flickering and burning, vaporized paraffin
a bridal-dance shrouded in the light
surrounded, but not consumed
feet moving on cracked parquet
holes punched in leather
soles scuffing in rhythm
and scuffing in tiny circles
twirling in the flickers
enflamed but not illumined
squeezed by ink and velvent and the scent of caustic medicines
crushed by the blackness at the centre of the wick
abandoned by the incandescence
abandoned by the flame and heat
folding inwards to a sober and unending pressure
the submarine depths where glimmers rarely dare
falling while standing up
paused in an instant of doubt
in a silence that tears
in a dance
in a flame
in the dark

a foul, fermented smell in an earthen tunnel
roots dripping through the walls trace the shapes of presidents and kings
in each eye, a fire-red beetle turns endlessly, searching
but for what?
deeper in, the smell is fainter
melding with the yeast-stench of a thousand loaves - unbaked, occult, hidden
the darkness caresses with ten thousand elfin fingers, palpable
a cliff, an opening,
and below, the sound of rushing water, forgotten machinery, and the moans of the wounded
a step, wrenching wind
a world of billowing red silk
we must find...
but the silk
all is silk
there is nothing but the billows

a hand brushes aside a face to reveal another, and another
a valley of hides and orchards
a house with a white-haired couple over a worn table
hands moving cutlery
a cry, a scream
hands moving cutlery
a dry, wrinkled, cracked, finger, the insides visible
a bug beneath the fingernail retreats into
a warm warren, tunnel meeting tunnel meeting tunnel meeting tunnel meeting tunnel opening onto
a tree bristling with blossoms in blistered sun
a trunk made not of wood but of densely packed ants, their mandibles clacking to produce
a constant clatter
hands moving cutlery

sun-griddled, the day gives up its fruits and labours to a man crouched behind his kitchen table, watching

a plastic sheet startled, distracting from the regal dust-fest

crabs gave a new gift to the moon - the sound of a perpetual castanet

riddled by a reasonable question

crumpled by the weight of an empty shoebox

useless as a fork to a fiddlehead

minding the P's and Q's of a blinding ghost

seen traveling the same way, they felt a momentary fear

crippling fears of discovered cup-stains

cringing at the thought of a solitary blemish on the moon

wiggling between the worn paths brought an endless bounty

crowded round the failing fire, collapse took them one by one by one by one

futile purpose found in the edge of evening

uselessly left in the soul

in the face of the clock was a miniature avocado that looked something like a fly; time flowed around it

a tumbledown old mind hid behind sharp hair and a predilection for slightly overripe fruit

caressed by river violence, his broken body surged rhythmically, longing for the sound of a lover in an intimate moment

a thousand thousands of tiny shards fell from her mouth: a final testament, a final trial

racked by chloroform, the prince called for yet another plate of oysters

tear-blinking, an eye blinked in the presence of tiny hands

moonwash brought a fresh sense of purpose to the hapless while causing the cowering of the bold

crag-rocked, a hill rose before her sodden eyes, spurring the growth of a single tiny fear

light streaming through panes lands on a pearl, causing footfalls, shouting, a broken hand

elsewhere, the tide changes and a solitary mussel is revealed

following on from a forgotten thought: pain and sadness without a hint of meaning

lingering on the doorstep, an aroma evoking a forgotten time
on the sill, a menacing face
in the freezer, a nearly-prescient dream

the urn cast a horror-light on the throng, mourners all, but for what?

and the ants crawled silently into the folds of the land, and into the folds of the cloth, and into the folds of the flesh

screaming furiously into a conch while seven pins fall slowly into a soundless slumber

found lying in a field: 16 ripe pears and a single grape

bellowing, he buried beds and bedspreads by the score, but didn't take anything from the second floor

fires raged through his mind as the final notes of the frog-chorus lingered in the evening; elsewhere, another swallowed a tail

cringing beneath a brilliant leaf, his glistening bulk shuddered into silence

the tide brought boughs to sing songs of majesty to the assembled monks

warm sunlight filtered through a garden of tempered glass and cold tea

and it flowed over and under and through and coursed across all the land, only to find a tiny piece of deep-smelling earth

covered in fur, it was indeed an odd crab, but odder still was the flavour of the nearby pears

'turble-cat' murmured the vizier, as he contemplated braziers and ornate rugs

death stalks grew curvingly out of the mudflats, leading those who saw them to wonder on the colour of the moon

words poured forth from the ground-crevice, baffling the trees and causing epidemics

all manner of fruits and steel boxes were worn festively

this is a new day, a new way to pray, the dawning of a certainty

forever awakening the slumber of chairs, the instantaneous blindness of consciousness exerted itself

mucous-dripping, the matrices munched mustard

forged in the glance of a bed-wetter, his naked hand felt like an icicle encased in doubt

crushed down into the depths of his pants were two perfect VHS tapes

if i had a mango, i'd eat it right now

a strange day and a strange knight ate figs together while playing at kings

crinkled with sleep, the pages of the book refused to turn

grieving over the loss of the tide table, Pierre guessed 179 jelly beans

shredded potato eyes covered every inch of his skin while he wrote his magnum opus

scorned once, and forgotten - until the sand covered over everything and swam away

futzing about with lily-pads while dream-fronds rock gently in the visible garden

dead leaves clogged his mind, as his fingers fumbled to open the drains

hoar-frost covered the flaming sword

roosting in the depths of iron bars was getting old, so the fish decided to eat moonbeams

this is the end of moons shining on bald pates, and the beginning of moons shining fine silverware in tubs of fish

blazing in the depths of the cup of grace lay a single fingernail, forgotten by all of the wise grasses and the flowering trees

lying there, mote-eaten, her eyes rove fitfully over the death-stones at the waterfall

eat a fish for breakfast
eat a fish for tea
eat a fish for window-panes
eat a fish for me

deftly, he flayed the orange while following the abbot into another smiling tirade

his voyage through Korea left him knee-deep in dog-fish heads, and gave great insight to a certain whale-hunter

a mission granted him permission to study only the motes which grew in sand-flea's eyes

you all have such great iles

you all have such great miles

you all have such great smiles

grown in the exact centre of a dying pomegranate, William IV was nothing if not nothing

left with another one's trial

fused with another ocean's fauna

angered by another dog's spit

fettered by another man's beard-trimmings

sand crept over the bones of the broken man, as his widow found hidden seeds in each and every corner

feigning ignorance, the grapefruit said nothing

forged in a steaming rice pudding, it lay cold now, and dreamt of salt water showers

grated skin fell from the sky like flakes of wonder

he stumbled as he fell, combining two graceless actions into a pickled cabbage

counting the drops of sand in her mind, he swallowed forcefully and began to drink

morons woke the dancers with their cries of pity and dread, but only for an instant did they see into the sands of the widow

crinkled eye-flesh spoke volumes about the indigenous fruit-trees

murdered in her home, and still living there, too

a million ships had crashed into his farm, leaving behind a trail of horror and shit-eating smiles

a thousand thousand deaths swallowed his face as he tried to swim ever faster

machinery clanked and rattled, as did his teeth, and made the placement of roses so much harder than before

morphine drips into the factory through a hole in the hand, but even Monday can't bring back that one special spoon

muffins were used to plug the whole dam

grated cheese, grated nerves, grated teeth, and grated cabbage lined the shelves in the great ship's hold

great smiles opened wide the eyes of mystery

a moon-eater forced him to grow teeth

he brushed aside the complaints, and poured additional salt into the begonias

biting down hard on the paving stone, she wondered if the oven was at the right temperature for pomegranates

death-manger

death-monger

dearth-monger

he ate ten thousand thousand thousands

dead things infested the car like maggots in a perfume-store

rubies shot from her teeth, or perhaps not

a bloody tome glossed the words of a moonless night

an ancient grimoire detailed the crimes of every single grain of sand left in his shoe

peach cobblers make fruit-shoes

playing with his intestines, a boar-feaster entered into protracted marriage-deliberation

screaming obscenities, she gently tipped the entire boat into the sand, creating thousands of codfish and seven pieces of good china

forgotten lands wept blood, but only on Tuesdays, and only if the heraldry was precise enough

she missed her hand dearly, and turned upside-down cups into radishes

a wriggler cannot ever find the space to keep a ship

a skeleton protruded from his soul, withered, and smiling

with the goo he had collected from the bottom of the ship, he made a castle that would endure the ages

creating a new shoe took away too much time from eating watermelons, so she began to hop violently

hating the fizz in his blood only made the sand hotter

pursed lips meant the bells tolled sideways while slipping into something more comfortable

death came quickly while peons worked the fields and intrusive thoughts made grapefruits pine for winter-times

deadfaced mangoes stared lustily at her fingernails, as a fish wondered why it couldn't swim

fascist leanings were high-piled under the hedges, while billowing sheets of free-wheeling love-dust felled another tree

worse than the fact of his imprisonment was the pain of never having tasted grapefruit

craggy-faced and mind-bent, she reclined fitfully as the treacle flowed over her hands

fragrance ringed his fingers while the myriad hosts of mirrors swallowed his soul

death came quickly to the tree, as it rolled vowels in its bark

milking the situation for all it was worth, the cacophonous reached deeper for another breath

photos of the deeds filtered slowly through the usual channels - channels clogged by bloated minds

it was larger and cleaner in the dream, she decided, and needed a thorough beating

gnawing on the bone left her feeling fulfilled, yet wide-eyed in the face of cosmic truth

why wait for the brain to mature - simply dump the flowers here

a taste of the watermelon was more than any of them could hope to find in the desolation that was New Jersey

anticipation drove the molecules into an unseen substance, a substance of filmy complexion and earthy overtones

her brain melted as the azure wine trickled between its toes, and left pools of moonlight in the sand

he cycled between rage and the upper west side, drawing constantly on a lined yellow legal pad

his bean-face disgusted the peasants so much they slept in a pile

a Williamsburg jackass is a rare breed - the only one that can cause the moon to rise in the blank-field

for each and every horror, a brandisher laced with wizened goats

he twisted the cabbage into a demented polo mallet

the grapefruit-craven never left him a moment's peace

grazed by insight, morning took the day off the shelf and dusted slowly

the sounding of her trumpet eclipsed the fire of her hair

the meaning of his name eclipsed his beauty

flitting between a large star and a fiery kettledrum, a devil-moth dreamed of deep woods and clear soda-water

voyaging on a cabbage leaf, the fool supped in brockle-twine and farthing-bits

feeble words he heard, coming from the tainted mouth, feeble and cruel

he lilted slowly into the water, swaying gently with a long-forgotten wave

his crystal-face haunts, while a torrent of putrid love flows forth

his breath came like cross-hatching; evidence of his footwork was everywhere; truly, the prophecy had been fulfilled

found lying in my soul: a song of oceans

found lying on my mouth: a single tear

found tattooed on my face: a single eyelash

covered in mud, he sang a song of lying still, a song of rapier-wits, a song of hunger-pangs

i ate a giant pear in Barbados, and then waded into her arms dripping cabbage juice

delicious crammed fish baked in the pan, but all i could think of was my missing lute

i voyaged deeper into the jungles of Brazil, wondering why i had ever left

i have no will, i am not human, i am but a watcher of worlds

whether I will or not, I wander wastefully world-wards

given a peach, I'll take a plum
given a plum, I'll take your thumb
given a thumb, I'll kill your Mum

visiting the ancient tomb reminded Peter of the time in Galicia, the time when his skin turned to vinegar, and all the villagers capered about like mad people

a thickness measured wrong-wise will serve to sever

eating fruit was all that was left to them, after the accidental and simultaneous eruption of every boil

six months later, she got a mild headache, and regretted ever trying to find an egg

a fish slid through his arms as he tried to grasp the fundamental concepts of numerology

egg-drop soup splashed all around their tiny vessel, but their minds turned to bitter draughts

she peeled him out of his skin, and poured another glass of cranberry juice

"munch on this, you fuck" she cried, foisting a tiny pewter car onto the trash can

one way is much like a day at school, the other, like a pomegranate

a moon shining pelt lay athwart the thwart while he paddled the McElroys

gorged on polyvinyls, the Grognards sniffled and snorted as the moon plummeted

the victor brushed aside a dusty tome on his way to firm-grasp a continental divide

the delicious sauce had seeped under his nails, causing a horde of crustaceans to finish their supper quickly, and the crew of the HMS Battleaxe to abandon ship

tear at it, and slather it with your spit, for it is but the seed of an apple, left behind unwanted

embalming fluid coursed through his veins as he thought, "this - this is what it means to feel free"

the tear-fear welled up in him, and he searched again for that lost thing, that most precious thing, that singular thing

the nets were cast, and still, he thought, i wish for rain

i gave my hand to old Lord Nelson
i gave my hand to that old man
i gave my hand to old Lord Nelson
i gave my hand to give my hand

gaining ground, the destroyer decided to vent all of the shells that had taken so long to find

forced it past the teeth, and right into the bloody stomach as I faltered

cracking the tiny ball in his clenched fist caused a pain to shoot up into the very eyelids of his childhood aristocracy teacher

a vendor sat, wishing he had meant more to more

the grapefruit-craving never left him a moment's peace

then, falling faster still, the toast did the impossible: it fell

the socks marked the wanderer as she forced her way through another field of agony

the bishop entered slowly, as all around him were raised the forests of a timeless ovation

willingly, he entwined

willingly, he enshrined

willingly, he endocrined

and then, the king swatted with his sword - alarming the courtiers, and igniting ever more braziers

whole-swallow the beans - don't chew, or your teeth will never stop

i won the pound of twitching molluscs in a foot race with a rhododendron

when asked about his methods, he replied simply, "the cheese grater"

a whiff of the past returned to them, and they all agreed to grow

only slipping is allowed here, so run

but then the waffles fell slowly, and the ducks thundered against the vestiges of her soul

flying mother-wards, the bulldozer tore the hearts of unborn gods

like clam-shells opened for inspection, a single oak slammed shut

all was lost - the pieces could not move, as he had forgotten their styles and gestures of advance

as she approached, he recited the litany against love

their swollen faces erupted out of the shifting ground, and loomed towards our stalwart knave

i am a shadowless rider, and before me fly the hosts of mirrors

pain shooting lengthwise reminds that long and limpid are the path of the wastrel

the horror of the tripping track folded him into a tiny packet of morning coffee

if ever the foe should come, swallow all the liquids and rejoice

ants may tarry for but a little while, for never again will the white paint drip so slowly

her face was the breath of bumble-wing upon my toe

pollinated, he swooned, and wondered while collapsing whether there was more room in the darkness than in his parent's car

i have wandered, yea, even into the den of the prickly-pear, and my hands are left holding a myriad of loving murder-stones

mourningly, Wicklethorpe bride-ate

they were terrified, yet not so much they couldn't throw stones at clouds of gulls

i cannot see, for all of the wonder has left

"hate those guavas", she raged silently

meddling, he dropped another bearing

she flew an orange kite, to win the favour of the Moon

as she slathered mango salsa on the window panes, he quickly gathered up the sheets and made his escape

and as the lava poured gingerly over his mind, he wished for death and a good stiff drink

when the sun turns tail and orbits the earth, that is when the force of many cantaloupes will fall on your very soul

"grab my tits", he roared, and even through the flashes of brilliance the interlopers licked the backs of their hands, chuckling smugly all the while

and still, the same sound wept for them all

for each and every braid, a brandisher laced with honeyed boars

sulkily, Wicklethorpe humble-spake

but when Morgana gave it to him, he cast it aside, saying, "I prefer cold spinning wheels to sunny days."

turn and face the welt-giver, friends

pounding into the dust and swelling with joy

and the birds sang songs of suffering,
and the drunken men sang blues

found in the sand dunes, the tiny ember reminded him of a moist place

and then i fell into the pit
along the shallow-water bit

"philanthropist!" she shouted at the tray of damp cookies, while spinning surprisingly slowly

hastily, Wicklethorpe self-recoiled

slipping quickly between their nostrils, her blade found a wealth of fresh fruit

an everyday occurrence: this time, teeth omitted

a frog took him in its mouth, even as the last silence of the sea came crashing around them

an intimate shadow-pattern scarred her face

black fins of anchor-weed closed around her head

and, when the ruddy light fades, the earth will vomit forth gophers

pain shooting lengthwise reminds that smooth and cranky is the way of the torpid

sinking shepherds at sea have lost fig and friend

a physicist ate pears while she searched the purulent sand-tracts for widows

i further-shrank into the melting swamp, as a thousand malevolent motes floated gently down

for each and every blade, a brandisher laced with sticky sores

I thought the end of morning, and it was

angrily, Wicklethorpe paper-burned

a fornicator found it difficult to fit through the narrow sewer-pipe, but with a judicious application of hydraulic fluid, was able to sing most arias

a distillate of pickled mango trickled down his face as he stomped fitfully eastwards

for each, an apple - from each, a stone

"with such a tight and flavourful loaf..." he said, trailing off into a trench of desperate souls

cornered, she fear-spat

as she died, he realized that he had neglected the albumen - now, all of their plans were like a dazed cabbage left in sand

"tri-cubic", she loud-shouted - her last-word, and her first-word

the second orbital laughed quietly as it crushed the largest of the hippodromes: but only singly did the grapefruits solemnize the occasional secession

surrender to me the Nothing-Fish, my boy

grazed by their intuition, he shrank until none could withstand the pressure of the air

a wood-word that topaz-smelt fell strangely

for all of them, she had reserved but a single pearl, and yet never could a single raindrop find its way out of the tooth-folds

cones, spheres, cylinders, and Sundays

as between a fish and an ape, as between a pear and a moon-beam, so between you and I, my love

hog-death and storm-breath choked the air

if ever there were cause for kings, the soil would shriek in agony, as the engine turns over again and again

a sewer-dream came, and brown pipe-bugs devoured her face

cranking the legs of the largest lamb, I fall more slowly, until finally I shoot upwards with the cry, "never again"

but, then again, fore-reach til the breaking of cinders renders condors inert

winding always-clockwise brings a tear to my only eloping bell

the end of a triple-ocean brings forth the leggings of a triple-wind

wish-fulfillment is to wordsmithing as a boiled cabbage is to the perihelion of the planet Mars

sinking slowly into the rifts left by the passing of Matterhorns

and so we wait for ships to push the sand aside, and leave their skeletons rotting in the wastelands of the stellar regions

forever is a long time to wait for cabbages to ripen on the vines of pear trees

while loping across broken tables, he always read Whitman

gibbering like a fool, rising up always into the oceanic depths of murder

like a fool, always trying to slide into the bole of a tree

and then I fell into her arms of satin wormwood

forever and a day, and a day, and a day, of walking into low-hanging bard-beards

ear-finger

when wondering about mangoes, it often pays to wear rubber boots and rub sand into table-making carpenters

never has delicious sauce looked so

forever wandering through corn-cakes and mud, the wondering begins: how far up is it to the next station stop, and, if so, whenever will be fine

he only goes side-wards to tressles and small bumps form

the whole frog, I said, sad

she tail-swallowed

she swallow-tailed

she swallow-tallied

I telephoned him, and only trees blew in the wind - not pies, nor evangelicals

eating only fish makes suns of sons

pornographers never went there

there is a man who eats only boiled eggs while the boot-straps of the ocean call, 'Suomi!'

if ever I wander too far, the fishes and moon-rocks will return me to Brazilian jungles and eat paste

I can't believe only staid staid staid staid staid staid staid staid

treacle is even more delicious when the moon is Wednesday

but then again, all tall people are really waves crashing on the shore

bored of toads and otters, I sit surrounded by all the King's of Erudite Sevenses

zorbitol is not a nuisance bear