to my twin:

Mirror
me
mirror
reporting
to make sure my noitcelfer has not gone to the other side
while we sleep next to one another
me tasting your eyebrows

on the side of the sea
stranded as i a s hell

its so sunny!
these eyes were not made to take in much
nor nose nor mouth
nor you

bleed white noise
face i ecaf
chaque matin midi et nuit
call hell llox whar is instableit
? inside indif erent skin

who are you? who tuch bet ter than my own hands
the reflection of

you make your own inspiration
the thoughts are generally
the same intonation unvaried
pits
of a rhythm rut
the windows are the same too

this one has sticker residue
and the field behind the house
an apple tree's pink lace
the other paints a white stained floor
above the neighbors
preparing for church

today is the first day. Again
my moss skin
reaches greenly
to distant photos god takes
as he cleaves the world into two halves

one fake he makes shinny crow's feathers
tin roofs
windows like opalescent flowers
scattered on river banks
on ponds and lakes

all this
'''''''''and still
'''''''''''''''''''the sea

I see
a yellow house

peacocks hang from dead butterflies
door handles unscrew

red orange purple walls

when the plaster's wet

i am
especially my face

spotting the electric red
hives

fear
vacation passes
overturned wine glass
purple stained
teeth looking like
a curb

beating
a wounded nightingale

voice of a
black cigarillo

want skin want heat want the disco music to stop interrupting my bird

masterbation s

primeval scream
immature with 21st century
roots
in unpacked April

a 6 year old's easter dress hanging
alone on a wall

with no furniture

frightens the best friends
one red slice
broken window

boy in a bug field collecting

soul food

I (read first)
purple umbrella
big drops falling from
her other half

nourishing a toilet blue
sheep drink and tiger lilies orange

evening pallor
superimposed on the rising horizon
her jesus fades
in post war rubble
three dead snakes

(then go back and do it again)
starting with II:

soul food boy in a bug
field collecting
broken window
one red slice frightens the best friends

her other half falling
with no furniture
alone on a wall
a six year-old's Easter dress

in unpacked april roots immature with twenty first century
masterbation's want
skin
heat
want disco music to stop my black cigarillo voice of a wounded nightingale
beating a curb with teeth looking like purple stained wine glass
overturned vacation

passes

spotting the electric red
especially my face
i am wet plaster walls

orange and purple door handles
unscrew

my best friend and I

am trapped

fluorescent bath

sun machine
cranking
powerful bee sou
singing in the
hou
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
dark daydream
shhh. I'm slee

ping!

Spring II

you are now entering the 5th dimension
all gutters are full, water pours down the side
her father's cheeks

her mother's chin
dimpled where the laughs meant to stick
sunshine
melted her lashes into black circles
I came out
an ugly tomato
my soil hurts wooden as a saw horse
speech like too many saltines
she self me herself my mine myself hers
growing this way the other

plum blossoms

born of common sand
a hardened woman "i'm fucking"
extinguished
attempts to suck her life back into her huge breasts. using another's hand
left over dry grasses
unintentional fronds of carbon and her nipple remains flacid
the yellow brick
running into tin air
like a backwards boat
i am you sister, a wicked touch

northern wind sings
god in a low
slow

s-h-e-l-l

your request could not be processed
a fetus eating its lanugo

metaphoring the soft lost silk of the thought reel
an everlasting disco dance consuming
scraps of itself
mucus black excrement
oozy as the best soil

I she we have exactly seed
to plant amongst thick weeds

mother earth is blue as a far dream palace
mother my memory chips are scattered
gold as sun on the blue makes green
one hope for knowing where I've been
2 wishes me 4 wife
one patch of land so blackblue my ovaries

poems

as the ocean falls
tin roof

april in blury spectacles

night's unsleep of april lace thunder shakes loose their drifting green foam clear against the fog. the sky
"is falling, I must go tell the king" chattering little chickens on her day off she metamorphosis soap bubble. streaky as the train chimes.

if poetry is god

natural song
'''''''Easter sun

oh purple world!

cat above the porch is a windy misanthrope watching neighbor life from afar

bag bird. I miss the lady's face.

Bee hive yellow box filled with wax hexagons chirping hay and high planes grass wood wall of clean water green tinted rose bag blows sinister ice song cream con man in clown suit and tie black shoeshine nose drug red dozens on a charcoal stick grill an opisidian head slick eight holes in face the picture non-discript oil scherenschnitte. magnesium A chair the person who sits not there inside bee box. fried eggs corridoras de miel unsweet communion the soul not breaking her stale desert. everyone says, "its a nice day" isnt it? bees cream no answer from old man's rusted face in balloon bees go dizzy as clocks. back hive again to where vacuum cleaner. that sound empties