Currency

He was a double image

of himself, mis-struck,

ever returning

to the point where the strange cast

of the world pressed against him.

Fuzzy edged, and

unreadable,

he made a fountain wish...

Peep Show

It was a pain in the arm

that sharp woke me,

the taste of night tin

in the hollow of my throat.

I had shelled out my tokens,

and death

was undressing to the nines.

Fighting off the porno of dreams,

I fell from some sky

into the me-shaped orgy

of a wallowed mattress,

a tribute to erotic ice sculpture.

There were financial fears

and communications about aspirin.

The panic passed, but I moved

as if read by a laser beam

powered by the sun,

and I saw through my eyes

the measured terror

of a borrowed daylight.

Our Red Ink Year

The steel city is a bar-graph

with flame overlay, belching cloudswarms

of migrants, unworking

ants dispersed by ghostly fist

of raw, material forces...

In our daybook, write,

“a day most fateful....”

Mark this humdrum observance:

Hand-to-mouth will overwhelm us

in transience

multiplicity

and vanishing vampires.

Liquid Epistle

Let us swim underwater, letting water

be the medium through which we divine

the swimmid kiss of our breath-held skins,

aqueous and ultra-sensate.

Let the skein of water, swelling, enreeling,

lure each into the other’s dream,

from whence we fish emerge to devour

one the other

on some fernid, Devonian beach.