Let's go now with those precisely marching shiny cloud band members, so eagerly clanging their golden sleeves togetherover there in the valley of new light, for instance. They can lift wholeoceans up, like baby children, for a seriesof smooches, all of…

Smooth slope-topped plateaus Turn liquid as latex, With ridgelines of pearls That separate and run At the rigidly textured Patterned wafercone. Edible scepter, Its liquefying cap Is strictly temporary And mostly…

Written across an old geezer’s sweatshirt At the Farmer’s Market in L.A.

I don’t read. I don’t do the dishes. What am I? If I were more domesticated, I’d poop in the street. I’d lift my leg and pee on the bushes. I would chase after every ass in the hood and sniff them too. I wouldn’t fetch much. What am I? Wha

When I come to we are by the lake

Check the sweet lunar springs that we are still bathing in. The swelling in the genitals there. Check to make sure we are ripe, and in season. It’s our way of being willing, strong under the sweet icy waters, with that fertility that is derived from you

“How did you come by a name like Vladimir?” I asked the toilet guard. “Sounds Russian.” “My mother’s Russian. You got something against Russian?” “No kidding?” “Real KGB,” he said. “She was in it when they arrest my father. Only way he survive

We were at Fox River and I was in the dark water, swimming naked beside Rick DeMille, with my light skin glowing as we swam up behind you and Sharon in your dad’s ski boat sitting silent in the water. And I could hear her whimpering, “Oh, Jesus!” when

The fine blond hairs lift slightly along the skin of your arms As you nod, listening to him. The veins On your arms standing up as well I was caught in an off moment because of your skin Because of the way moisture beads up on it The youthful fi

The light is always on in reality The Gelatinous Mass is not something made up By the Catholic Church And even though a small deer may have come to the side of the road once To lick the salt from your wounds There will definitely be cheap fish

I remember sitting on the screened-in front porch of my house on Illinois Street that summer that we met. I had just come up from school at downstate Illinois. I remember eating a peach and listening to the sounds in my neighborhood, just listening. The

Barry Gibb, the last remaining brother of the trio to make up the once popular disco band, the Bee Gees, comes out for his encore, to sing a cappella, “Stayin' Alive.”

I thought I saw you once When you were still quite young Surveying great beauty Like a rain shower in the sun And I can still hear them nearby Those sharp voices of our youth Shouting with pleasure in the fields While looking at the sky

If you’re trying to carve wise sayings for eternity to read in a newly poured sidewalk you don’t want to be struggling for meaning while the cement is wet.

time lost in darkness