Quivering beads of dew,

Are moonstruck quicksilver,

On matted grass.

The sticky scent of night blossoms,

Like mist, is hung in air.

And nestled pools like mirrors,

Hold stars within their depths.


Grappling with the grate I hoist

The lid of darkness, cold and moist.

Upwelling currents of putrid air

Pass seeping despair slid down a stair.

Into negation of is I peer,

An ulcerous whole of stagnant fear.

Stone steps descend into abyss

and stagger lost to twist in mist.

A disemboweled blur of precise device

serves as an altar for rolling of dice.

Dangling strand on the weave of space

Ungrasping minds unravel it.

Colonial cells reflex in mass

To geometric symbols of shapeless void.

Incantations incapacitating intellect

at altars that cannot alter.

Headless, they putrefy in pools of despair.

A preying mantis calls me brother.


A spontaneous chemical reaction,

The product of which is a bond

With two elements combined

In a thermodynamic creation.

Battering home the wrecking ball,

The girder lattice loosens grip

As pressing stresses rupture bonds

To collapse in crumbled rubble.

INNARDS (1968)

He heaved his inner in his hands,

Then flung it in a long armed lurch

To splatter on the finger-eye.

Looming, reaching spy.

Now he stood there hollow, panting,

Then gazed upon his clear glass self

And wondered why his color went.

Outside, inside spent.

Then he turned his back upon the sky

And burrowed 'neath to eat his roots

To see them rot in transparent bowels.

Raging, desperate howls.


Famished curiosity to peel back the curtain

That shields my pinpoint flare,

Like a solitary star on a moonless night

From the vast hidden chamber,

With black, unscalable walls

Joining at an unseen horizon,

The clouded view of infinity.

If I could only see them as they see me,

Hovering around this flare like a moth,

Knowing its dwindling flame

Sets sentence on my life.

The atmosphere is turning crystalline now.

I do not think the torch that burns

Away this curtain will save me.

Only reveal a sullen, white face,

Pocked marked by spoor

Circling and converging

On a red stain.

Like flies on dung,

The clump of humanity

Clings to the earth.

How could they miss me?


Anyway, it was getting embarrassing to stay on,

So demoted, liberty was relieved,

Ordered down off her pedestal,

Still clutching her torch eclipsed.

In the nation's drain hole at dawn,

Tacky red ribbon around gilded foil wraps.

The monumental hot air balloon

Dangling above the awed clientele--

A child clutching a blanket.


When came a distant rumbling,

He shrugged then cupped his ear

And said you heard not rumbling,

You heard your paranoid fear.

When came a rolling drumming

He made a speech to say,

If that's really drumming,

It's done so far away.

When came a militant thumping,

He wrung his hands to claim,

You may call it thumping,

But I've a nicer name.

When came a violent pounding,

He shook his fist to yell,

The right they have to pounding,

Is redemption of our hell.


We fluids roil in a yawning container.

To waft gaseous through the portal.

Boisterously defying our restrainer,

A flame must incite.

But coalescing as entropy stalls,

We puddle as droplets might,

And roll into another container.


Dispatch the cobwebs

From the corners of your vision.

Grab those slippery concepts

As they slide off your mind.

Probe deep your fingers

To peel off the rind.

Observe the shapes of spaces

In patterns under revision.

Revel, my children, in spring-fed elation,

And as I love you,

Love the taste of creation.

A SONNET (1969)

You dwell within your murky shell

Bobbing across a rainbow free.

What's without you couldn't tell,

So safe within yourself you'll be.

What is, is not what is in you,

Though you cry that they're the same.

For what you know is what is true,

Because truth lies within your frame.

What you know you only surmise,

Having felt no matter at all.

So cut down truth to your own size

And like those lying, crawl.

Now give your lie to your good name,

And then your lie will be your fame.


Clap-trap degenerate bum haven,

Leaning upright by need of termites.

With flaky paint on motley face,

Loneliness peoples the barren place.

Weary pink-eyes the boarding house.

Mounting the rutted steps he must

Put master needs above disgust.

But pauses giving backward gaze

To look at spires in distant haze;

Reveals seductive honeycomb maze.

Slick, steep walls reflect the sun

Where pretty people go to dwell.

A bag of wind sucks him in,

And croaks the price is cheap.

It's safe, he knows the scum, the cold

Could never take his heart to mold.

Hidden yearnings erupt from sleep,

Like Diana from the head of Jupiter springs.

She holds her shield 'til sunlight brings

Reality to his broken head.

Cruel, taunting, the daylight hours

Reject, constrain his straining powers.

Fruitless like the barren seed,

He wallows back in his hole.

Wind pants heavy in his room,

Absorbs all heat passing through

Steam pipe hanging on the wall.

Satisfaction is left in the hall.

The spots of poison now appear,

Seeping up to his sucking brain.

So the aftertaste of his boarding is pain,

Because awareness travels slower.

Now how antiseptic is the place,

Boarding 'til they cure his case.

But they could never fill the need

That screws frustrations tighter.

The window frames clap-trap houses,

And above them the distant spires.

While another window blurs its pane,

To he who might still be sane.

Rising from his sanitary wallow,

He stares through his release,

Where darkness inspires lasting peace

The window shatters! He's going to cease

Boarding! Boarding! Boarding!


We expressed ourselves past the mountain pine.

Keeping track along a hogback spine

Of monotone humming on a swaying rhyme,

'Til we reached the end of the line.

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