Wireframe Accident

mice with handles scurry wired to their birds
heat that’s beating without chambers i can tell he is a liar
pickled eyes with terrible club and his grin
toy colors on her parade with lights
pulled across a single passage
police with wire faces held together
this kill is personal on the filament
he read enough to separate the pieces
he pronounced it like a doctor
his gremlin hands on the church shingles
his tar is not an engine
he moves the wind over the streets
everyone stays indoors
turns the stubble into splotches
picking lead out of the pencils
dressed up in a formal tie
and into a door up the float
what angels nobody deserved this
so much grit under their fingers
little angels underwater

---

Burnt Plastic

harmonic reduction of the yellow bridge
brave water calls it down rivet irons
urging down the birds are growing on her
orator’s scene down in the water with the hair
set up antenna channel over headless life
coral reef made of infrastructure

we used to be so pretty
risen from the threads
we used to breath on our professors
pick the parts off their lapel
pick the struggle of their fingers
the fish who want to eat
up the office on the wall

His handsome face in his neck
hot up on the coils grip the toaster
hit the terror on my collar
hit the terror on my collar
a real live mammal underneath
in a shoe kept by a pepping tom
cut the excess from the bones
turn the water in a sink
pulse out by the roots
and my catalog of droning
and my water color drowning in this bag and carrion

---

Aluminum Pot

a spoon in the clouded water
turning up the converted curling between my hand and the siphoned gas
makes precision cuts like a toddler with that silicon hand take the cart
and ride in the cart and the cart filled with cans

got a saw little grove people’s republic little gutter
got a needle hungry laugher, laugher from a cockatoo

screech the percussive waste raising bubbles on your arm
rebecca without her arm waiting in a vinyl raincoat
wet lip of green bronze oxidation figures
greedy wave of clippings and pipes that swing
up and down on every start and the tubes pop
spinning water pistons keep the mud out
so my duet beats in my listed arms

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Converted Attic Causes Fires

And when its night
I sit and count sirens
and smoke comes
out of me anyway
so I smoke too
to keep company

and take the day
down to the drums
so my new faith
recolors the progress
in my favor

this might just be
the last time I write
before I join the service
because I can’t go out nights
with my recoiling gag

My robe is full
with someone’s meat
I fill up the gas
around here so I know
that’s god with no
upper case in the french

which speaks to me
i know a small press
where pages aren’t the issue
it’s all in the bodies

so much as i treble
and the count continues
on the floor notion of a loop
gone the pickled beads
with the widest hole
I step on

my move is gone
my braids are gone
up above the shoulders
the dust that almost got to me
and this will be my lost line

up on the door with
thin appreciations
ice water means something
your face laughs

at my ancestors viola
appreciated in the brine
I built from dust and hunter’s bat
ammo and no ignition

silent like two sirens
silent lives for replication
making a hole in
the black rocks
another siren, I
must not quit this

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Room 5201

blue static straits
under teeth form
cloven breath at pace
under the desk
that can’t come out

a barefoot man in bluejeans
under your desk snarls
makes you go for the letter opener
back away to the newton’s cradle
checking default action settings
holding what you own in your arms
and waiting by the door

hello out in the office
hello hello hello
and steam comes out the keyhole
he screams

what is his word
over the table you bend back
and smell lactic muscle

burn out like street music
from the man who walks with the fog