October

Poem By Indigo Hawkins

All I am is in
& all the ins are out.

The annual dispunct:
a Real brass bombast burst
this anima thirst, a monolithic durst
of unceasing war & piecing, cymbals
clattering in an iconoclast montage.

Sense?
Adolescence.

Last year a year ago a postcard
from Paris came to me drowsy,
complicit with a subject insistence
upon communal solitude: a clumsy drum
imploding in a cavity of swollen matter.

The Days of Awe, you
remember?

Dadaism, a dove, the moon face above
has nothing to offer: no meditating goddess,
no calculation of god, only sleep.
While the saints wait to gather here, woodwinds
are ululating futile desires into the darkness.

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Benediction

'Let the love of harlots be sanctified.' ~unknown woman

When you come to me, realize I behest
no edifice. Love me in a gutter

Bystander

“Oh my God.” A murmur of disbelief
pierces the ruckus in the room
quirky lips draw downward, a grim
ghoul maligning a jubilant face

I Will Be A Story

I.
the day began as a mirage.
dressed in the garb of a wise king,
i dab frankincense on my wrists

I Am Afraid Of Churches

I read the bible for the poetry and for
the love, or at least I did before
I became afraid of churches.
My fear of them stems

Double Helix

adenine:
crushed diatoms, sea salt, juniper, driftwood,
sunburn, windburn, rap and indie rock, clean snow,
may beetle, cinnamon, cloves, gingerbread, campfire crackles,

Heap Of Random Images

-There is no Why.-
wet walnuts, mellow daffodils
sozzled
a vat of cider simmering psalms