Minnesota Wildman

boy, you live so far away
in your big blue house
of yesterdays; boy,

you've gotten caught in me--
like a hook in fabric, like
a stone in the sink.

boy, i want to see you soon--
let's meet in the grassfields,
under cover of snow, boy.

let's romp and let's play and let's fall in love, boy.
i'll paint you-- you'll do me-- and we'll drink ourselves silly;
drink till we can't see, till we're somber and giggly.

you're older than me, boy--
but i don't think it matters.

we'll greet the setting sun,
and hide warmly as it rises.

boy, let's fall in love.

Carry your worry in knots... pump
new blood through,
chasing the demons out through
the curve of your knee; into the sea
with your lies and immoralities.

Drink your comfort in water... suck
down new knowledge,
detoxifying worry into
your body's internal streams, channels
come flowing together, fibers growing in bliss.

And newness.

We prance about
cantankerous, the two of us--
and realize nothing of ourselves
'til the sun
sighs, and rises
in utmost disgrace;
lies and fortunes misplaced.

What should be tears turns into laughter;
would-be fears incite self-slaughter;
will I ever grow old, will I father a daughter;
I will waste away here-- need I linger any longer?

shorthand for love / progenitransience

In windows, moments of
hot clarity-- from shudd'ring paroxysms,
the stabbing attempts at drawing breath--

I see people: people
as fragments of my selves,
as bits of my grey matter

gone

to slurry themselves across space
and time--
unbound, infinite.

Newborn starlights;
galaxies, progenitransient

realities; lives, dogmas and
unintended pragmatic cataclysms-- all

(macrocosmic minutiae)

evolved. I spin hurriedly,
forming darker and darker cores
(tighter spirals);
thicker masses,
(denser blacknesses)
smiles; intransigence:


convex vortex cremates palpitating corpseflesh.
Shorn in context, locks in keys flat
make a bloody, disharmonious (hairy) mess:

shards, splinters;
I've something to confess:

(aguey mouth-strings
rippling out:
crackling throatcroak
caterwauling in doubt)

jealousy is neverending, it seems.

If only it weren't for my dreams.

i don't want to be some stinging anemone
clutched to your rock self.

i don't want to feed from your underbelly,
but i want someone
(i want you, my darling)
to be caring towards me;
loving manliness is so becoming
upon your wise and hum'rous face.

i am your imperfect other;
the soullessness which--
with weightlessness--
occupies the recesses which
should house eyes.

i am the Godliness;
the lawlessness;
the occupants of worlds entire.
let us run.

together, now--
we fly into ourselves
(into fits autistic and beautiful
in their uniqueness)--

let us become our
own unbecoming,
unabsolved in this:

dystopian entanglement.

let us be born
into our own
truest selves once more.

to whom it may concern:
i am having a hard-enough time
dealing;

dealing with this
radioactive decay half-life
i call my whole-life;

every breath sees a proton's departure,
each dilation of the pupil or bloodvessel
finds another nucleus fallen to pieces--

and on, unto infinity.

my decay is your mutation,
is your ever-real evolution of
waxing and waning prospective presents
(future-selves, smiling with portent) in their multitude:

and while there may be stars in yours--
mine is the space between them;
uncountable and empty--
and on, unto some forever-vastness:

the cold hell of spatial separation.

concurrence (rational rhyme)

the terrible bells compel
me, drive my every motion
with whips: crackling with fear, fear

of the uncertainty of the sound
which swells and blossoms in spumes of foam--
drops of water, sunlight-filled, glinting in
euphoria, cavorting in joyous

spiral-splatter dances-- and builds
force, becoming the tidal
mighty
thundering surf of l'mar d'angustia.

and on every beach, the shells (they sing, oh how they

sing:

with voices of impunity, purity--
cackles and shackles and sobbed-out dreams
and screams of anguish [both mortal
and mental,

inconsequential]--

and glee, righteous fury
propel me: forever and on

to no end or rhyme or rationalized reason),the shells, the shells

hum with the luster of a day
that's unsure, uncertain but
never any-thing but dangling-- ripened, and
with portent--

in the everything of the present moment;
and nothing of the nothing which is Not,

which is Without; it
begot not a thing

but hot, deadly Doubt unto a Time
out of time;

which has no reason;

no rational rhyme.