I cant see the horizon through the trees 

shoving me from behind Walk!  blunt nose of his revolver bangs my backbone black and blue 

No sweat huh  Soon you aint seein nuthin 

old growth trees

more dense

not me

dimly occurring that maybe the woods might take a bullet for me

one might buy me just enough

outside fifteen feet hed be lucky to hit me through vertical blinds

so why worry the horizon

inside the trunk I was aware we rode uphill

what goes up must come down

were walking uphill

Thump! another welt rising on bone

a big bore

he might be able to shoot through a tree 

underfoot  little tangle 

I cant see the hori . .

You said

dumb luck

all in the timing

football spin as he jabbed

heavy elbow to the temple

broken field run downhill

physics pulling me

slicing sidewise between spaces in trees

face whipped by boughs naked fingerlings

BLAM! sounded bigger

than the explosion of splintering wood behind me

still intact

churning

hurtling

praying the woods might take two

MUTHAFUCKER! bigger than the BLAM!

never send an oaf to do an elfs job

suddenly airborne

falling

not too far

keep balance

soft earth landing

cut road

downhill

off road

MUTHAFUCKER!

gaining ground

big forest

he aint no bloodhound

aint either of us going home

legs and lungs are screamin

letem scream

letem bitch an bellyache

means were alive on fire

somewhere high above me a car engine starts coughs ought to do something about that cough sputters stalls really ought to have done something about that

MUTHAFUCKER!

HA! sucks not to be me

lactic acid fire

a snatch of a cramp in my ham

Drop

talkin to myself

Ill listen to me

I drop

spittle runs spiderwebs across my face

hawk up a chunk of lung

spit

suck air

first time I glanced over my shoulder

trees

I cant see the horizon for trees

thinkin

slow  heart

thinkin

slow  breath

buyin time

slow it all d  o 

                 w

                     n

slowing

gobble up a look from where I am 

no track

fat man aint no Daniel Boone

fat man would make plenty of noise as he came

I hoped the car croaked

with him piggybacking another human being of fat I liked my odds more and more

Craaaank

dead car

tally

he dont walk out

one dead urban oaf

maybe a dead black and blue backbone

water

a bladder of piss

hold it

canteen

wont get snagged in the trees and brush

Up!

yeah me

bossy muthafucker

or so Im reminded

up

ham aint tight

sore

Go

feel a disembodied finger at my spine ready to dig at a mewling vertebra

were going

if it aint as long as I walk as I think it is Ill poach him

Shaddup

Enough

yah

okay

focus

walk

deliberate

quiet

listen

birds roosting

night soon

fingers crossed I cross the road

switchbacks

lots

sudden bench

green

sunset

horizon smiles

there you are

smiles bigger

I smile

nice to see ya again

between the benchs toes

road

black ribbon and a bow 

2131,  Thursday,  13  12. 12

he wrote it when Pain was his companion 

“All new learning looks at first like chaos.” Adrienne Rich

the bevy the Brethren

of bubbles assaulted him 

sighed their designs

in his ears 

tremulous voices 

acoustic strings 

mystic horns 

surreptitiously 

Their gargle was from street gutters 

belched among thin 

green reeds at a marshs edge 

a blue egrets elegant whisper 

above a hissing swamp

a seasurfs susurrus 

They intoned Visions and 

Thoughts unthought 

he was Seduced 

Inspired

Induced

he did not try to resist

when he did he was wrong

and stupid 

out of hand he denied them 

dismissed their pregnant opportunities 

that would not be his

he dislocated their thriving offspring 

that also could not be his 

determined Pride demanded he father 

whatever issue seemingly came from him 

the opaque bubbles ceased

their spastic Swollen breathing  glass 

from under the bathtub spigot 

ignorant 

they did not offer him reprieve  accepted no responsibility 

were warm senseless 

shameless Oblivion 

he had to beg

                he begged 

the bubbles crowding around 

his shoulders and head conversed 

he begged communion 

the Whispers giggled 

they giggled 

at the profane the 

profound the 

inane and impossible the 

impossible-rendered-probable the 

Ideal-wrought-realism 

they owned nothing 

owed nothing 

they talked 

posed possibilities 

Thoughts unthought

stealthy 

syruptitious 

grateful 

gracious 

And for the End 

he had to deny 

his part  

he was a medium 

another current or circuit 

or circus 

   nothing more 

1417,  2sday,  12  2. 13

 she   and he 

she strangled the clay 

tore it

apart

stabbed it

back together

barely melded the rent joinings before

crushing it

in her thin 

blueveined mitts

it oozed

turgidly filling the space

between her white

knuckled 

fingers 

he didnt see clay

he saw her trying

to restrain

reshape

something unnamed

some thing

she would not reveal

and if not to him

he hoped to someone

the dull

in her eyes

was the dull

of the elastic

clay  

vacantness

an elsewhere seizing

a spot beyond

where he could see

thats how she sat

bound

binded

unfixed 

and he

couldnt help 

1847,  Saturday,  29  12. 12

wrote this this morning   laid in bed eyes shut trying to gleam what he had dreamed . . and failed . . only remnants . .and from those he stitched this together 

where am I 

I am being

I am sensate

feel vibrations

smell scents  wafts 

                     on bluebreezes

hear pings 

            echoes

imagine I watch a thin spider pick its way across shale and see sifts of talcum slither from where its claws cling to stone 

I am conscious of its deliberateness its hunt for where it will weave its web  and wait to dine

I see breaths puff through its book lungs and tracheae and imagine a locomotive steam engine quivering on unseen rails twitch 

      and then there are no rails  it is free to wander

and scale

            breed violently  metal clutch and clash   a full moon howling night orgasm

I am being

revering

elastic

        and shaped in and out

pawed like pure sand or tendrils of smoke

synaptic clefts spread wide and wider  deftly yawning

                                                           groped and pleasantly fingered by innocent excited impulses

explored 

          and why not

being

       heeds no whys or answers or taboos 

1245,  Thursday,  7  3. 13  coming off last night’s dreaming