dock holiday

He had hammers to hinder hot holsters and basins to bark back bold boasters.

She held hearts in her hands to hang houses and built bird-beds to bleed birch and blouses.

They hung hats from their hair, halving heather and banged bolts back and bent, bedding better.

They hollered, "Heaven's hands and help us for the horrors that we hide between borrowed beds and bug-bites we believe we can abide."

ice cream soup

He told a story never told
With melon goats and jungle bears
Of larceners and alpine gold
You should've heard the sight

A trafficker in oyster lead
Of honest height and double-hat
Would mix a glass of Turkish Thread
And Middle-Of-The-Night

In Needle Haystack Lion's Paw
The town of nearly seven towns
Just north of Tallfist, Iowa
A cactus fought a kite

In caravans of ampersands
A surgeon on the runaway
Is slapping knees across his hands
To cure an apple blight

The ghost of Captain Shakes-The-Moon
Survivor of the Nickel Wars
Had holed up in a sawdust dune
With Persian Satterwhite

Aboard the six to Cornglass Lake
A saboteur was jumping off
He'd glued the hinge and cut the brake
And bound the enginewright

Archduchess climbed the minaret
And claimed the sun had eyes to spare
While all the men sang Bassinet
And Muddy Meadow Bright

The never-told tale wasn't penned
No-one could find a pad or coal
It took a week to comprehend
And five months to recite

(excerpt from) The Immomal Man Conversations (pt. V)

I read about tigers and the ways they are.
I dread the many ways tigers can feel.
They can hear you with their whiskers.
They can whisper with their stripes.
They will bear you with dignified exuberance and then they will eat you.
They crave meat and bone and smoke.
They live in caves made of old tiger ideas.
Their teeth are sharpened sandals, walking across your neck.
Their hands are as big as their feet. A tiger will hold doom in its brow like a tree with a swing and a handle.
Its stomach is an air balloon without walls.
The tiger is an encyclopedia of noble ferocity.
It was only a book.
But light reading can make for heavy breathing.
Tigris libris.
I shut tight the cover and I can hear purring and pawing outside the door.
Burn bright and cover the sound of stirring and mawing.
A sound like a roar.
Trapped in a hunted house.
Holy cats.

living for the molemen

Go on and get a bigger coat
It's cold as hammocks, sharp as boats
Tonight we'll hide in lightning sand
We'll hold our tongues and eat our hands

its feet were sticking out from under the curtains

Look fast! and high on the road.
We can see sparks coming off the spark generator.
There is no time for the future in this car!
This car is a speedboat of old gum wrappers and handlebar sodapop.

Look high! and care for the fast ground.
Like an advancing path to the village, I am
Ability-obvious, is it day with a shadow or night with a spark?
Alive, the village for a future target!
Oak? As in its place: the old packing crate of drinking-sodas from the helm.

Please see it promptly!
And it is the spark that we can see in the highway.
Highly, you, who scrambles time for the future of this cart when it comes to other than the generator of a spark.
This is not a ship of hope soda.
The high speed and control of the old makeup wears on this rubber car.

It asks the view immediately!
We could turn the radio to see that in the manner of dull, most shines.
That the time spread from the future of this car, when it comes, contrasts with the generator of the spark and the offices. It does no damage
To soda and officers on the train, far from form to press and control the old use of this gummed composition.

a boat shaped like the world

Standing under the rook tree, he looked up at black missiles gathering hot and eating.
"What slave tough, this heat," he noted, hugging the blanket across his sweat back. It'd been a day and two days since he'd crumbled up the hill.

Wrongfully, I tried says a cowardice inside as he puts a foot against the trunk.

He'd dared to guess, took honors. He'd heightened his looks and shook out the blanket, lit it. In a famous mood it'll look like a headwind's soft, giant mouth. This too, it'll say does rush my foot.
"Gut and rifle, smash and smoosh," he'll murmur, climbing up to this pink reach, this rank branch. Slow up, gripping the arms of the tree with buttonhole-thin hands. Hands around branches like a blanket around a back or a house around the inside of a house. He'll climb and clamber, limber, limb by limb like that all day, scaring birds and ruining his good shoes. Wingspit while the pair rots.
"In a year," He's telling the birds before they de-light, "it'll be the beginning of summer. Right now, though, it's just the end of spring."

Honestly, this could take days.

i sat at the edge of the bridge

It's hotter than blazes
So I stepped down to Hell to cool off
And see the new faces
The place is a thunderclap in the middle of a suspension bridge
Aaaaand the bridge runs from one end to the other
To the other
The wires and cables
Have mouths to
Eat fables and crawl around on all floors
Entertaining creaky-cracky doors
Drinking deeply from what pours down from the water below
Getting misty-eyed on the fast and all jelly-kneed on the slow
Easy come for sure
On the belly of the span is a jawbone of nails hammered and bolts bolted
From the east end
To the west end
Has to be at least as far as north to south
Even if you ran too fast for too long
Breathing iron heat and brick air
Riding on a mountain of acid muscles and rock-in-the-shoe groundboats
Into that house at the end of the middle
Down the street that's the only street
Getting's only as good as getting gone
Early in the morning with the draw bridge withdrawn

(excerpt from) The Immomal Man Conversations (pt. IV)

There are infinite ways. The best: Forward
Why not look both ways?
There is a breadth outside both lengths.
So look both ways.
Looking forward. Looking straight forward and nowhere in-between is where to begin.
And if you're struck and reach the end?
Then that is the end.

But if the strike isn't the end, if it changes but does not bind.
Every change is an end.

last and least

Tell me what you
Learned with your
Foot in the door and
Them leaning in
Whole holding
And hellding your
Hand tight on the handle
How you Bed-To-Rest learned
Head-To-Chest yearned
Fed-The-Nest birnd

Tell me what you
Learned with your
Thighs on the
Stairs and your sight
On the side and your
Side interestine
Wrapped
Tight 'round
The hand'll
Wholed Fled-The-West turned
Led-The-Quest spurned
Dead-But-Blessed earned
Holed handle

Tell my what you
Learned with your
Loose tresses tucked
In shrunk back and trussed
Lost intrust 'cause
The Damsel burst the Dam in distrest
To lose the Said-So-Lest werned
Bred-No-Guest ferned
'Stead-Of-Yessed lerned
Hothanded
Softlanded

Rekindled.