Hi] Grass Lobes (Sprouted Prophesies)

Denver, Sept 09


Oh here we are
Hear the great noise
Splayed out and angelic in
Cister sinsweep deckjaw disaster
Of this day
Give me my whisky
With coffee, I want to think

Disaster, I think
As the grass lobe
Pulled like pinpricked hair follicles
From the earth
His or her father
Time clothed in spectacles

Lady grey sheds
Her dress and she’s Venus
She’s screaming, tortured
5 years old, oh lord save us
Oh me…the clock
Churning like goats
Stomach each morning
Another arduous “tic”
a bloated floating “toc”

Squirming worms of the earth
Relative to the attic
Eaten out
And relative
Lost in the hair of
This queen mole
This plunging goddess of
The ground

My eyes stair between the
Chink in your thighs
Out of the rocks
And I behold a thousand ships
All garbed in red and gold
And fine artillery

When the piper cries
Play, the fox dies
David
Strolls down the desert
Strewn floor
His goatskin canteen
Dripping down his leg
He has just composed
Psalm 23
Now it mercy, heartache, guilt
Oh where are we?

Disaster
Cleophas and the fall of Rome
It fell again and again
With each rub of my hands
Together last night

A fibrous vine
Collecting heart’s satchel
Windfire eyes and
Badly bleeding hands
Connectivity
With the ground
And the rolling snow drifts
Of these sheets

The fiery gyroscope
Your sunglasses
Reflected in
The fissure
In the Swiss alps
And a slowly sinking
Catamaran of lovers

What is this steely community
Of utopians
Who gather round the fire circle
To see me hanged?

The theater
Holds its boney knuckles round
All sprouted prophesies of the voice resound
Then fall in hall of mirrors and sound
Reflected, tumbled, distraught
Backstage