her dress flies round her face and I have been born in this way
that my rages there die
it has been foretold by secret ladybugs whirring
whom I lend to my beloved when I kiss her to soothe her
that my rages there die
I have taken fingers from 'round the rising angel away
and her dress flies round her face and I have been borne in this way
donkey in the barn who dreams of gold, O wind upon his beloved's ears
where ruby thighs of folded flesh and blood of wars comes Spring
odd and beautiful flowers are sprung
braids of mud embrace the skin of those who bray on the knee of their masters
where rivers of blood the Buddha swims pink fizz and whirling bone
such tears sublime is leadgun simple clowned and winged socratic
godself poison mimicry of war's shred and burr let the hearts and minds fall droplet to ground
let the war dead drink their own rain
oval is the yawn of the sun and burly shadows weep sockets
where new flowers shall grow odd and beautiful pollen
shall spring
children dream of trapeze birds laughing grinning rising falling at last into the ground
how they learn that splendor and love is ironic ascension
odd and beautiful flowers
thunderous rivers of blood the Bluebird sings the echoes
let the Bluebird sing of death no less than the crack of birth from egg
are sprung
oddly flowers beautiful
I pick a ***, for her, of goblin flowers,
where sunbeam ponies she so loved high whinny.
may the fat bees strum and wild ponies make love,
and baby birds grow big in kind hands of powerful trees
may the meadow where she lies
pray through all, who need, there be pollen of eyes that hear
pale flower godmath raiment lay me rise me
let the Bluebird sing of death
I am mighty upon the breast my true dreams press
but when she weeps at my inconsolable rages
an angel I wish would swim bursts into me naked
here is a rain from my thoughts where she walks
with her cello and my bow
Limber seas and mountain dew blood of many tenderly writhe
viscous streams the dove in heaven tells sadly in sleep bends down the brow each new soldier child
pale flower godmath raiment lay me rise me
let the Bluebird sing of death
let the sun crack where the dead man peels my flesh from my hands trying to say goodbye
let the wardead lift up their mouths their oval grins let them drink their own rain
the plaster dreams of dreary kings
fall not round my hips and the whine of whips are far beyond the cello of lovely nights
her ******* and her thighs have forsaken the numberless dismal rains
upon these fluffy newborn children we lay our heads like down upon the duck in the dusk
upon soft pillows Buddha madly drumming Jesus spinning rain
the ducklings race and the pond seeks no moon nor sun
where lovers' beloveds swim
oingo boingo holes in hands of Jesus and Buddha rivet the godsun of baby bird eyes
it has been foretold by secret ladybugs whirring
whom I lend to my beloved when I kiss her to soothe her
that my rages there die
for upon the last day that I live I shall see the true sky
upon the opened eye of the pastel lids of a new bird born dying
let me raise my veins and tendons
from my fingers shall grasp the mother birds a math of upswoop
let there be terrible storms of beauty let the donkey in barn who dreams of gold find love
a daisy sun and upon this I try forevermore to ascend when I kiss my beloved
there shall be terrible storms of beauty
I have taken fingers from 'round the rising angel away
and her dress flies round her face and I have been born in this way
but there upon the mountain where a once fiery stormy river raged in dawns restless pounding
tumorous thoughts of old men whose young bodies give birth to themselves
abortion of souls by songs of flags' lie they shimmering
upon the upraised red streaked fingers of hybrid monster theories
vultures and the rats grow fat with existentialist jacking
brays ***** across their yellowed rivers
their tears are hidden to them the way simple men come with axes
when the automatic weapons run dry melting
each rising atomic thing shall escape alone and search for its brethren
each hyena must dance naked in rain the last day
on a highway no child's cry can cease
let the sun crack where the dead man peels my flesh from my hands
trying to say goodbye and let them lift their mouths up and drink their rain
my love's ******* and thighs have forsaken the numberless dismal rains
upon our fluffy newborn child we lay our heads down upon
soft pillows
take the glowing wafting breads of autumn and winter shall lay down no more
let me drink from the socket of the tender pastel ****** of death
where the baby wren dreams long after it has fallen and risen again
where battlefields leave wisdom come Spring in odd and beautiful flowers
meadows arise with great fury my flesh and mountains and valleys cease their separation
there are many daisies and bumble bee songs in the heart of each unborn child
each young girl touches when she watches the ponies and the daffodils sway
giant head of death ambitious reminiscence
a red mud land of untold photon castles that tremble in the night
where the owlet gathers its fat body like goblets of scotch in the night
rancorous blackberry swaying tress of my true love's *******
where fingers of god the costume of moon is dew
I have taken fingers from 'round the rising angel away
and her dress flies round her face and I have been born in this way
where Buddha slides the eggplant curve and night falls, deep, into the ground
where battlefields leave wisdom come Spring through odd and beautiful flowers
where oingo boingo turtle eyes beam from the holes of Jesus
lay me mighty at my own feet
and her dress flies round her face and I have been born in this way
rancorous blackberry swaying tress of my true love's *******
where fingers of god the costume of moon is dew where Buddha slides the eggplant curve
night falls deep into the ground
oddly flowers beautiful
I pick a ***, for her, of goblin flowers,
where sunbeam ponies she so loved high whinny.
My garden yet is filled with merry powers.
I pick a ***, for her, of goblin flowers.
May Jesus hold her, run with her, play with her.
Last night I heard my puppy's eyes dying fly.
I pick a ***, for her, of goblin flowers,
where sunbeam ponies she so loved high whinny.
.