from FREAKOPHONE WORLD

 

*

 

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-

shimmer—

 

i scrape myself out of

                                                  the velvet-

 

pram in the glade-chafe

 

where this child-corpse deposits its mineral-

ring

                              

                                     before falling—

 

i hop a fence

 

& core the photoplasm from the book

 

                                    like the purest cut of factory-

black—

 

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-

nerve

 

                 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-

twerp

 

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

 

                                        i hang my

                                        snout

 

      low with the look of a dry-wood-

spigot

                             in the hyper-strife

 

this humble

roach

 

likes to scree in its concave

grove

where my forest-

 

cock raises its mossy

neck      its cleft-

 

chin

suddenly so concerned about the world!

 

already searching

splat-splat

 

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-

                                     spit-dangle

 

by spookfall

 

                            it’s a fern-dangle

 

our tartaric-

beaks

 

                         wailing in the finch-

                        weed

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

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-

bristle

 

                    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

shoot

 

                                 the pain secretes

 

 an emerald curving geometric

feeling

 

 

the floodlights dissimulate

                                                   in rushes

 

of figuration breaking-apart

like—

                       

                                    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-

body

 

 

 

—you didn’t know

 

                             we could get here together

 

 

sometimes    me

 

                                 sometimes

 

                                                a zero-dark-

twerk above the furrows of the silicone-

 

                 field

 

              where we blank the roads

 

                                                          blank

 

                                      the distance

 

                                                     blank-blank

 

the tile-patch twisting in the yard

 

                                                     blank-blank

                         

the light winking-shut in the river-wood-

filigree

 

 

                             blank-blank

           

 

up above

 

but making the ammo-lobe very angry

     

                                   

                                                our drone-sound tears

 

through the surface of the silicone

                                                       page—

 

                                      w-we-we didn’t   know

              

                                    we needed each other

 

but years go by

 

                  & still we track through the empire s-s-

             circuit

 

                                        the same c-conifer

     

                              the s-same

        obelisk—

           

 

          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

 

                           anything—

 

sometimes me       sometimes

 

you

 

                                   inside us

 

together