Is chinese capitalized?

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Study these 6 the 10 Chinese
a changed E Higher mistakes
secrets spiritual fifth.

Illuminated Flying Packets

Speaking of railway signs
of worldwide
Lonely planets...
A small boy picks up Mexico...
We are all waiting
for a name to be called
and I sit here...

The drama this: I thought I knew something.

a Faint language, alien to what is known...
The lines run my palm,
a red hand... endtrails.
This loud lonely planet
Hides...
A circular ring...
A hole...
An eye...
A Zero...
A nothing...
An infinite line...
A continuity...
Curiosity...
I don't understand these things
and it feels as though it's on the
very tip of my childish tongue.

A castle on the Rhine
and somewhere Germany calls...

This here is dream language...
the one that I know and get lost in
like quicksand and dry fog
which has clarity to the taste...
Of accepting things I can't explain...

Loudness causes communication problems...
crisp sound right now...
crisp sound right now..
and then you crawl out of my skin
and awaken fibers which stand
On the edge of enlightening rods...
Supporting the structure of my dead weight
upon a seat in a big box
and I'm back here again...

What lightening electric shoots
out my thumb
my palm
this window
and song...

Sleeping on a Ham Hock

- All of existence in my feet and the tip of my finger...

People unknowingly spit poetry at me all the time.
What about us who ache for poetry in our bones...
We need to be fed.

What about us who hear jazz in every sound...
What about us who hear God...
Poetry abound...
We need to be fed.

What about us who dance for the sake of dance
for the sake of poetry for the sake of necessity...
Because we cannot help but dance...
We need to be fed.

What about this cry for celebration...
Cry for celebration of gifts
we cannot help but use...
We need to share...
We cannot hide it...
We need to be fed.

To all lovers in hiding...
We need to be fed.

Don't hide the food you've been growing in your soul...
We are hungry here.

Be aware of the time for harvest...
The time is near...
Near to breath...
Closer than a heartbeat.
The time is here...
The time is you.

This is what I'm given stomach for...

Blue Whales Beneath an Island

I wrote in the sand tonight
and swam with the breath of the ocean
falling from my throat
sent off a paper wish to see
my shoes swallowed
by a mouthful
and found them safe and sound
I wrote in the sand tonight
cursive prayers
to the touch
sealed in grains
sound to the touch
of my finger...
and by the end
I said Thank you
lying on a dry dolphin
while two heads pass
laughing about a story
of a billionaire who
fell off a cliff riding his segway
and by the end
I leave laughing
how I follow the big blue whales...

Forest of Legs

Forest of legs
Like the inside circle of hung rags
Sweet sucker
Don't u dare roll over my toes
They're breakable
Scratch tape of caution
Fenced protection
For natural delicacies
They're breakable
As are our legs...

These real stems held by
manufactured sticks
Made of its own...

Leashed puppies know the forest legs
Strapped feet bound to nothing grounded...

A broken arm cast at 90 degrees
And calves fatter than fits the face...

Beef jerky... The orange color...

Saptak

Floating half crossed stairs before me
An elderly presence to the right of my shoulder
I eat to my left munching on sickness
Head turned away towards the heavens in my ear.

A fishbone curved to a point
slipped out of its skin
for a shocking dip into the sun
swelling through all the seemingly solid stares.

A faint lift of a pinky fingernail
just skimmed of cream
whipped of fingerprints
embedded in a child's story.

Inside the cage of ribs
bbqd and spicy
Beige and brick columns
Straight spinal support
Shooting to the door
where the music makers stare.

I don't understand your language
but I know my heart's vibrations to truth
predict your beat by the swelling
of a secret...
and this reaches all.

Hat of Pins (continued)

On the ground
she spins and spins
On her crown
this hat of pins...

She spins and spins...
and spins...
and spins..

With eyes half open
or half closed
A strange sensation
in her toes!!!

As she looks down
to her wild delight
What does she see?

HER TOES IN FLIGHT!!!!

SHE'S SPUN OFF GROUND!!

Hat of Pins

Old maid and her pins...
Old maid and her pins...
Day after day...
She wakes admiring her hat of pins...
She gawks and awes...
Her hat of pins...
Her feet so soar...
She walks no more...
She wants so dearly to wear this hat of pins....
And places it like a crown upon her head... So soar...
And bald of hair...

The sun she fears, this hat she loves...

There is no wind, there is no rain...

This hat of pins,
She loves so much...

On her crown
This hat of pins...

On the ground
She spins and spins...

"oh my head!
What shall I do!
The pain I feel
So through and through!"

"what cursed god,
Hates me so,
That I should get
This horrid blow?!"

"why, why, Why! Why meeeee!"

On the ground,
She spins and spins...
On her crown,
This hat of pins...

Why she will not move the hat,
I do not know
That's where she's at.

To be continued...

Rhythm Partridge

Sleepy eyes
Sleepy eyes
10 lb. cookies
Hallf open lids

A Rhythm Partridge
flew on my head last night
and made a nest.

This is what it collected:
Garnet & moonstone,
Rubber band band,
2 cookies with salty caramel,
helicopter belly,
2 babies made of grass,
2 babies made of wood,
a young yard of swiss chard,
2 cups of seaweed,
hope,
happiness,
love,

and a wish.

Cooking Up a Sculpture 1

Imagine this...
Your prayers clothe my body
And make me yours
My movement your movement
Your touch, my clothing
Cold light.
Bathe me with your paper prayers
Soak me in your wishes
Slow walk sagging wishes
Shedding wet paper skin placed upon me
To form another...
Blanket.

A body on it's own
Drained of wet paper water
Dripping sound
Bounced off empty
Baking sheets
Dropping sound
From body to body
Sound body.

In Bed with Faith

Here it is.

I’m searching.

Look here.

Two moon above a valley.

We cross the middle.

Harness that eye.

Do not err.

Two doors mirrored in the middle.

A torch for the sway of myth… a dark starry cry.

We told them.

Jewels line up… lit and fired like a sharp tasted apple.

A spinning reel of metal

holding spoken drumrolls,

Training wheels.

A child’s communication

with the unseen .

Open lines.

Thin strings

Stuck to any body

suckling a handicap.

We wear this workshop of time

Folds, past lines

To an iron town

with fine water…

Where the cost

Of bridge crossing

Will tan.

Baldessari Bowl

Frou frou frilliness

Garish gonorea garters

A leg of lamb

Stewed in a pot

Slow cooking barons

Awaiting tight cheeks

Exploded in fancy

Nylon icebergs

Tipping their way

Through Donovan munchies

Wishing a way to hell

Through no fault of your own.

Wait till this rides up the line

A crinkle up a leg and elbow

Knees under the table

Needs bushing around

Hunted socks slithering

their way around fashion.

Wait till this lights up

a carried fancy for let down

Wheels waiting for someone to drive

Wheel whirring  to yield

Nowhere in circles

and says I did it cuz of you

and I'm not a wheel like you

and I'm not you...

you wheel!

Figuring a broken wheel

With a broken wheel…

Crooked apes.

We all come from the factory

and wish to be driven...

The spoke tied in tongues

That have been buried

Beneath my desire to drive

What I cannot…

And the stiffness lies limp

Like a spaghetti noodle

Down my throat

Decomposed crickets.

We rally round the stiffness

And say we don’t see…

Nothing escapes the

Wonderment in your eyes

Blared through bushes

Stiff as a dog

Spayed and nude.

A Meditation for Tea Ceremony

Braille.
Read black
Broken cups
The Widow's hour
Glass chipped
handles...
with care.

Written like braille.
Rough hands
Read with taste
Red faced...
this song of cracking.

A Plan for Tea Ceremony:

Drunken teacups.

Diving into mouths.

Pink tunnels of love.

Dripping with hunger.

For discussion of old tea bags

And dirty water.

Saucers.

White saucers.

A cup handle turning.

Rotating bottoms.

Handled in circles.

Into a clock.

Stop-and-go dance.

Handled cups.

Tip-rocking hands.

 

Belly of Moths

Terror.
Belly of moths
Bloom to fireflies
Sparks to heat...

Butterfly burnt toast...
Scraping burnt flies
On toasted hearts..

Foot bath
Floating moths-foam
Swept in corner...

Bare budding moths
Make nets of my disguise
My protection, my hiding...
My delusion.

Moths in my belly bloom to fireflies.
Illuminate my insides
I've never seen.
My face.
I've never seen.

Illuminate me.
Illuminate me.
Illuminate me.
Illuminate me to
No owner.