The lie

Dear world
traveler who's eye

has banged
so many corners:

Thanks for showing me
that a tree is just a tree--

The roots have no past,
the trunk stands for nothing
and the branches reach to nowhere.

Don't even question
when the leaves begin to fall.

I won't be there to rake
them up this time.

It's just dead matter--
the corpses' playing dress-up again.

Framing

Beneath the spinal canopy
when deer spiral frightful.

One wish and we could
blow this bedroom out forever.

Archeology

Is there freedom
in anything?

Syntax
in the body?

The river
means nothing.

It has written
your ruinous

faces over
the solar system's

inner-fur.

What does it mean
to be a mastodon?

What does it mean
to be phantasmal,

cognitive, rickety?

What is in
the spinal cord?

A tiger,
the skin

in waves,
to be sniffed

out in the dead ether.

Natural Wonder

Once
upon a time,

believe it
or not,

my shrunken
head popped

off over
Niagara Falls

and I
purchased

a disposable
camera.

I trusted
the arms

of a bear.
I was told

I could see
the landscape

through
the eagle-eye.

But the
bear skin

is carnival,

the shrunken
head is ebbing,

and the wolf
penis rises.

Over Parks

Hear

the clanking

in the 

bonemare--

worm-darkness

writhing.

Take me with
you I am

a realboy.

Take me
over

the
terracorpses,

the
jutting

faces
of Rushmore.

Nature

The birds
are all twitchy
in the ether this morning.

Even the trees
seem to want to
reach out and elbow someone.

Faith Healer

I
ripped
the flesh off

the
banks of
the river and

a
coyote
reached down

from
the sky
and stamped

a
single paw
print in the face

of
the
earth.