Used to be paved. Straight shot to the border outpost. Somewhere along the line, it cracked, rambling off through sage and creosote like some addled cow path, the cattle guards filled in with what ifs. No grader has been through since. The ruts gone feudal, the garbage bags abroad at dusk, peopled with tumble weeds and barbed wire. Winds drive them like mood swings back and forth en masse across earth truffled with dung. Here’s a can to kick down it. Used to hold worms. Userless, whimless, what’s it going for, now? The notion is a tractor! Out of gas and stuck in the ditch, a shallow grave.

Undone or zipped by means of stealth, no moleste, the jelly presumes to know itself, to not bow down to mold, to spit in the face of its high chaparral compressor, but when is it itself? when I’m mine I aim to sully by means of sleep the Crayola scribble even as nylon seems to run awry, no doubt miscarried in this distance, in my sheik’s infancy I spewed a fan of agate clods, millions of culottes for sale, buy quick, by now it’s impolite to wave goodbye with bloodied silk, say how can you lie to yourself, how you can lie to me only when you lay there feeling sorry for the crack in my egg, the self a cheese we split between us drooped of rubble, stubble thoughts popping the lid of an upturned manner, please don’t be so negative to palliate the cushion, wannabe voodoo, percussion chauffer’s my doll through fiasco after fiasco but somehow every self issues cruel perfume.

FRAME/FRAME

void plucked and ooze carves to mist but soup boils fore thought in reeds as sparks sneeze a blow to god head yoke and yolk bleeds in through wind eye as cross hatched will rolls into body of cast shade that cracks but a mantle flares through crust out into glooms of grot and cracked violets and blood socket boils into wing veins out stretched as city street uh pock uh lips of stain glass splinters melting a mordant deliquescence a compost of grass and ash and ghost lamps fading into afterimage as aftermath

AFTERLIFE

hyoid replucked a bruised sleeve of gristle croup foils and coeur clot in bleeds as the lark breathes a blow of crud mead speech but spoken sheaves queue shin thigh past a hose batch mill that coils into godʼs clast shade and black but dismantled prayer flues rust out and spumes of rot to a hackneyed violin and mood lock and moil into spring reigns foot mensch as city bleats but as shocks blister brain stacked glistering with pelf and discord and in flagrante delicto riposte this rash of post camps phasing into faster wreckage and faster cash