TRANS-
NATIONAL
Polarity
the dead drop is the iris
you have the right to bring blood-soaked tissues
walls gather around one another
the Murrian sunrise
minimum three types of mist descending
the churning of a wound
the leaking from the sea
the transmogrification of America
Turbo Pit
the man of the moment
stalling for time
the search for the unwitting twin
the second-guessing of the Hudson River
its drain symmetrical to its thaw
a primary particle
verified by contact
the reproach of widowhood
encamped at the base of Nephos
Pre-dated Sister
she appears at no one’s will
the stomach pump ran overtime
playing the ignorance card
feigning her tendrils are under control
connecting tissue to a pathogenic hole
the double bottom
the false origin story
dribbling out
clogged by nettle
with every rehashed discourse on clutching air
an echo chamber of necrotic wind
Oblivion. Tarry
houses become tunnels
absorbed into the great darkness
in the tomb all sheen is lost
venal skin
zero life force
cornered now
the Infinite crossing into the guttural
life beams from His smitten side
the sunless gateway must fold in on itself
seven x seven x seven
Gethsemane, Gabbatha, Golgotha
Turbo Horror
bits of inedible animal
littered along the continental shelf
the system hallucinates
masses of cardboard and low-grade stock
reconfiguring
blunt force trauma
willing me softly
through a pinhole
the airlessness of a cult
reconfiguring
Frog Mask
the creeping smoke
thickens into a paste
starving out
the beasts of the field
the breathing fog
makes them turn on,
turn into one another
now a final unfolding,
misadventure
offering to do anything
at its disposal
Incognita
the pushing in and pulling out
from the pit
where he collects daily broth
the spillage, enough
for the concoction of the provision run
shallows form all along
the assigning of crooked paths
the taking from the old and defenceless
grasp the sceptre of aridity
go forth and destroy words
I don’t know what I’ve been told
the President’s neckline has an extra fold
give the teleprompter time to warm up
wherein which to finger the blame
Blood Rainmaker
we barricade ourselves
against the door of what was already let in
we think death is on the other side
and we can prostitute to keep it away
Still, He commands a cleft to open
in the blackness
and beckons we enter therein
O tongue of dereliction
hast thou suddenly become mute
Cessation
credulity blows cold comfort
as if man holds the burnished key
of the forked road
The melting of wax
The hardening of clay
excess meat falls from the wagon
skin forms on the teeth
America must be destroyed
Change my mind