poetry like there's no tomorrow

poems for when you feel like sneezing

hurling poems

poems to tickle your toes

poetry for tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow

poems lost in the flood

poems with a touch of vinegar

poems for the weak need

poems to complain about

well-folded poetry

poetry under the rug

blind-deaf-mute poems

poems for kicking yourself

I plunged into a cascade
of streaming syllables to explore the coded formations
of ancient mandolin songs
from a distance that seemed to emanate
from within my pulsing blood

A spark
of murmuring somethings
swiftly and steadily came to embrace
my tingling fibre

I swam quietly
through the magnetic melee,
knowing I could be there forever
It was a burgeoning symphony!

I became disoriented
and lost my need to escape
My feet were stuck
in tangles
of rhythmic growth
that refused to let go

The sensitized tip of my brain
realized this was it:
the insoluble ocean of everything,
the one sages and delicate magicians
wade through
for the knot of fancy answers

And everything poets search for:
the tulip's orchestral beginning
the irreducible peregrine song
my trembling breath
in melodic wonderness

The orb is the eyeball
of a giggling visage.
According to the numeni
it extends all the way to forever.
You take two billion curvy turns left
then four at God's elbow;
the passage breaks into three snake-arms.
Slide down the five streams of bouncing wagnuts,
across the grinning meadow,
over the spinning mountains,
around then over the warbling horizon
and you return
to the center of the fun bubble.

Toxic Emissions In a Night-Time Haze of Ventilators and Inarticulated Desires

within the blackbox of mechanical maliciousness
the gluten and limbs are fermented into a pungent thick fluid
that becomes a skulking river of shiny handbags and radioactive undulations
the gases are a miasma of static electricity
the messages are crushed under the freighters
as the streaks of yellow sharp and red
pulsate in hyper fashion
stinging blades like the hands of God
crack the salamander's intra-uterine dance marathon
slicing spines tectonic scales
while the barnacles scream
to the helicopters chopping flesh
into a mesmerizing martini olive