doom mandala

horizon lights
dog movement
we hear a laugh
the earth's mouth
inviting us
to be dust
doom mandala
fucking hippies
jesus noman
is not my dad

when I am walking the city and not speaking

arch on, mongrel:
crotch the poles-
this city woken
stirs your mine,
your opal nature.

our amples are rotten
so I grab a snake-
the groundness
of all the right faces
blares back at me.

squinting my eyes
makes tiny dangers
that dance like wails:
there are glasses break-
ing the sidewalk.

e easy cummings

e easy cummings
doggedly noses
between my thighs-
he wants to paint his portrait down there.

boy in a field
of mirrors: his penis loops.
blind and painting- riding
on sighs, eating sighs.

makes nice rhymes
about romantic custodianship,
fisting the twilight-
made a car of me dammit.