bubbling granules of super hot gas

critical helios
what will you do with
a philosophy major? teach
my son. teach. so i got
this chance
and i'm not gonna
blow it. virtual silence
in the downtown messages.
disco ball spin roundy round
with the telescoping pole.
i have my camera you have yours
it's not so bad when you remember
to click the shutter. nobody
has to read plato anymore.
the parable of the cave
is a goddamn cliche.

philosophy is an evolutionary process
and the fly is a dragon with spit in its veins.







*()&&





the roil of frances in your surface
dancing a major catechism , quick angels
and thin needles fountain with each other
in the spots where last orchids bloom.
a my spacey astronaut on path to the light.
maybe you just never knew how to last
till morning, a host of moths dwarf
the crying you'll do when epiphanies
are not enough to save you.
















*Y(*Y







the ways of the ocean are vast
and deep. you can be sonar in her ears
or just ride the surface. it's all
in the color of your eyes.
you ride alone to the other side.
lookin good, silhouetted
against the sunrise. snap.
put it in a box. it'll melt in the first
rays that touch the inside of her thigh.











*()))






no, it was not pedestrian enough.
hot sidewalk in the summer heat. wavery
like where ultraviolet meets infrared.
mirages are for the ghosts of other universes.

she remembers that time in the desert
where an adobe house with no running
water made love to their children.
sandy feet and cactus bloom in their hair.

scorpions, tamed and precocious in the lawn.
the last rays come on the last of them
lingering in the light leftover from her eyes.
a starling in the evening sky, headed far

from the house of outstretched hands
turns, dips, turns again, toward the mountains
rising over the dusty sea for the last first time.