A Fist-Sized Shit Diamond

these are poems and i have written them

Orange

A flatbed truck dragged past me,

blew my face off near rusty runoff
and a walkway, face brushed awake.
Wet reeds and earthsteam,
staggered by highbeams,
finless and flayed on the concrete charade.
Wet reeds
and earthsteam,
fog blends through loose seams
and sweats clementines,
snarling tiger lily,
retching orange balls of stale focus
fermented into frustration, furrowed.

Dripping bitter starshine.
Feet aren’t meager,
snag momentum from the sidewalk
and carry stinging citric glare to the bridgebend,
the fish end of time spent for me,
between there, and up here, that I stepped on their heads,
flying fish footed, and shod, and clothed, and fuck those guys.
Carry it to them, maybe they’ll buy the shitline,
double-yellow hex on my head, back to them,
if they missed me at all they’ll be glad I’m not dead.
Carry it to them.  
Between my shirt and my back
tucked like nervous buds
behind the nuts
of an anxious adolescent bandit.

Congealing dayglow outburst.
Putty on my breaking hairs,
snapped in half,
trudging to the only where
that’s got whats to wash it, caskets and clams.
Stillwater basin,
scratchless sea purgegrass, brittlepass
within my means
if I urge my legs one last musty meaning.

Exuding spiteful brightrays.
Pomegranates orbit me,
burn the trees surrounding me,
auburn airborn death befouling,
panicked joints spring spritely.
Not spritely, stomping, vaulting towards
baptismal pond to cleanse the warts,
frantic film encasing coarse,
headlong hurry halted.

[nectarine 
nude holocaust]

A living pyre before the lake,
I beg the depths my itch to take,
to save from agitation rays.
Gleaming gusto I forsake.

"Oh-Shit Button in freshwater!,
reclaim this radiant disorder!
Devolve me from these grinding teeth,
and let the rest I left beneath
suffer same, for me, but shorter,
in my sad stead but soothed in water.”

Punctuated 
[CLUNK], 
filthy, 
backpocket quarter.

My scales
grew
slick with
pity, 
rebirth.
shed the
boastful
burn of
earth.
Irritant bled
and
fins unfurled,
back 
to complacent
dampened
world,
brethren glimmered,
not 
forgotten; gold,
but
hindered.

Cheapened by mine, their gilded burden,
staved off just days as it consumed them.
Relieved me of my singed, dead dermis.
They moaned, mutated.  
None heard them.

Hopi

Pueblo of itchy warm,

and sanded, tan on my hands.
Muddled once, a clay to wade through,
fossils faded in pre-Cambrian polaroid
busted.

Bustle past trichto-trypto-trilo what,
bristle legs typing, buffering, bloated.
Coded and cornered in a mudslide
into formula forum,
baked into one new neat hovel frown
turned down at the thought
of a history book with no back cover.

Holiest honeycomb data remorse,
calculated with no cracks yet,
fired and fortunate Sahara smells
and colors, oxygen
leaving room for seeds to take a rest,
maybe start a family
in the pits of brick.

The Pianist

I petitioned loudly.
Threw punches at strengthened glass,
made in Georgia but cut in China
with Mandarin-dyed loops and whorls
and arches and bell curves.

Claw machine clasped at my anklebone hinge,
thrusts grew softer and stretched, smogandsmolder,

asphalt jumping clumps under my drag,
throat like a screen door you blow through.
The sediment will stand still tomorrow, in ten minutes
breath disregarded and routes and grooves
smoothed out with newspaper.

Took me out, and their bones,
to make oil and collect a bottle deposit,
to write more textbooks, with more dates
for more skin to soak in, in formaldehyde article notation.

The goodnight came, bright man booming,
tongue clicking echolocation embers from the soggy cubicle hearth,
and moons heard it deafening.
New rocks in colors we don’t know,
gray and purple with ageless indiscrete footprint(s),
wedged it open for easy access. 
Sent a capsule to my stomach for no good reason.

One day, you would’ve had a baby,
andIrememberyou
case-sensitive pounding
and the scraping hopeful shatter cry,
and the mile-long thrum of being towtrucked away.
Loss lit through mirrors,
and how impersonal the palms were
that probably pulled you out an hour later,
and no response, no re-entry.
Do not wash your hands.
Do not forget the day of the week.



Steel girder ribcage, playing cello,
deep and resonant in a tunnel of temperature shifts,
cigarette butts and plastic bottles and brown paper tumble,
caught up on concrete in the ten minutes after you wake up,
intermittent.

Smell the shuffling steering your step,
fight the draftwave deflected by nylon,
disaffected to keep on and clunk.
Put a fishtail in the certain stride, don’t worry about traffic,
it’s too early, they won’t try to be you anyway.

Sip on it,
turn right, again; again.
Take it like a steel shovel,
no compromise and no change for the bus, so keep up,
creep quick, around them doing makeup
in the backs of chattering chopblocks
and annotating darktown maps,
swinging keychain to soundtrack,
to dandruff and a death rattle for the clean of cloud cover,
goodbye moon, soon.

The panorama kept wheezing.
Walked and coughed, wagged salt from creases,
wet hair still, all windows too,
all doorknobs.

Wraparound, turn a ton of red brick back to fewer digits,
jumpstart delirium folding seven or eight times, unbelievable.
Would you turn around if you had the time?  And yeah.

Back down four more fleets, fleet-footed,
hollow thuds on oak, ground beef gravel outside.
Thick sticks?  Maybe an island?

>Who?  You, yeah, sorry, here,
you’re here now, no?
I needed it.  Tap-tip,
ivory kinda lockpick,
we can chat, but primarily,
you’re here to play.

Slumberlust, early morning blunderous,
prepare for the nighttime neurotic ballet,
take a stool by the horns and away all day.



Tipped over, all of them clacking and shaking,
sidewalking across and then in.
Kids crashing and fumes and cocaine in their nosehair from yesterday
finally brushing, clocking out at the end
of their shifting.  Don’t wanna be,
but don’t care, cutting chords
and stomping foot like a ferry,
steamboat slowly to port town honking.
Done with that duo, deaded and burped.

Old wood smells like booze and boosted audio, not my place,
not what I wanted, but barely.
Cast a dragnet handshake, beardy bar baron, weird finger.
Wedding ring.  Through noteclimb coast into after,

>Nice.  You don’t often do ya?  Not by the sound, your look.

<Not even once, but lizardlicked me out,
and here, have it.  Gulp.

>Gulp again.  You two, fingers flying,
you know him yeah?  Great. 
Green on all accounts at your counting too.
If I could I’d clap with you,
no knocks, good presses and pouts.

<Yeah, thanks,

gulp some more, go again to the gears and grit skinners and pad off,
put off by smalltalk today and tomorrow.  Thanks for cash and crashing.

Sorry for you, sonny.  Huh?
Runnin’ up behind like he needed to.

>Lookit Danny dance, hah and humph, huh?  Hammered it.
Could you handle it, paytime?  Not a lot
more than they need.

<Yeah, I guess, in that manner of mess.
We were good.

Shake and search, snap and torch
and breathe out in between,
back pocket this time.

>Slept too long in the seat, ha-ha,
Howie kept asking for showtunes again.

<I don’t want to again.

>Yeah I know, buddyfriend.  We don’t have to,
we didn’t, you just said you were in.
Thursday, last one.  Or the one before that.

<It doesn’t matter.

>I know.

>You look half-eaten, bud, what the fuck is your deal?
We killed it or something.  What a one-way-to-go.

<Come on man, I walked by the office again.
Rails and smokey bones, y’know?  And what?
How long was I there?  All those angles
shooting index finger arrows,
cursor cattle prod belonging on a mugshot of mister for leaving,
and no open casket, no basket for Brendan,
or Jay or Carson, all seaward on accident,
no sad phonecalls, no portraits in cousin coal,
no reception.  Just a lot like where they keep the old traincars,
only wheels are gone and cars too, and tracks,
just fucked up galvanized crumbs,
and I’m still rollin’.
I’d rather be a closed subway tunnel, no one would see.



Slap a paw on cold crouch clamber,
fingers itching with rusty grain and soft-toothed swing,
up, arms spring loaded and straining.
Wind lick,
hair flip to one side,
short shout of shearing on me, tagged grazing.
Rise.
Dangle dearly.

On your ass again, always, legs not across,
you need hooks up here,
slumped and staring skydown at racetrack
zoomtackle to stoplights,
crosswalk crunchers clapping in time
on a white cage or bar face,
looks like something you do with your fingers and strings,
but no singing sound.

Snap scroll down, inhale,
exhale,
back pocket again now, swish seated.
There was heat like that once, here, too.
Now freezing informal on the pickings,
warm in my wielding.
Worked, her?  Was she,
no members remembered,
one-man club didn’t see, that’s on me.
Felt her curling, crooked desperation,
shook it off unknowing, shook it off like a thunderstorm baby,
yeah,
hot shit,
on fire,
ha.

Shook it off and shouted still,
no words from them then though,
just bubbling dermis,
mumbles melting into fissured tile and sheetrocked side to side,
marrow boiling kilnside,
downspiral duct flares,
seething six shades of it, red,
licking laughs of
smogandsmolder
, ivory keys break in its beats.
Too much like cresting tubes on the roar, sand aside.
Shrill.  And I should’ve been louder about it, I know.
Should’ve pounded piano TURNBACK with my tongue and went slow.

But yeah.  Spines are gone, different bones are upright.
And like I noticed, keys on the crosswalk like continuing chromosomes,
noiseless, no words.

I had words.
hwhhh
, lips pissed.

Shutterless skeleton on a tapered box,
I know those notes they stomp on and around,
I’ve done it before.  I could play.
I could petition loudly,
could heave myself at stronger-than-glass,
tusks of tar,
pound out the patterns of the snap of as femur
under hot weight support beams, flame broiled.
I could compose.

I can stand,
ridges rough and reassuring, rain ain’t no thing.
I could catch a downdraft harmony,
stomp staccato,
collide crescendo in a mortarcast climax,
fade out like they did,
smogandsmolder
thick and timely.
Gotta catch up.

Shufflestep right.
Amble vaguely,
distinctive dying deed, the done-king of cries,
<AndIRememberYouAll,Too

, loud and down.

Down wingless and peripheral,
to petition loudly one last push,
to throw a punch at ivory beckoning,
ivory I made for myself or for them,
idle engine reckons endful and ego,
rendered immobile in all other directions,
friction fighting frightened cells, and jacket flapping fearful,
this drop not dented but hot,
sensation! surely isn’t the same as their pain,
but like it,
like melting mumbles and a stone down a well.

Whistling altitude death knell!
Flaring forlorn freefall aflame!
Petitioned loudly, threw one more pointed punch,
and now curled around nothing,
like the shake at salvation so shakingly shunned,
like all of the others they left at a run, for me.

And the concrete concert hall heard one last key mildly mouthed,
forced out, end to guilty arpeggio without room for doubt.
Incinerated, sidewalk skull split, hardy lout.
The last minor key ember leftover snuffed out.

Compound Fractures and Theirs

Could you call it a spasm?
Could you catch caught and coughing indefinitely?
Meander leaves long and loud.

Could you learn peristalsis unthought
if you wanted,
could you make it a habit?
Forget the fringed-crush breaking brush.
As of now encrypted, arched back and pent,
the recent development of an elm,
pushing down and grind fabric between me,
chafed cheer on my knees,
a blow to the head,

amnesiatic in two vacant moons,
two turns tapped out,
useless to you
for the new desperate few.
Willful begone and cardinals waiting
in tepid leaves and watered logs,
munched moldy with broken beak.
Ground to blood-dust by sparrow with broken beak.

Thicket quickened.  Corrected,
curl away from the finches
and be a newer toad,
frog through a mudslide,
downhill to the bog
where the gas makes us smile.
Croaking a harmonized, prolonged song
far from the forest,
these two too content
to appease broken beak.

Not a poem, instead, untitled unfinished shortfiction fuckabout.

I petitioned loudly.
Threw punches at strengthened glass,
made in Georgia but cut in China
with Mandarin-dyed loops and whorls
and arches and bell curves.

Claw machine clasped at my anklebone hinge,
thrusts grew softer and stretched, smogandsmolder,

asphalt jumping clumps under my drag,
throat like a screen door you blow through.
The sediment will stand still tomorrow, in ten minutes
breath disregarded and routes and grooves
smoothed out with newspaper.

Took me out, and their bones,
to make oil and collect a bottle deposit,
to write more textbooks, with more dates
for more skin to soak in, in formaldehyde article notation.

The goodnight came, bright man booming,
tongue clicking echolocation embers from the soggy cubicle hearth,
and moons heard it deafening.
New rocks in colors we don’t know,
gray and purple with ageless indiscrete footprint(s),
wedged it open for easy access. 
Sent a capsule to my stomach for no good reason.

One day, you would’ve had a baby,
andIrememberyou
case-sensitive pounding
and the scraping hopeful shatter cry,
and the mile-long thrum of being towtrucked away.
Loss lit through mirrors,
and how impersonal the palms were
that probably pulled you out an hour later,
and no response, no re-entry.
Do not wash your hands.
Do not forget the day of the week.



Steel girder ribcage, playing cello,
deep and resonant in a tunnel of temperature shifts,
cigarette butts and plastic bottles and brown paper tumble,
caught up on concrete in the ten minutes after you wake up,
intermittent.

Smell the shuffling steering your step,
fight the draftwave deflected by nylon,
disaffected to keep on and clunk.
Put a fishtail in the certain stride, don’t worry about traffic,
it’s too early, they won’t try to be you anyway.

Sip on it,
turn right, again; again.
Take it like a steel shovel,
no compromise and no change for the bus, so keep up,
creep quick, around them doing makeup
in the backs of chattering chopblocks
and annotating darktown maps,
swinging keychain to soundtrack,
to dandruff and a death rattle for the clean of cloud cover,
goodbye moon, soon.

The panorama kept wheezing.
Walked and coughed, wagged salt from creases,
wet hair still, all windows too,
all doorknobs.

Wraparound, turn a ton of red brick back to fewer digits,
jumpstart delirium folding seven or eight times, unbelievable.
Would you turn around if you had the time?  And yeah.

Back down four more fleets, fleet-footed,
hollow thuds on oak, ground beef gravel outside.
Thick sticks?  Maybe an island?

>Who?  You, yeah, sorry, here,
you’re here now, no?
I needed it.  Tap-tip,
ivory kinda lockpick,
we can chat, but primarily,
you’re here to play.

Slumberlust, early morning blunderous,
prepare for the nighttime neurotic ballet,
take a stool by the horns and away all day.



Tipped over, all of them clacking and shaking,
sidewlaking across and then in.
Kids crashing and fumes and cocaine in their nosehair from yesterday
finally brushing, clocking out at the end
of their shifting.  Don’t wanna be,
but don’t care, cutting chords
and stomping foot like a ferry,
steamboat slowly to port town honking.
Done with that duo, deaded and burped.

Old wood smells like booze and boosted audio, not my place,
not what I wanted, but barely.
Cast a dragnet handshake, beardy bar baron, weird finger.
Wedding ring.  Through noteclimb coast into after,

>Nice.  You don’t often do ya?  Not by the sound, your look.

<Not even once, but lizardlicked me out,
and here, have it.  Gulp.

>Gulp again.  You two, fingers flying,
you know him yeah?  Great. 
Green on all accounts at your counting too.
If I could I’d clap with you,
no knocks, good presses and pouts.

<Yeah, thanks,

gulp some more, go again to the gears and grit skinners and pad off,
put off by smalltalk today and tomorrow.  Thanks for cash and crashing.

Sorry for you, sonny.  Huh?
Runnin’ up behind like he needed to.

>Lookit Danny dance, hah and humph, huh?  Hammered it.
Could you handle it, paytime?  Not a lot
more than they need.

<Yeah, I guess, in that manner of mess.
We were good.

Shake and search, snap and torch
and breathe out in between,
back pocket this time.

>Slept too long in the seat, ha-ha,
Howie kept asking for showtunes again.

<I don’t want to again.

>Yeah I know, buddyfriend.  We don’t have to,
we didn’t, you just said you were in.
Thursday, last one.  Or the one before that.

<It doesn’t matter.

>I know.

>You look half-eaten, bud, what the fuck is your deal?
We killed it or something.  What a one-way-to-go.

<Come on man, I walked by the office again.
Rails and smokey bones, y’know?  And what?
How long was I there?  All those angles
shooting index finger arrows,
cursor cattle prod belonging on a mugshot of mister for leaving,
and no open casket, no basket for Brendan,
or Jay or Carson, all seaward on accident,
no sad phonecalls, no portraits in cousin coal,
no reception.  Just a lot like where they keep the old traincars,
only wheels are gone and cars too, and tracks,
just fucked up galvanized crumbs,
and I’m still rollin’.
I’d rather be a closed subway tunnel, no one would see.

Cartography

Right turn signal sucking its teeth
at a clamshell crunched divider side,
lemon chasing raven
trying desperately to keep up
with red. 

The radio jammed, then stalled,
so many weapons and appliances spinning
on little plastic teeth, our stench in the singular
pouncing privately without pulp,
with fluids and without formula,
in cumulus clouds,
without thirsty vitamins or migraines,
without a wheel that spun that trigger,
to verticulate a mental frame.

Eyes waning,
rotting in all directions
as meters make meaning of
bowstrings, of dander,
floating minutes out and light shed and
scripture never opened again,
not for fear, powerful,
or brass fittings even,
bolt cutters on collarbones,
but because nothing and none.
Because stained
like a Gothic cathedral,
burning like a
and burning a

and burning like a pogrom,
and naval and undesired
and so fast to no end.
Sitting on a stopper
like a holy book suspended,
all slight hairs ducking
and rising over a half-home
disappointment, for me?
Not for, but around, airtight,
and to, and so did I, when it came,
so it did.  Inches away.

And the deciduous forest
re-learned its leaves,
and hours interlocked in the lamp,
almost,
dust and breath impeded
and fumbles and immobility
kicked up
with a mummified shuffle,
cutting repetition into two hundred tablets
with a stolen chisel,
laying back and lying.
And now,

one more, an equator,
same a signal,
stray from the digit?
Some might.

Some other ship
rocking tremulous on a pelvic peak,
turbulent and pursed
and skyless winter,
coldly holding in contract
like a vacuum thunderstorm,
bestial and breached and sweetly sworn
into,
an informal gathering
convinced of a looming loan.

Still glowing,
still radioactive, growing
and groaning, some grinding teeth
at me in the bookshelves.
No pickpocket.
No bumbling chieftain,
no plagiarism in my thumb,
no fire alarm,
no tandem bike,
no backseat brooding.

I would sing deerhide
drumbeats into your skin.
I would bite solar systems
into the scrying pool of your neck.
I would map the cosmos out
in your witching hour,
rake crop circles in you,
drag icy boulders through your hair.
And I would name you something different
when your sun burned out.

Vaudevillain

A thin,
hilltop residue
from the contours of creation
stunted his scaffold,
scared of slipping
and global warming.

A walkby, a whistle,
distant and expected
too much like a grand piano,
and she knew no difference.
As the earth turned, he followed,
fishing line flipping though magazines,
too much like a flowerpot,
too close to an anvil.

Too much like Dante,
he plummets nine nailed nowheres
to be whipped in his gift,
the pulped prison
split up the nostrils.
Too well-drawn for children, some say.

Bonesaw

Gnashing nearby and a doubtful disposition
waft embraces through
the snapped rubber branches,
vomiting sap into all impure things.
In artifice centered
on plush and a document,
rivalry and halcyon blocks bloomed
around the rocky heap
in a tricked, tri-fold limb.

Chalices dewed,
pistol-whipped at topiary streetcorners
with drops of retaining princes
like the bordergaunt barks throughout.
Echo reasonless, retching,
receiving the suffix arranged.

Spin and split off the chromed coolant calling,
resounding in quarts through its own
faulted facets,
reflecting the end in a
fried,
fearful din.
The chandelier rattled.

The chandelier rattled
with dusk from within,
spurs spinning and indigo.
Maps of plaster displayed
their ranges thick on the wartop.
The threat, ever bounding,
evaded our whim.
It spoke to our sleep.
Marrow chimes with no wind.

Minus Point-Four

Some stolen vizier,
some white faceboard flank
backed up on the soft
in therapy, therapeutic
in the surecloth rundown
over fresh-ended flat sides.

Stately and curtly cured,
old salt stings and splinters,
all fraying on old headphones
just like that, that
sagging sage or sticky tree chump
widening at each purposed pull.

Wrangled diaphragm in disorder!,
or among it,
kindred kindly.
Faux reception of folly
in natural gestures,
in membranes tucked tightly
between two fortress subsections.

Pact Agriculture

Laying latticed,
laconic and lazy
with a cheekbone in between.
Coiled, crutches coagulated
at the left breast shoulder
from a safety pin compromise.

Feline and frozen in thought,
compulsory frowns and crabgrass
and yawning grape vines along
the fired brick tradition
stacked with perforations,
cowls drawn and
spitting mayflies from heat vents,
reaping wheat like farmers exhaling.

Granular but glib,
starched and reassured.
I will make science my lover
and my crop will be safe.
I will make science my lover,
but I will marry a swarm of locusts.