silencing the past of the unfinished corpse .XIII

the way they slaughtered the crust of the earth was with the sound

of letters torn open.     it was managed bit by bit
using their fingers to pick at the adhesive
glue.     jagged
edges     broken edges     protrude from the ground.

cut out the mask of the sky.


clouds form to coagulate the blood and keep the stars from vomiting 

 

out.     the severed remains.


when the letter removed     the wood gaped  

pulling from its core caramelized sugar


melted butter over its
ghost.     under each
eye they placed their lives worth

suffocating

  

         the ground with each


    death.


Smiling toward my lost home

I was an angel wrapped in a blanket

the blanket had become a part of me     I had
two sets of wings 

this is how I felt this morning in the rain

it misted around me     the air was filled
with floating perfect circles of rain

my eyes turned the sky gray      and with a brush
my vision drug the clouds across the sky

I was glowing     I could feel myself
a beacon of light drawn to separate the dark
a line from sea to shore

I was not embarrassed to be alive     I had arrived there
fallen from the heaven of my own mind     upon my
own will

covered in rain I smiled

toward my lost home


 

the Milk

the milk is the phases of the earth
turning the yellow moon
bringing from it bridges of gold
under which the stars are a multitude of headlights
chained to the highway     dying like Christmas bulbs
in the cold milk of the snow
reflecting the subtle alterations of season
masquerading     as serialized time
the milk is the one after the other
never serving the remote     seeming where it has been
stretching fore and beyond


 Conference call

the phone crawls across the table on plastic legs
speaker holes acting as a thousand eyes lined with fluorescent light
inside the digital face
                                   the gnashing brain
upon which is spoken the time
tattooed by the numbers
                  by the numbers
crushing the cellulose tile
pearl of the masks around whose minds are a voice
wired into the unseen outlets
                                  heaven is the floor inverted
above which the phone spins its silent web
within the smoke obscured darkness we all live


better times

inside the trailer it was warm
you poured beer into cold glasses
the beer was frothy and golden
       
                                         when you left
                                            you were like the echo of 
                                       the last beer you had
                                                                  poured 
you collected my tab
and took it with you 
                into
the West Virginia
                       night