manifesto

if you scream i won’t feel it
even if you forget the shards of glass in your feet
nights washed on fields of carcasses
blue corpses in hellishly white automobiles
bedrooms and bars filling up with decayed and rotting flesh

what perfume could remember all that
as if any of us could swing the axe
so that there is no neck left connected
by bloody veins and torn skin 

don’t just stand there smoke-eyed and dream tapping rocks
gray karma dripping yellow hairs
like the sun and a yellow sunrise
or a comet blazing across the mirror
brilliantly blinding my glass eye
which couldn’t see anything to begin with
as if an eclipse were to flash out
over the horizon
a small dot
then it’s over
like a bomb going off in a church

watching fire engines fly by with men yelling
to get into flying saucers
as if that could solve all our problems 

but nihilist toilet bowls flush easily
and dreamers go to bed knowing they will wake up
and go to work with pants unzipped like fish-eyed crowds of monarchs
closing in
spiders hanging in the soft flesh pierced by a toothpick

splintering it goes into the eye through the nose bleeding
into the mouth through your tongue piercing as if blood
could flow more freely
than the mind if blocked right
fins like fetishes fettered in corn blood
cherry-colored faces in yellow light
without bodies who devoured their own bodies

i would recommend against the corners of the round earth
where i
prick my finger on the edge

so i walked on and saw
a rectangle full of lambs who tell me not to worry
about meaning
it will be there when i don’t need it as the terrified faces float
through walls through threads hanging from spiders through
redbrick buildings through air filled with car fumes

in the dim light of orange ice cubes
the words become satanic tearing away at my mind
the voices have names now
smoke-filled and serpents screaming green
in dreams of telephones and shriveled chilies
waiting for the pick to fall
through their dried up roots

if you knew there were skeletons of screams outside
would you sit in the dark with a room full of pisscups
glowing like the rings of saturn

so you can go ahead and tell me about infinity and money
and how they speak to you through god as if you could
send away the magician telling you which door to choose 

the smoke of angels singing praises
to the blue-eyed pillows of angry fluff
fills my head with floating disembodied hands
in a closet melting into mirrors of crystal

through the mirror cracked and bleeding
the scream brushes by like a knife 

if i get one of the slivers in my hand
blood will spurt out like a glorious fountain
so if you press your sweaty hand to mine i won’t mind
as long as i can keep near the top of the shattered mirror 

logic of the broom

Logic of the broom...
The logic of the broom is when the clock tips over the cows jump in

The logic of the broom is that the corners are swept until nothing shines anymore and the cockroaches have more space

The logic of the broom and the calculator combine into a space motif with lasers crashing through our solitary night watches

The logic of the broom contains no works only adjectives and when they stop singing we all dance

The logic of the broom is that California substitutes for our need to crash boomerangs into the side of the painted all

The logic of the broom escapes the white house

The logic of the broom goes nowhere and everywhere at once

The logic of the broom escapes the cathedral

The logic of the broom can only be seen underwater where it has lost its meaning because typewriters define everything anyway

The logic of the broom booms over our heads toward the center of some nebulous caricature of the meanings we thought were there to begin dissecting

The logic of the broom goes on for ten minutes then runs out of ideas

The logic of the broom still has four minutes to go

The logic of the broom celebrates continuous growth while dust gathers under our fingernails

The logic of the broom makes finals seem like the Indy 500 except without cars

The logic of the broom tells us that miniscule mobsters waving torn flags cannot take peace signs away from us

The logic of the broom doesn’t need to be logical but when it is it scares us

Cerebral musings make the logic of the broom come to life

The logic of the broom is now over

It has reached its ultimate convex mirror and therefore can only go on forever

psalm

psalm

You pull me in
transmuting breath into pulse
Your words hold me there
transmuting tongue into branches
entryway
where warmth happens
my thoughts
need a center
because cloud is sea dust
transmuting earth into sky
transmuting sky into life
my tongue stuck between my heart
and what I want to say
transmuting minutes into poetry
where the stars have gathered
over rocks reflecting the light of the moon
transmuting sounds into silence
glowing

Yellow

Chairs and tables barely stable
Under the burning lights where no one speaks a word
As if wondering when the lights will flicker
Suffocated by the brightness

Man and woman in the corner
Not hugging or smiling
Just sitting in the faithless glow
Over a yellow floor

Disfigured figures hunched over tables
Wishing to sleep somewhere where the ceiling
Isn't such a luminous isolation
Blurring in the vertigo of colors ready to erupt
And a violent pool table devouring souls
Staring without the least interest in anything

If you really think about the heaviness of sleeping
The lights keep getting brighter