Breakbulk

The internal constitution of a word feeds the slow hum of a blue induction which is empirical and positive a taste for the immediate the rapture of fish tangled in gossamer webs of diamond dust

Your weather is a personal matter an overall distorter of reality blue and yellow and green an escape from the constraints of reality what a big wig you have

That spot of piss in the cat’s litterbox looks like freshly poured cement the speedometer of our car is spitting hardware and very humble church candles there’s a medication for this novel harmonies and vigorous rhythms strands of turmoil dripping with violins

Reality must be an awful place although there is wisdom among the masses a thoroughly romantic feeling the Kotoko of Chad are descended from the ancient Sao civilization who are known for their intriguing statuary in clay and fine personal ornaments in copper and iron today Lake Chad is disappearing it has shrunk by nine-tenths due to climate change

This line is a single strand of wire that supports nothing but itself

I have a formula for communion a longing for spring I pave an entry into trance

This is a mosaic of words it exists for and by itself literally and ranges in color from bone-white to Roman gold it’s robust and globular a big sound an epistle to the stethoscope pungent in creosote like a call to awakening the final flare-up of something about to die somersaulting in my breath a drama involving bedsprings and underwear and emotional intensity or cubic mass gathered at an unnamed place

The healing propagation of stars find me at home I have a bunch of ideas struggling for expression fossil-bearing semantic strata objects underwater feelings of oceanic bliss embedded in consciousness linear intricacies ancient rocks we keep the universe under the bed for reasons of safety it acts as a connective tissue and can be detected by its openness and transparency and weightlessness which releases energy by combining words

The elegy for elephants moves along its path swinging its trunk through a series of foreign keys I never realized what a kiss could be your kiss is like a sonata of membrane that seems to groan in a sugar paste somewhere in southwestern Greenland

An emotion is transformed into motion when it rumbles in enunciation and someone gets up from the couch to open a window space is there to be shaped vision is sounded in a fog

The cultural mechanics that manufacture religion have turned toward the embodiment of energy the earth is billions of years old and has begun to smell like a garage every little thing has just gone crazy a sense of reverence is critical to the understanding of thread

The poem has acquired a new flexibility although it has worn down by running water we can still make out certain features the world is an egg and will outgrow the problem of fate orioles hatch about 12 days later and are noteworthy for their flute-like songs

The mechanism that powers poetry has been shoved into a bouquet of stars here is an organ for nourishing an unborn horse go ahead open the welcomed doors of new imagined worlds we will fuse the words together at white heat while imitating organic substances things like oysters and cheese mental health prophylactics I hobnob with mushrooms and as you can see living forms spring out of the material itself without regard for the laws of gravity

Think of a colossal wagon drawn by animals camels elephants peacocks bears I seek salvation in art I envision a body of words imparting movement forward propulsion I can display both nerve and conviction via the physics of sentiment the slippery smell of a night fallen into the Mediterranean suffused with the spirit of dance sensuous and huge without being soft I will simulate an understanding of your legs let us embark on a raft of octaves sit at the piano and flower gently into the smell of the Italian courts the measured shuffle of shoes the first breath of air when the big oak doors open and the sunlight hits your eyes and everything rushes in at once causing privacy and cargo