PK Wakefield
PK Wakefield
21 hours ago

if you're've been the aching

the

occasionally slender

drawl mouth

of

p
e
r
h
a
p
s                                                             :


've you become
my hands
beneath
the
ta
b
l
e                                                             in


a tired
cafe´









                                                                                                                                (t
                                                                                                                             uck
                                                                                                                          ed in
                                                                                                                      to the s
                                                                                                                                 e
                                                                                                                                a,




                 "sunlighttreesyourhandsandgodbetweenitallyourhips"


                                                                .

PK Wakefield
PK Wakefield
2 days ago

rife oh do you the new totally unique
obscene with low lean muscles Spring
feel not so near so far when stocks of
earth are steeped in deep so roots a'dying

(the little glad hand of sun outstretches
and into reaches the noosed purple
of aching darkness' ancient peak

the unfurling nuisance
of its ardent beam
to let of golden crimson
a burning rill to pour from far above)

all wan glory

all feable living

in the broken body of the shriveled Dove

PK Wakefield
PK Wakefield
7 days ago

little enough world how up Up UP
in your frail face is a pair of slick
rinds coloured in the drowsy dream
of being,

a forest that perhaps
is filled with sunset being sheathed
in rain

its voice that
tinly crawls
on tremendous legs of pale wind

a fine club
is wield by
enormous strength of drunk hands

drunk with vine and pistil
(poppy and thistle)

that PRICK PRIck PRick
the alabaster hull of cloud

(a single star emits
and dances upon fall
all the deadness who
turn their cheecks up

         –even their cheecks up–

at this death more,
bright

more




vital

PK Wakefield
PK Wakefield
7 days ago

pink
that immured
betwixt chaste
cleats of girly leg

the hard ardor
of boyly prism
to wantonly beg

it by pale scythe
of membranous organ reap

the clean growing
of all tall cane
where reason keep

the unsweet substance
of cool and pensive mind

(but by blood and hot lather
in stupid gouts of
scarlet
needing
bind ).      .              .                      .                           .                                            .

a thorn gently
palm
eager with which
to meet:

red

how inside feels moon
when slight suddenly
pricks all nerves

          (tingling)

perched on breath
every vessel rages
with intensely purring starlight


                And
each self wholly vibrates
;teetering;
with brief invincible death.

not less spoken than:
;hardly hearing
;barely speaking

            .

 
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