The Dogs of Afternoon

Ruyalar who you are
reify rubber tires
roustabouts without much clout
fight blazing forest fires
you are the Fawn of Ur it's true
the root of all desire
Helen's deathmask writ pon life
as if from singer's lyre
a soul so pure and beautiful
it stokes men's rage and ire
we are no man we are a beast:
We're comfy in your pyre


The Sound of Space

the hum of stars reacting like a million explosions in our jaw
mandibular-auditory grinding friction echoes from the walls
skin of Ur's folds and wrinkles echoes from canyons yawn
this compressible medium in which we swim amplifies it all


garlic tahini memories of blissful dawnings
the surf crashing against black rock
sings an endless song of strife and spawnings
yearnings to a greater purpose
free thy neck once breaking surface


Dangle them from clouds high and dry
stretch their limbs out nice and horizon wide
strap them to the vigas tightly with rawhide
slice their throats and sweep the soppin' dust aside
in our mountains heuros cannot lie
we, your razor signify


This grey tabby beast
he just won't leave us alone
cries and crawls demanding
predictably he avoids
the younger, more active one