i am hiding in a protest

of embryonic fluid when


this rando Dodge Charger

penetrates our black goo


punishing itself & not

for the first time


my head floats off


where i am not dead

sprouting these pappus fronds


you didn’t know


but i’ve already forgiven you


in a blackened twist

of superfluid you look into


lowly pupil


dilating like a sphincter


forgives like

my heron-body lifts its neck


to the mosquito-haze-squint of this morning

& forever


i take my oily forgiveness cloud for a walk


behind my eyes      the bridge-man in a plastic parka

hunches so his skin-folds droop-droop


i spit my oily rain

straight from the sky’s larynx


but he is one who is all fold & no hole


if i look long enough      it’ll be you


falling in love with the world


because the rosematter sears into the forehead


this translucent chub-chub poking through

my spook-smear      spook-scape


your hair stands-up on


when the shimmershimmer flap of everything breaks

my million hydrophobic heads


twinkle at the threshold of the infra-spook


i bet you think


every winking spook-hole

cares what you do      where you go


                                   that the violence of

this voice


has a body      scraped or unscraped clam



& it’s true








when i am gone


                             & these fiber optics still ignite


as an ad for Nike        

                                                     what then?


my gamma-tendrils spreading


                                    over the hills like a klepto—


i wasn’t looking to be saved


                             when the maple-sprouts shoot


through a slit in the page


                                              so my eyes can hatch


in a village along the tree line’s polychrome-



i scrape myself out of

                                                  the velvet-


pram in the glade-chafe


where this child-corpse deposits its mineral-



                                     before falling—


i hop a fence


& core the photoplasm from the book


                                    like the purest cut of factory-



for a thimble-breath of darkness


                                           outside the sentence

i lift the veil


so my nematode-

sprites can get a whiff of empire—


                                     when the first solar rose


repeats in the hillside’s optic-



                 we wring the image from the model like

a dye


& chew on its viscera








in the strife-brane


                                                            that plush-

                          polyp quaking in the corner


you can call him rabbit-rabbit


& this dog-body

lays a gimp-


leg against our monitor to rest      which

                                           tickles like a rumor


the white-latex-

sky sucks up


                           my ghost

 folding-shut behind me


i know better


but my coding says

i’m attracted to the blacklight      like you


                                     when i hear the voices


scratched-out of a village-



but continue to chew the wheat-cake-of-empire


                                        i hang my



      low with the look of a dry-wood-


                             in the hyper-strife


this humble



likes to scree in its concave


where my forest-


cock raises its mossy

neck      its cleft-



suddenly so concerned about the world!


already searching



in the satellite-


dust      instead of here


& here in the ream-


ecology where we hurt the most


                   the rack-master soaks

his feet in our vinepaste


& our sprouts huddle under

his translucent-



by spookfall


                            it’s a fern-dangle


our tartaric-



                         wailing in the finch-









hey bird-lips


                   yapping outside my quartz-fat


                   pushing through the membrane of the oak


shut   up—


                                 our orphan-bodies blink-


blinking along the pike-wood-



                    under the escort of the gendarme


clenching on all sides—








waking we


                          are not the same


child extracted from the root-prism



            when together the alloyed genitals



                                 the pain secretes


 an emerald curving geometric




the floodlights dissimulate

                                                   in rushes


of figuration breaking-apart



                                    in our nest


the ammo-lobe-we-call-commander kisses


our cordite casings so


                                           we feel wanted


before leaving at dawn


                                     to drop our bullet-


pupae at the feet of the missile-chief



           to split the gate


                       of the seven-house-village


before loading its excretion to the returner-





—you didn’t know


                             we could get here together



sometimes    me




                                                a zero-dark-

twerk above the furrows of the silicone-




              where we blank the roads




                                      the distance




the tile-patch twisting in the yard




the light winking-shut in the river-wood-







up above


but making the ammo-lobe very angry



                                                our drone-sound tears


through the surface of the silicone



                                      w-we-we didn’t   know


                                    we needed each other


but years go by


                  & still we track through the empire s-s-



                                        the same c-conifer


                              the s-same




          when i can’t stop you


from seeing me this way


                                                                  our glands sew


                     the silicone into a cord


you can pull


                  if you need a meal


if you need




sometimes me       sometimes




                                   inside us