Past retained in the indirect connectors
Which displace time and space,
Between frantic calls to Normandy.

Greek yogurt flight path;
Migratory taste buds turned sour.

And when Gregory held the sword
To the throat of my oppressors,
The cakes and ice creams
Of my birthday party parade,
Melted and molten like lava,
Oozing down around my castle walls.


The Evisceration of a Mallard Duck

I could not condone,
Appealing constituents
In droves,
Performing miracles on the steps to the Capitol.

An unlikely Bisquick dream,
Incoherent as it may seem,
The fluff of a white rabbit,
Gone down into the underworld.

I’ve had time to process
The latency of time,
In droves,
Something we had never planned to do.

Now that the occupation
Has succeeded,
I need rest.

Mists of Narnia

Columbus touched me,
Inappropriately between my legs;
And I cast my crown

Kitten’s cry,
Beneath a deathly Sky,

One ovulation,
Then another;
This cyclic mishap,
Cradling kingdom’s cum.

The birthed star
Upon the feet of fishermen,

And we heed the words,
Spoken in the silence
Of our sleep.

Observations of the Isolationists

Performance enhanced bibliographies,
Two-stepped caricatures of time,
The ironies of passersby.

I left my right hand,
Buried in the sand,

Could not release
The trumpet blast,
Or choreographed
Eschatological riff-raff.

Diamonds imbued with
The reflective popularity
Of superstars; whose names
Are written on contemplative waters.

Push past the recyclable contours
Of the shoreman’s coast,
To keep informed of your own
Destination in the murk.

Hexadecimal Sunrise

The fleet; as lights spin out,
My failure as; disposable sequence
Begins again the trumpet,
And the nostalgia of our
Synthetic wounds where we

Organize ourselves around
The percolation of some
Ungodly sound;

Dream in metaphor,
Tread in still water,
It’s all the same;

Swollen knees, vagabond trances,
The scourge and reverence
Of countless stars,
As one folds into the other.


Erasures of the moment’s song,
Spread disease among
Men with belts around their necks,
Who have disdain for Disney World.

The offering upon my grave site,
Speaks in four languages;
Carries the earth upon its back,
Belly up and toward the sky.

The more desolate parts of me,
Wither and withdraw a while,
While I step, entering and exiting
The salted sea; free of care;
Monotonously estranging myself
From any form of government or religion.

It is here I find God between
Salt water and sand;
Screaming in decibels
Too high to understand,

And upon the beach inscribed,
The name of the Lord.