Is it possible to reconcile the fathomless?
The spine shook straight from the funny papers?
The death of the onions growing on the carpets of the mathematical teachers?

Refrigerator magnet poem limitation in the sticking of bits of words lacking quite a lot of what one thinks one needs


Good stream which will surround you in the trees
Sacred cranking marble voice dark fish cloud color
Red fat cake almost the flying melon of my sacrifice
Could bring down my eyes
I am not like the vast universe but a prisoner living in a deep concrete hole
All my making
You must explore life or seep into decay
As a fool

Many hours of dream
erase the configuration of existing
in the brief moment of double ends
and I am ready for a reworking to posses
the next light

Red Fig Tea Ornamentation of the most beautiful subtle line.

For what I did best
and in the death of my dreaming
I have calculated
pressed out the lettering for sounds.
Sounds will remain
lullabies for jellied white bread colored moths
holding behind Juniper trees.
And tomorrow as all will be painted in new day
I will not wonder about silence
I will not sit over paper pad contemplating the context with which I will displace the white space.
I will not marvel at the temperament of Octopus oval brain hulking my attempts of escape.
It is so simply easy
to be demoralized
to be a victim of pattern stretched so thin
that nothing is left
but the remnants of delivery.

To be recited at the neutering of a humming bird.

In sleep we lay defining now
defamed by none but fellow brow.
And burst upon the steel chair glow
of yellow lakes and rice.

I try to sing
but with
no notes
And make this
black warm day
a night of stars.

Can we follow?
How can we follow
the sheep in super clothes?
Our eyes in light had slept through much.
We must rework the curtain’s touch
to floor.
I cannot sink a mother ship
a paragraph
a blast of ink.
I cannot pierce through slowing gouges.
My forehead is in pain.
And then I saw the super sheep it nearly blew my brain.

In sleep I reached the totem top.
Pushed myself through blurry clouds
came upon the dreaming tree
where I would crouch down
upon my shoulders lay white holy shroud.
Become rain water bowl
on breakfast table of tunnel people.

This is incontrovertible silence
this is paper from the makers of the moon
this is red garden and blue water all in bottles labeled hay pile
the death of too much to tell
the birth of the glass head in the holy house of lighted birds
reaching up past it's place to weep.

God and the night with an empty mouth.
Man pushing hot milk bottles into yawning face
of ant
bright orange hill.
Woman taking notes on the mother giraffe
here now in the bright green grass.
Golden staff has lifted itself
over all in the world
we are welded to the perfect time
and the staff inlaid with pictogram
of the dream of dreams.

Yellow lime lightening mouth.
The possession of the greatest regression
for which all form and content is exposed and removed.
Squeeze advanced library calculation
which at night seemed to zip the matter of meaning up
and lifted things with sophisticated welts
tattoos of sailing vessels released by birth of monkey queen in the fourteenth centaury.
Lifted and launched groupings of paper work water colors
turned into glowing puddles on rooftops of grand cathedrals from other planetary atmosphere
where they too go on all day
picking fruit from trees and murdering each other.
Open all of the grand cabinetry
the finely designed wooden sphinxes and school cubbyholes
inspect content
press the issue of professional puppetry in peach pie factory
the sky at birth of fire flies green with white hearing green time trembling
awake with mouths agape.
Inspect grand pianos with gloves made of porcupine quills.
Grow genetic oddities in the mass waterways and privately sleep with a golden crown upon your head.
What is this here?
The means to an end is another beginning
a billowing loop of time
again will pin something down.
And if it cannot will turn back to rethink the ways of swimming fish
of flying birds
of miracle and mania.