Beat,  language,  visionary. Covering a bunch of territory but not all-inclusive. As a poem covers more dimensions, points in more directions/referents, than a single word can. This is a good example of what I can do, don’t know where it came from—pieces,  memory, improvisation.

Glass Hand       Melting Face

got so turned around i fell into myself

when i shut out all my senses i float       as if i cant see without gravity

once my eyes are in space     each star could be a burning sweater

can something without sides be empty

go to mass

without energy where can we sleep       nothing soft enough can hold me

hammock strings burning through my clothes

how color is forced into a vacuum       the glassblower inhales

a gallery full of lungs—knit,   molded,   torn from stone

canvas must be stretched in silence or the painting wont need you

i can make pictures appear on my skin

i tried to stomp the fungus but it cut through my shoes

“india” is all i can say       one globe growing through another

can you be allergic the first time

when everything is frozen thirst is a bad mood

what stays closed stays       whats transparent will always change

for a flash my hand felt a thousand years of the beach i was on      

hard to breathe for almost a century

when im angry feed me paper       when the fire goes out, follow it

my rosary of rain   cloud fingers   lightning rod

i worry the beads til they sprout, making my hands too heavy to wave goodbye:

look for me behind you, reflected in windows

each house killed several trees    

if i dont look up the rain wont touch me

no cotton without rain,   no shirts without people

i finally drank what was smoldering from a cubic inch of ash

i made a new york times     a shoulder-high cigarette

the leaf was transparent from beneath       so many aphids i thought it was rush hour