Cuttings from the Tangle

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from Chemtrails Across A Privileged Smog:

relapsing in moments drifting on no matter, 

conserved within the spoiling prescribed burn preserve 

with open palms of salvation reaching out from the fearscape,

smearing chemtrails across a privileged smog.

from Beaten:

(When you know)

you're not going to win,

you flatten the pedal and take it to the far end of the arc,

with dead weight watching your back for whatever calls

out from the sky, directly opposite the blinding star

nearly passing to see

(what might exist)

across the northern plains interstate of a window

down in the open mind of a spring evening,

from STATION:

The summits keep watch from intoxicated heights,

peering down on interred states tightly unassembled

in chained-door rooms, sitting static merely sputtering

hope in last-gasped sparks like downed power lines

convulsing between the passing terrors

from TURNBUCKLE:

blend in with a blue velour jogging suit and gold chain

anchored with a large bejeweled dragon to hang over your death

metal tour T in a seat behind the ring announcer sporting

a pompadour wigging out in a tantrum.

from Cuttings from the Tangle:

within and around

voluntarily crumbling ramparts; repurposed

under-crust dams of pie-eyed swollen meat

bartering self for gristle that-is;

that is, swallowed scrapings,

cud-chum slinger fed-swung

directly at the penned and growling

fodder-they

...