Burroughs eats bugs in the forest

when they took the boy's heart out
found it full
of ash and dead flies like a lantern in a cabin
by a sick bend in the river

flicking away
banging like that for ten minutes
asphyxiating itself soft

gradually like this his cock didn't stop
beating for three weeks
while space moments iterated
to nothing

while the flush asshole of night sky
dislocated itself slowly
from all these moments

while one leaf from a oak tree drifts down
a tunnel

of history later he comes to life under the sheets
grabs the orderly by the head says you now
take my place foreigner with no credentials
wanna fuck my wife my daughter my

I got a unmasked celebration coming on

know that as of now I am a Buddhist

mouthful of flies
you know how it is when the weather
comes in close, tender, hard

where do we start, he asks

you pay me first, she says

pay me like fucking a cold wind forever

.
.
.

shy shy shy

she always an aeroplane anyway

but when this happened she just took flight
as though some great wave come up behind her
full of geese and swans and old newspapers
dripping she rose from ugly water
into all silver idylls of sky
there to career

mad with beams
anvils falling like wet liquid rain in June

you should've seen him leap across
face like that
never saw it coming

always got it all wrong after
mixed up

walks into the grocers
what can I do for you the man says
want you to blow me he says
then fuck me in the ass he says just like that
laying his money down calm next to bananas

you think maybe you're asking the wrong person
at the wrong time the guy says old guy with glasses

later he asks his lover for apples

midnight the grocer turns up
tracked you down, he says

how you wanna do it?


.
.
.

6am rain

oh christ the wash from your passing
pulled my pegs out
now I'm sideways across at 6am

with a headful of wet
I want to run down the path
pull you in

just for being unconscious
come back apparition passing dream
I don't want to stop yet

the brown water and rain

I want your sway to keep coming
your crying claws
in my grass
your heft your shove

in all your long wet wake
.
.
.

silk

dragline that floats and whips sheer
across the cut
a pencil-thick polymer of this
would stop a 747 tear its wings right off
but it's dawn
their abdominal machines know nothing
but violet sensation

all scaffold of night
thick with insect life
waving its fronds

detail/nature/detail

this, this
the birth of shallow Buddhism

all over in the rain
.
.
.

heron

you bouncing ghost
along dawn's shining
absconding with my soul
.
.
.