror:
infinite, thin, tenuous
to follow the river in hip waders
Track Name: Hour 8
trailing sparks dulled on contact
until chocolate paper separates
and winded to jar bucket of stems spread melted turtle/shell buttons
armed and fabulous
bridge to utopia from facedown wet strips
in repose (pose) with left elbow clasped,
sending knots into lemon and range storage lockers
salvage soldier’s toast from a vat of stirred feathered noodles
over the shadow air lapse hue shift,
grows heavy.
there is no glassy trace the lukewarm pangs
of waxen double franchised
turn and sheathed in taut string and tin
and you realize with terror that behind that complex
they already have the snow, shining their cuticles
waiting on the machinery for you to lose consciousness
in every home a computer,
every heart an operating system,
every sky a streetlight.

venting hall wait across for teal to halve with white peach moire
split sixteen filler hum
and hop, hand in the wind, mono eye for windmill
interchangeable as the words in your job title:
Il1, 2Z, 5S, O0
Qide. the best mirrors are unseen
rain on wednesday, snow on thursday;
day ships with night semaphore
REM make a light show or difference
words breathed solid to dissipate, never netted
with clawed fingers evading air for contest’s year
3:20 slow motion whisper and broken clock in a pop can (turn around, 2, 4)
rub your shared experiences together to thud on a rotating platform spiral mall,
gnarled polyethylene tails wagging at crossed outgive
then playing full court in a cast, boots and redfinger mitts
with yellowlined paper
written three times with dream erosion (sunning)
sliced bananas, toy fragments in a plastic shell put down twice
the click of opening jerks time forward a column of teeth,

evening wave as tracks carve and ebb across another diffused world
on the wet rock below cat richmond in the shade of tv halo
alarm stack, ‘movie nite’ in the middle
scaling a one hundred foot chain link fence to escape in winter,
i’ve done this before (contentment syndicate applause)
liberation is mugging and jigging
in a giant gold watermelon for preteens in minivans
patriots know which bombings to cheer for
sanctity of life, makeup, new and improved skin melting action
branch glass ripples and feedback
flattened against a wall talking sideways
something that bleedingedge shrapnel technology can’t solve.
mandatory leatherbound chains. we’ll see whose ghost faces share an eye
when they pave a church for a best buy, pawning
gardens for pillars for prophets for kings for invisible hands

tearing pages from flipbooks sunk in plastic bags
compact handful of ribbons unravelling radio face
pluck a stippled list with rippled fist (soapstone)
fix mist in paper cheeks braced for time’s trickle and displaced wrists
tossing torn smudges of a plasticine sandcastle into one of many dustbins
grain by grain until my arms are so weighted,
fingerpaint dries pinkedged and sleepmouthed
eating heels and peel paint shrug in a partial parking lot, the last for miles
and locking to perpendicular tire irons
when snow floats on string around the exhale of unseen.
it’s my own defined and combined opposition and compromise
that constrain the wavered tangles that fuse and collapse each moment
a burning log pylon with pillars ascending and foam to ash,
queue clearing review
support the troops

* * *

they were hollowed out,
their cut yellow cages too endless to lift
they were not there.
the dirt inside their skin
went too deep to forgive

that’s three more points on the board
you must be steel to live by the sword
and darkness slowly covers the floor

then i walk home
and night floods the paths ahead
and each step to relive
and start tomorrow.
the blank inside my skin,
too cold to forgive

that’s three more points on the board
you must be steel to live by the sword
and darkness slowly covers the floor

let’s roll
Track Name: Hour 9
realigning heartbeats in tar
while gridlined cells and prepaper fans
sift snow’s surface whitenoise
as moment’s light sugar fingerprints
split equal sums of trial and error
on floppy disk for a hairspire’s passing rustle,
unworthy even of static;
no diversion in any cold bitten sand grain.

‘am i still worth a candy?’
sat late snapped elastic wavering around ghost columns
but like a trampoline with a hole
i jerk back to earth and crumple airless for hope smoke:
no nutritional content,
dormant in silos for halley’s eternity
adding commas like there’s no tomorrow
already between your fingers

i bake my eyes under the sun
and lose the loom where truth is spun

(parallel with axle connections
alone as through heater grates)

soup sipped straight from the pot,
or spread on the table,
or rung in a mug?
in focus the superimposed fullbody mask
amoeba pink, inflated glove
bones worked with hulk fist innards
to ns centre hunch black iron chain box
locked lined to lone garbage bag
remove every breath,
still sipping warm sweet plastic...

set change soft and dextrous the gentle crossed
branches orchestrated leaf for old globe
waxcut grey at its latitudes and longitudes twice bolted
as blackboard blood blister flop mesh course
the supple weeded lint trap stifle its fetid blue slick
failsafe locker tilt coagulant in slight ajar single switch
like an overturned tin of warming grease joeyed below a rusty oven.
dustyeyed looms bulb without breeze and silent steps upward,
pillar and picnic sketch underscore,
oil black unassuming,
final as gelatinous whispers
heaped on an endless train.

and then...?

a skipped space of chapter
pulled from the watery movement along pattered shadow
to lurch and spit like alkali and devour the earth
in the twisted tread of bicycle thorn?

this would be an emptied egg
washed sunset and jewel
arranged on display behind glass
to be crushed under another stray or velvet paw

no, i will knot my fingers
and cover color pin fullscreen at a little left starred
set to trowelling aspartame deep in the niter.
Track Name: Hour 10
[stand there and talk] patchwork bluehaze part two. thievery.
glacial lake and birth, orion’s bow [ten plus - make the call]
mint cream on a curbed indented arc balanced and bug/moose eye
wavelength the inner buttons of trip headswitch [twentynine]
and again, scratch-and-sniff pine, insignia boxed crusade pulled back
marble smalltired trip trip trip magnetic ringpuddle unidirectional pulsar rasp,
lane change. [laugh] flightless and wobbling in scrubs.
still and cupped sleeping bird as water in blind bookbag hands
horizons per province. plot finger and rake countergrain chime
(careful chaos in the cracks of brickpicture order)
a raven jousting with a stick tied to its back in a paper bag,
tugging at the harried dust
minus toy box tosstorn nobody fake buspage drip
redacted to the courtesy dumpster
double as-is, limeheaded, beetnosed, cased or restored
sewing sweat shadow flat locker, thin angle limp,
end chapter. listen for the click.

forty percent unmoved, growling 2,
then 76 measure left the oily stain of palpable wilt and worn web
glance gravel ghosts in the blackcircle figures flitting along doorways
in the city, everyone is smaller. speak the language -
numbers, scores of smallpox wighollow [sob fist boxing victory]
wired and bleached stainlish, artificial fifth red finger to towel.
‘but then, i gotta eat, you know?’ white and red.
[false reflection, author bumpersticker, book shuffling]
poured dusk quietly filling treekettles with dark tea
cradled mop and stewlipped ash fabric back unmarked postcard
[someone here?]
but for the curves stowed [speedwalk] deep cork
and awakened fleshy narrowed eye, blinking inverted
between angelic vanish and bookmound and straighten pillbox, tassel and beep
business card gleaming clear plates to hold to your face,
but in space no one can see you in the focused mirror ice remaining
and detached skin pinned back in licoricecorded snarl fissures.
don’t forget as you’ve been forgotten by the grass once impressed:
[lightbulb 3, eroding already] night balloon heaven, two monks,
parking glade, rewalk, roundabouts and heatfad periodical preechoes,
a flicker of old wine braille, offwhitecrash,
thin grey garden, picked blackberries
drawn with swollen feet to the keyhole expanses yet unturned
a paused and different teal - built with gloaming shining shoulders
to trip gravity under my breath’s tightening aperture,
chewing the last soft felt road and cottonquilted sky

and then the new kids

* * * * *

grace notes stolen from common time patrolling endlessly:
wake, work, wait, wane

freeze to death in a cornfield
severed blue heels waterbleached in concrete shoes
salt sap worms sleeping with the sharp frozen tick mandibles
abandoned like bee stingers in tumored skin meat.
they drop like flies and eyelid panels,
another slow webstrung thread falls slack
and all i can do is walk and skin my day arms
passing my hands through walls,
peer pressure
twentytwo additional dollars profit per month
rope and sidehang pale
and emboldened silent snow settling on cold lampless lips
woodstove logwalled
ice spine spreading outward and reflected between eye canyons
hold armslength armslength alwaysarmslength
in and out chin stripe teeth pulling lungswallow lodged labor choke
pave scienceblotchboard spread across toothless and
sidewalkiron sole melting success huddled under eaves
i’ll tear these bloated seams unrelated for a spoonful of air
stray the diseased bullets empty parentheses
handheldheater concussion we’re good right this is paralysis
filling the same dot again and again
garage ears pricked in a cage, license and allergies:
clearcut the forest for the wood but don’t want the leaves.
a grapefruit forced abortion juiced and scraped
a bloodless husk, burnt
to stoke the black belly of impersonal daycare redundancy.
i am a commodity to be leeched and split

give cathode slice siphoning wind in leech
the hat trick mule staggered with sacks of sugar cubes
at least ten jaundiced speech balloons and cold war phantom latch;
the inferno vapor bleak in the retreating deck.
lcd idiot boxing looporphan overgrown bangs and jumpcut statements
slice of life dp popframe blue and pink
ride the image merrygoround.
connect flashcards.
everything moves,
chins level the color of pirate
reflective wide, fake captions
arms bound together flutter stone swearpocket
to the spit of communion synthetic leaf shower, yogurt stocks.
snakeskin eyebulge diamondlined
fashion woven from unborn ninetyhour profit pamphlets,
handstitched hair pillow like phoenix:
fog narrators behind hall mirrors and magnetic decay.
a plastic vine of zipper tooth ordinances
cavity blackwire flux network, frogwater spittle pouting blood,
powerplay impression lie six whittling our tongues teartasteless
to clone out skydust, shave hips, and cat’s cradle sunsets
chased hardening to mannequin under lowbudget mideighties lighting
branding iron limbs and tealtinted tumor gridnoose
unflapped to dunk distracted oilchin larvae in my trunk
and scoop sour cream clots into dockets
like yawning to a hairdryer;
severing my first frozen knuckles to swallow
in the quarter window of a child’s crayonwalled house.
salvation megastore cageform, makes a nice light snack.
hope in a tv dinner’s empty compartment, on the cusp of smoke

a doormouse, but for a tumor grafted to the right side of its head,
slowly ballooning with fluid sap to be drained through a second mouth
kidding on the square
blank eyebrows: twin lineart sunrises and shopwindow smile.
harmless as a photocopied ant.

ghost putt seedlings, roaring undercurrent reed long minutes
the heavy (overkill) flashbulbglass yellowcake veil rising
weave ear loose leaf reinforcement dusting sideline reservations,
stroll darkedged above the manicured green
and steady firefly to patches of novelty tootsie roll nails.
i can barely glance the programmed straw breakfast special twin blare mute hiss
escape smoker chirp with toescrew satellite
to breathe in fivesmooth halogen suns
painting wheat shadows against those spectral feet
rounded corners, dumb flaps and spittlebrowed (conscienceless waterbody choir)
merging with the corn under grey night’s anonymous arms
as she trudges to her dishless push
mud and warpaint.
a scotcheaten exclamation stumbles across the powerchord-paved lot,
suit-and-jowls outlining the lampshades
baby photo hanging dungeonlaced
trickseal banter antemorrow’s drained glass popcornscattering handful
where sideways chair trap reminds me of taxes
and tactless doorfilling brooms so plain and handheld shout absorber,
the conspiracy bulkadapted for screen and deleted scenes
opening critical mass in the tight wavering inner curve glow cracked throat,
a vampire beauty without radius or rabbiteye sandpaper
hovering through congealed ribcages beneath the yard sale moon
the scraps i pocket from gutter quicksilver,
wander methodically with lazy eyes across the subway dross mines
hemorrhaging toes with a dying shakelight in a box of styrofoam peanuts
ice sculpture haircuts and banging pots will be my stumps
that smell tax urine, reality tv dusk chloroform.
a year week and climbing slides marks each sole in the metal,
and solidifies the inevitable concession
another waffleiron stowaway to half float futility.

a tethered trex doing pushups,
changing led lights overhead
to blink like the power went off last night
in a tank and bite the ends of pens
in the shadows and static.
your face won’t grace any classified milk cartons;
you’ll never even trace fully
the brittle stalks of your arms
before they atrophy.
you press your small feet softly into the snow
but leave no footprint
as they stand motionless
in silent black suits and bowler hats,
whispering across the field
from their distant plowed parking lot:

‘relax with us,
and build decks with us,
and convex with us,
and climb backs with us.’
Track Name: Hour 11
walking hatched ribs set on an airport conveyor belt
with dead oystergrey birds cupped within each meatbelted basin,
songs disconnected from first blink
and strewn across the pale corn wandering for food to breathe,
each furnished with a screwdriver to pry open his stubborn epiglottis
and ring a corresponding egg cup’s careful palm
with marble shells blooming a kindled swallow
and survey with fleshrimmed glasses
the aquarium’s domino current through starspun exposure,
future noise and present accordion swung girders’ tomorrowpractice.
gelpunched and perched even with the blinds drawn

it’s not defense if you’re holding the ball.
that sticker’s not an iceberg, it’s the hilt of a sword

crawl white pawns in dirty shadow while the grid is quicksand blonde
to spit their shells earthspoken for the rain’s fading glow
diverted from the dry meniscus tide grass’ edged in the dark hollow cavities
moaning stream through the creamy extruded lathe wallet presets
linked on the table at the back.
whitepetal tongue bus pass drops with your necksack,
making a sound like a ceramic plate being scraped by a butterknife
your shackled shadow sold from your coal and backpracticed thumbs
ripping a rictus wide open the distance between real and realistic so
birds eat onions.

turn hearts into attacks
and a cross into crosshairs
principles, not polls.
she kit mobile behind bat seamstress manor
upsetting a truckful of nails around my personal campfire
molten contact raised above its brow,
a knock at freedom friend foyer fishing frantic static and rush
beneath the falling billowed foot on the vessel eyehanger
hall knots lured from berber beds to displace elbows in hats
and cushion skirting knuckles held alternating for certainty.
mandatory options
only a painted cel of a cartoon animal
dithers to gruel and cheekbitten chatter
picking the taste of sadness’ sweet burrs from its tongue
i’m not sick anymore, yet:
‘a million miles away’ crouches around a fire
or stone overbite correction.
circle in squares,
smokestack newsprint nails daddy longlegs
rising from klodhopper corduroy
but bubbled under thumbs as while greenhouse hair.
vegetable bagged safety and mouse mug,
earwigs lighting apartments on fire
and nepotism ignites onion dome mace
under tightened cheekbones.

pale yellow daydrunk,
coins flipping on pools of ink in glistening velvet
and a gaze like planks resting on the horizon,
summer’s empty churches and the
chicken trucks cut the sleeping town

unaligned features, waterlife,
pinched peach pie crust bulb thinning wet fingertips and puppet arms
in matte foil green hallway in the thicket behind my left year
committee seatbelt caught out the door
red picnic tables

a calculator with word buttons or amphibian air quotes
sharing the same dim torso and mosaictattooed sunken face

* * *

‘you know, these people are nice, but they’re just very...’
boxcarred as long vowels inking handout jacket holes
with the flick of one smoky hand and my mosscovered back turned.

pace four hundred metre rain floating coy greenblack attack moth
to orange snapshots channel swap as perpetual draft
over a couple teens singing soundless in the wind,
one hand firm along the dark church walls.

obsolete in an endless compound gym,
and leaving through the trophy case into that same green hall,
where magnetic monoliths hovered warily in blowout sunlight,
suddenly spinning and aligning to hug a ghost
in the black endlessness of saturday morning.
it spreads out on the table like a pointed cliff:
greybeard and left row window dimming,
vocab by erasure.

mall a mill churning dust as an endless subway sigh
stretched across the pathless winter fields,
new years’ bleak and songchoke striped,
frozen knees planted in night
a blind tree surgeon printing rust in the sheets
a full beige stalled ocean chalked on the hopscotch
apart thanks to variable windspeed static comb
tugging the pebble past block letters and january death
to fall unsolved but open
with thin three by fives halted herring crusted under inkjets
unreal and unmoving in their cushion.

caught tender beyond breathing the shapeless ellipsis
my topteeth point
the way the tide is inscribed behind my forehead and
land warm woven in my own theatre,
nudging balance bundle as true night begins,
and an internet ice age moves behind us
to lock down the debris,
and first snow’s sanded grey sawdust of remainder driftwood
frames the road as a black-and-white photograph
hidden under the floorboards

* * *

engines running
black lungs stale,
nowhere but sideways to go.
past this point nothing grows.

you awake uncertain in your car
surrounded by millions in cars
thickset on every side
a single cell in a sheet of sealed silver bricks,
all jammed handle to handle
to the hem of the sky

it’s harder bridging
a lot so tightly parked
few can hope to depart
and consolidate a map of the marks of living
threading these aging tarps,
extending arms in the dark
to wear silence like a winter coat
but written in the breath
of some faraway windows
are rumors of a liquid that
dissolves upholstery and metal like sugar
if you only could see it
and flood the floor
and lose your spot
to find the edges
in all that you’re functioning through

treeline dawning