Thumb Clove Reef

Hard rain against the sea glass
A deer leaps long jumps across the dunegrass
Gulls ride the storm wind valleys and slopes
The calm water thrashing in a collar of white
The full moon swells below ground
A fever in my throat hobbling me.

It takes thirty hours for the stickhouse of the city inside to be collected, evened, and bundled. Those thirty hours are a time of sleepless skinning. A leg kicked out from under the table thoughts. A slow watching the half-full cup slide down the slope and empty its falling mouth in the air.
Cash determines now that once the transition is made, it is time to leave.
Just when the stick bundle is set to be burned.
I came and go with the fellow traveler in my throat.
I was here alone, but only when I had to leave.

The rain, the rain, the wind and the rain.
The irongrey light and the foam.
I walked an ellipse into the sand as the moon rose behind the cloudwall last night.
I recognized it as a self portrait.

Spike Minus Fourteen

Her failure is mine

That she was supposed to corral the wild herd
of my mind, the wild lambs, and one by one lead
them through the narrow passway, to the still
place, where each would stand, observed, noted, taken
in, and then be slaughtered.
Slaughtered?
Yes Slaughtered, turned into words, and released
into the breath of the world.

Aurora

Sing, ass hole, sing the world.
Sing, my ass hole, sing.
Place me falling in the gallaxy’s rain, a man wrapped in iron that's shrinking.
And after the world has come and gone
And after the time has stopped and begun
And after the end has started again
And after the night has risen
Two ass holes sing, into each others mouths
Claiming the imaginary wand
Of song in trade
To penetrate
Each others beggar ought

Ought ’gainst ought
Beg & sing
Beg & sing
Beg & sing