ODE TO THE REMOTE CONTROL HELICOPTER SALESMAN AT THE CENTURY CITY MALL

His burden
weightless.
Futurist hawk master
in a revelation
of toy aviation,
the sensationless ascension
into the Uncreated Flame,
like a cinematic reverse
of the Titanic.

Leonardo DeCaprio
swimming toward the lens
to kiss you on the lips
while you shiver on a floating door
flying back now
to its naked hinge
in the bedroom.

A dandilion
or an orange butterfly
blooming out the eye hole
of a skull.

A wedding dress
hitting the bed while
the Brancusi
it has fallen from melts
into the diamond tomb
of a lion-claw tub.

Fifty billion golden
retrievers retrieving
the same stick.

Robbie Madison
jumping over a football field
on his dirt bike.

Umbrella of dynamited roses
from the dunk crux
of the John
Mccracken launch pad
into the illuminated darkness
of the unknown!

Those tiny lights
the bejeweled pharaoh
of physics,
in the camouflage
of stars, off
to save lives.

ASSASSINATION ECSTASY

Assassination ecstasy
built into the blinding green
of the leaves.
The elements,
psychotic melt
of subjective and objective
double helixing through skeletons
in some impossible erotic chess feat.
The hanging lights of the ceiling
erect, coming out of the floor
like snakes with light bulb heads.
How are we supposed to hunt and dance
if there is no common ground?
True ground zero is the postburning
programmed into all of us,
the terrorists, the children,
the Christmas carolers
with their red mittens
their machine guns
like water
our karmic-adrenal fight
with our indisputable collective purpose
to flood into the lowest field
our bodies 99% water
always searching
for their own ocean annihilation.
The ascension of the carrot
pulled electric
from the orange
heart of the earth.
We are born into this world
to be incinerated
and that incineration,
that infinite power of the destroyer
even the sun cannot escape...
Perpetual action
of ubiquitous erosion,
black reflection of the void
so deep you can't tell
if you are drinking or being drunken,
drunk before the throne beyond
the bones-to-dust explosion
of incarnation
this is the floorless anti-temple
in which we all pray, alone.
This is where the glass anchor drops
and shatters at the toeless feet
of a consciousness
so brutal
only It can survive.