Mountains Sprout

It is incredulous the way

Mountains sprout

Up from flat earth, with

Tectonic shifts           

Or water washed minerals

Broadcast asunder

Leaving the landform

In some small way

Bigger.  Or the way

Guttural rock can spit

From its lips

Hot and liquid

Leaving the mountain fatter

And new skinned.

Its growth unsubstantial

Enough to catch

Their silent shift

Through slow time.

If we like gods could speed it up

And watch

The dance of landscapes,

The mountains

Shuffling their feet.

Would You Rather Try Spitting Infinitives or Kicking up Appearances in a Well of Malformation?

We are spitting images at each other.

we are fraternal twins. we are busy

making sentence while striving for

perfunction. we are two-piece pods,

two sides of the same clone, appalling

contraception prematurely immaculated

with multiple organisms then gradually

redressing. we are dancing on heirs with

standing oblation. we are injourned

internally, pleading profusely, and barely

responsible. we are starved for infection

and gambling convulsively, tracing our

routes through the banter of dialects,

raping our locks through the keyholes of

innocence, babbling of relevance to ears

that hear circumvent. we are setting bids.

we are accepting goals. we are waxing

inaudibly. we are epitomized. we are

puzzlesolved. we are quiettouched,

guiltriddled, inkstained, and quicklysolvent.

we are roadwary and scarred to death. we

are brackish waterfalls merging in middles.

we are financially insewered. we are

underworked and overpaid. we are

troubleshot, pilestocked, paperworked, and

piddleproduced. we are frenzy franchised

and pleasantly surplused. we are

druggeddown, rockbottomed, footmouthed,

sextoothed, soundbitten, assfatted,

fiddlefingered, palletskinned commercials.

we are excessive compulsively date raped

till blue in the mouth. we are flying safe to

straighten our lives and it is not working.

These Words

You will not remember these words

They will not needle into your head

And stitch themselves inside with thread

These words won’t be your conscience

You will not remember these words

They will not infect your skin

Dilute, diffuse, and swim

Into streams and currents,

Ebbs and flows, allocate and permeate

These words are not a toxin

These words are not pretty

You will not package them

With paper, bows, or ribbon

You will not give them

To your friends as gifts

Print them on a bookmark

Or frame them on the wall

These words are not a token

You won’t find comfort in these words

They won’t wake you sweating

Undress you, make you flush,

Ravish you, break your heart,

Slip away in the dark

You will not miss them when they’re gone

You will not remember these words

You won’t sell them in dark alleys

Or buy them in seedy neighborhoods

You won’t dissolve them on your tongue,

Roll them up in paper,

Or inject them in between your toes

They will not lift you up when you are down

Or drag you down when you get high

These words won't mitigate the wound of being you

You will not touch these words with science or technology

You won’t pin them on your table under light and lens

Dissect them, break their bones in quarters,

Section them, or suck their marrow

You can not augment these words

You will not manipulate these words in politics

Or decorate these words with metals

You won’t discuss them in universities

Print them on your shirt

Chalk them up on sandwich boards

Or quote them in your letters

These words won't bring catharsis

These words won’t be your guiding light,

Muse, or alma mater

You won’t add them to your cannon,

Recite them in cathedrals,

Synagogues, or mosques

These words won’t be your anthem

These words will not birth ideas

Or bring about revolution

These words will not start war

Or bring peace,

Raise the dead or heal the sick

These words won’t walk on water

These words will not affect you, burden you,

Change you, harm you, or better you

These words have no intent

These words have no detail

There is no irony in these words

These words are right

These words are true

These words are absolute

This ink is light                and   hardly     visible

  Yet these words do not hint

But you will not remember these words

               Because 

These 

Words

     Are not written here.

Sheen'ku

I

High priest Vatican assassin warlock

Fire-breathing fists

O. D.’s are gifts

II

Fools.  Fools.  Trolls.

Sad, weak, defeated, droopy-eyed, armless, children

I was born dead.

III

We win

Radically in our underwear

Before our first cup of coffee

IV

Within not giving great advise

Is great advise

What’s up

V

With a full house screaming

Can’t is the cancer of happen

Winning

VI

Different mind, different heart,

Different Constitution

Bitchin’ness