Ultraviolet Loves

ultraviolet lovesI want to be loved
by the trees
not for you
not for me
for others

The silence in
our cells
biological thingies
makes us
look towards blue skies
and membrane covered eyes
when a sunrise
is breakin
cross a grass that
sings the west

Oh to be known
in a home
not made of
made of flesh
our breath
the end

Won’t you hold me
in your bed
when the sunrise
and birds come
for songs
tend to humans
where they sleep
passing photons
and phasers
of ultraviolet light


nunc incognitae

The days are unknown. Listen.
We will have become in fiction.

Place your veiny hands
on my shoulders

we will be in life
in a cold winter bedroom

late western sunlight
on the wall burning red.

We are the nomads
who left houses
and abandoned love.

Places with wooden tables
drank dark wine
between pursed-lip kisses.

Expect me in your painting
the smell of turpentine
and carving your soul
out of aquamarine.

Your particulates of breath
the canvas

my soul-filled offspring

what is left for you

what is called earth-based

Ignorance Of Ecosystems

meat eatersWhen I walk outside and
the birds whistle
it makes me rearrange
my constitution

what is it I think
I’ll be doing?

I could be dismantling
the muscle of chicken
in my molars
with the heckling of
its relatives
still ringing in my ear

I could be sitting in
air conditioning
doing this
in an innocuous manner
hidden away from the
Texas sun
of which
the birds have long
to weather

the sun might smash and
their heads
leaving them to dry in
the air of their sacred

so these songs
are statements

or liberations

A Question For Oak Trees

Oak & starsThe oak trees have called
for you

They asked about your name

What if you’re no longer fit for
their spirits


the stoic plains

What if someone else is there

made with a heart
of the grass’s song

What if you don’t know the
celestial languages

born to an unliving nation

Maybe your loyalties are
like the wind

You won’t know
the temple where my body lays

purple twilight

Andromeda’s dancing

A Nucleotide Excelsis

I left my mausoleum
to walk again today

The place of my mourning
is gone

Summer holds out
her soft hand

I will never see your
far off stars again

I go back to the living

Not until
my skin and body have form
will you know the song
that I whispered

a trillion beds of Earth

a billion civilizations and suns

I think
you may touch my flesh and
all that’s passed
the heavens

for these stories
that have reformed and followed

Love In The Sky

hug at nightI loved the moon last night
like I love you

It caused something deep in my heart
casting light
the oak trees and prairie

something profound and proliferous
for all the creatures below

Its warm lit glow
reminding my neurons
how powerfully
I love you
and what belongs in the dominion
of breathing

It moved tallgrass
It sang wind-songs
Spread a transluscence
much greater than itself

It became love in the sky
there before
my human eye

Its voyage made you become
the homestead of my earth

Yes it shone the quiet way of being


You move on me, not like a mirror,
but like daylight.

A dying man’s life was really a day,
one long day of life,
watch the sky open, watch the sky close.
This cloudscape belongs above Montana.

You step in me, not like mud,
but like river,
unlike the cat chase of Mohenjo-Daro,
unlike the Martian meteorites.

The turquoise from the jewelry-makers of God
I take from your eyes
and hold onto the colors of day.
There — life is frozen. 

O Antarctica, only you have beaten time,
or so
the foreign-exchange students
from the mermaid-lands
have told me.

I love you, football, tender, tender.


Pastry Cortical Pantry

Well, who’s name rang from my lips
working the filo dough in the pantry

Who’s softness I pressed into upon
her hips

White laid the powder on the cold marble

Her forearms churned and folded
what would be burning
with goat cheese and caramelized onions
there in the air with kisses
to the neck
before fornication arrived with a bucket

We drank champagne that day
after we ate
made love
and our gonads swelled like flowers
while gas burners burned on the stove
and the radiator burned on the wall in the bedroom

But it was my afternoons in Mexico
when I was young
that made me know how to live all of this
so I am still living
even when like a typical adult
I am really not living

but peering into some process that devalues
the logic of value

the greatest gift of the scientist or poet
is to disrupt the systems of value

others can learn how to live liberated

Andromeda Burn

I crossed oceans in your eyes,
felt the sunlight of Andromeda.

But, when it rained this morning
I drowned in the poverty
of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

When will we eat the fancy food
in rooftop cafes, galaxies away,
listening to different languages
of music and of touch,
staring at the beginning?

Andromeda burn,
I am not coming,
it is too late in my life to make the journey.
I will stay on the planet
where it sill rains under gray clouds.
I do not deserve the rain of the
watercolor-green colors,
let her kiss different lips
underneath such vibrant settings.
I like to climb up hillsides on Earth,
feel the dirt underneath my hands,
it inspires me to shape pitchers for water,
to shape them for storage, banquet and orgy.

Gush, gush,
I’m still a water-drinker,
I remember a lady far away in the Andromeda


God Fuck Love Rome And Paris

God, I seek your precipiced hips
to make me human again

not eternal in this pain that is supernatural

Fuck, I want to be with you
on a Spring day
with the fresh damp air coming in
through cheap and rickety old
Brooklyn windows

Love, you do not believe I love you
there’s nothing I can do
but write these words
and live in
the muscular presence of my heart

Rome knew the scents of these lonely meals
olive oil and rosemary

And Paris has known too often
the suicide of poets

oh so many
ghosts run around the hood of Montmartre

because your microchimeric cells still float
my blood