Feast of faces: Perilous climb through Body Mountain

Our boots were soaked in blood so we shook them outside
of the doors of our tents. Our machetes in hand as we took to our sleeping bags.
We would climb Body Mountain, I decided. Look, eating people isn't so bad.
We're supposed to, as monsters, do those things. We can lie face up in our tents 
licking our fangs till sunset and head out to find them-- or what's left of them. 
Humans were once plentiful on Earth till we came and we still keep technology
up and a semblance of pop culture, but humans have proven to be useless 
unless they're for food. Sometimes their populations get out of control.
They're an invasive species. They nearly killed off most of the Earth's
wildlife till we stepped in. Now we hunt them, every once in a while,
whenever they try to rebuild some kind of society. Stops them from 
getting cocky.

Skill Verse

The matter that matters is comprised of meat unfamiliar,
lowered from the sky, wrapped in a sheet as a feast for St. Peter;

The matter that matters writes in sing song  fashion,
unintelligible to the masses not mattering;

This is the interspecies essence,
the hoot, the howl, the slither;
This is the interspecies essence,
the chirp and the elephant foot stomp,
communicated to you from America to India to China
in a second,
and in a second you perceive eternity
through temporary eyes held in a temporary body,
sitting on a temporary globe lit by a temporary sun
till the ending of all that is temporal,

till the Prime Mover gathers existence again 
to see a man scolded for not washing the dishes
after all the guests have left. 


Today I've eaten apples,
apples because of you,
because you've never known another fruit,
a fruit found as delicious.

Today I've eaten apples,
apples because of me,
because I've never known another fruit
that is like me,
no, not in that fashion in another fashion.
This is not to say I'm edible.
This is not to say I'm red
nor is it to say I'm green or golden
nor is it to say I'm perfectly round,
nor is it to say that I'm busty,
nor is it to say I've fallen to be picked up.
I am like an apple in a fashion,
but not in that fashion,
not because of bark or trees,
or trucks or denim.
I am of a fashion, but not of that fashion,
I am of a kind but not of that kind,
not of the kind you have guessed me.
All you know is I eat apples,
apples that remind me of me,
but I merely state it 
and it is inconclusive if it's my actual meaning,
merely a statement
in case the barn houses interrogate me
and the roadside mailboxes chase me
into the west.

Dark, dark, dark

It is a dark day in Florida.
Alligators, chubby palm trees,
they all live in Florida.
Florida for the ugly furniture,
Florida, hot, Florida full 
of cars.
 The swift comings and goings of rains
remain in Florida,
Florida Orange, Florida weird.
The bizarre enjoyable empty sky interrupted
by the high cloud which can only be arranged there
Talk to your friends and ask them
who owns the sky and why it isn't ashamed to overlap
Florida, dear won't you get me another one
of the elsewheres to come with me. I'm busy.
Florida, I love you.

The return

The return is here and I bring it to you, the mortals.
When last we left, there were angels fighting witches,
aliens also hung out with a mediocre man from Westchester
who did nothing but sit on fences
and talk to people about cars and sports.

I know some of you think good and productive people
talk about cars and sports,
but the truth is,
the very sad truth is,
that some of you are just occupying space better used up
by the best of us
who talk about other things
like the best flavor lollipop. 


At 3 o' clock I see you sitting at the window
chewing on a pencil looking at me.
I don't consider,
while looking at
fabrics draped on you,
the whole of you
for too much is the band tied at your wrist
that is fixed just so.

It is with you that I am
a cello
and that the earth takes on hearty reds
and the browns warm me,
taking me in memory
to the womb
till I exit you and I'm
born again.

The glass palace

In the glass, in the glass
not shattered,
in the glass wandering,
the glass still living,
decoration in itself,
studied in its
elegant presentation,
in a glass for with glass
we celebrate,
glass like the delicacy
of which my sentiments are comprised.
In the glass,
the glass of the glittering moon
above me through which
sprayed the eyes and the senses,
pulsating with the warping arousal
experienced only
on a glass bed, in a glass house
through which a crowd watches you,
in the glass you behold the crowd
naked and some cheer, some laugh,
very few give you dirty looks
of a good kind and bad kind
and you stand exposed
to the vast existence of eyes
partly mocking through witness
and partly mocking because
the self conscious self mocks.

Image in smoke

In the city, like in the country, like in the burbs,
there is too much land and it goes
on forever,
built upon or undisturbed,
no matter,
it's not understood
till one tries to walk it,
all of it,
and the ocean is not
understood until
one tries to drink it,
all of it,
and I am not understood,
but here we are,
understanding in part
and shaking hands
and talking
till we walk away
we have gotten the gist,
recounting to others
our impressions,
an image in cigar smoke,
disappearing into a living room
forbidden to guests.


I am the tree that cannot be knocked down
and will not burn
when touched by fire.
My talk is not common talk;
My depth is invisible;
The animals burrow, stalk, run and hide;
They eat one another;
Their noise is confusion;
Blood surrounds them as much
as it runs in them,
bearing no fruit and no flower;
Water runs beside me
with strength varied
but I remain firm,
accompanying you
all the days of your life;
Remove your sandals in my presence
for I cast no shadow.


Drums  sound in rhythm with thunder 
in my wake
and I walk past trees
who now silent
stand as though to instill
in me their instructions
for upcoming days.

You of the reality plain,
full of lines and squares,
contemplating your now spinning
I ask if you're ready to work
with me.
Take up the blood that flows
within you, fill it with fire,
and move towards
the precipice set for you
that you not blind
whoever stands too close.