Sacramento Poem

Sacramento

Pillows fall into a rose with the Spanish metaphor

for stirring tornados on my flat neared from

convoluted hunger, between nocturnal huesos,

mind after the excuse into one pulling off
spacious ghosts toward our lunar drive as few
as Yak butter through visible weight, all out of

this hyena’s spit over Italian pepper.  What’s

comfort above a painted cross when 2 salons

break even into cactus jacks like your scared

mountain eating its freckles, so much hunted

juniper across twin seeds gardening the early

bird sweat?  If seconds may just fly inside the

red thunder so more than honesty can repair my

toothpicks filled with sweet mirth upon a sailor’s

knot against Vietnamese sewn holes.  Don’t rough

characters like janitor boots with a top reflection

under the biggest gravities, below Tommy’s

sandwich, almost cheered up on footstomp

vibration where targets are given their ventured

exaggerations or a brittle swallow comes off

Disney’s tube for rare bowling of songs, dreamed

as bounced, young throughout cancerous earth

forwarded as global warming: that’s my curious

flesh, shined by war on drugs as it’s evening

spades around drawn bats or simply nourished

talk.  Clay is earthening, swimming, breathing

like an elephant’s tissue beyond recognition for days

out of spite until perfection sweeps over in

dire straits, undergoing dust as a good walk along

the yellow brick road from much free cause purring

within barriers towards ignited waters, not to

mention yarding a foot, dueling with chanced

fur on a barking bugle, on and on, richness of

pain to digits on stringing nomads near Irish

metal onto flipped-page zebroids where magazine

text bleeds fashionistas into printed cliché of beauty.

Desert toys of a juneberry are floating in

the victimization after darkness spreads

on my tub’s nice soak where the daylight ends

at some forestgreen updates, its own

backsplash with rare decoration as bottles

scatter about 5 rainy gutters near parks

harvested with maturity and childhood.  My walk

generalizes as oversized, opening random

floors, wooden islands nearby, as I’m arriving

the fast picture between meanings I can

play at, looking at to the sports with a

television mind on the split plan for Louisianan

frozen dinners, stained cola, poor barbecues,

stretched dollars, and a whipped cream pie

on my wild head for spooks.  No compromise

through yeast, nothing to linger on imagination

to dismiss it with notorious fey,- quite simply,

very complicated to my influence over the breakfast

elixir out of those Coptic murmurs I’ve regressed

from point-to-point visualization beyond

ingredients toward modern freedom of paradises-

fresh hostilities into the defense on the part

when romantic traffic slurs within political lines

of cooperation- “this is an act of terrorism”-

presidents of every club as facial as important wishes

when they’re given exactions on merit in all its

inquisitive scratches.  I’m fooling on the plainness;

you don’t get the picture, you get the drift.  Maybe

eyes or cascades twirl in confrontation of jokes

while ignition gets rushed against vanishing points

(some of which began with obvious art), minding

the business along so many tinseled gateways into a

reflective labyrinth beyond quite a few touched

measurements towards abstract insight.  Oats sting

out of favorited sensation, very much like an old page’s

moisture for which American fairies dress with

probable taste of mixed buildings upon more than

a few banks toward retired coffee- I’ve seen

a disastrous beggar drinking in a piece of sunshine

I call a local dream for the sensualized matrix

of halfs when locations startle their hints by sheer

force.  Cluelessness isn’t a false simile with a

ruined compass on a hike where, trekked, I may

draw crude flames near antiques towards my

shadow’s following dirt on parade to criminal faces

because vistas crave aspirations through magnifications,

under which I proceed all spirit on pressure as the

informal travels go smooth, tangible, oscular, and

roveen on the sheer glow of arcade skills-

press, push, pull, fringing until I mask virtue

with grace, input on everybody’s customs.  How’s

the returning gaze of a price on demonstrated means

when lunatics pour the crawl against transgressive

flows of vehicles while rappers craze over hyper

sadness and figurative goals leap by a teacher’s

overreaching stagnations under misting stars?

Did poetry ever begin?  God Almighty has predestined

atheists in a vacuum before the stiff explosions

for which cats play flutes on the birth statistics

against lovely conclusions, as theories

are guessed on frosted unicorns who explicate a meaningful

void on beauty to created intrinsics of fiction:

back to their hate, back to a promise as returned,

special memes on boring rhyme towards our

forgotten print of existence!  Vikings can fail

on angels where magic’s abounded to rational hearts

for heat through interpieced mystery of vagueness,

only to which Nintendo and rainbow pride can twist

into the light on a Californian’s dark exhibition- a

monster needs bubbles for a dollar if pure weather

towards awkward environmentalism may suck,

although, lucky ancients remind me of socks as I

tuck in my locker on moving reversal of dreamers,

totally spirited in a knocking heart’s disease within

quality of numbers.  More than enough jokers have

waste as conservatism is exasperated with provocative

simplicity on TV and webs to log in, for myths enter

on phrases in my living modes when humor fills

sanctuations upon assorted divisions.  No, I’m cool

with roads and expand my horizons (the “vanishing points”)

by maintenance of scribbles, Earth’s general

proscriptions in my angle for crazes and electric

shocks as forensic.  Resistance succeeds at vanishing

dependables on peace and evil.