it’s almost as if i can see through you at times, it seems,
your translucent, slender torso leaning on a rim
with a **** of your head, you look at me through the eye of

a dripping jungle, a tropical storm gargling
a homely beating, a nostalgic scene brewing
a solitary pension, a forlorn siren searing


“it is i,” you say as we pass by the lips


yet it’s almost as if i can see through you no more, it seems,
your opaque, flimsy torso bending on a rim
with a sleight of my teeth, you look at me through the eye of
the shreds of a battered bond; nothing more.

If my Valentine you won't be,
I'll hang myself on your Christmas tree.

let’s live suddenly without thinking

under honest trees,
                        a stream
does.the brain of cleverly-crinkling
-water pursues the angry dream
of the shore. By midnight,
                                a moon
scratches the skin of the organised hills

an edged nothing begins to prune

let’s live like the light that kills
and let’s as silence,
                            because Whirl’s after all:
(after me)love,and after you.
I occasionally feel vague how
vague idon’t know tenuous Now-
spears and The Then-arrows making do
our mouths something red,something tall

i will wade out
                        till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers
I will take the sun in my mouth
and leap into the ripe air
                                       Alive
                                                 with closed eyes
to dash against darkness
                                       in the sleeping curves of my body
Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery
with chasteness of sea-girls
                                            Will i complete the mystery
                                            of my flesh
I will rise
               After a thousand years
lipping
flowers
             And set my teeth in the silver of the moon

chirrup,

youth of the spring,

come sensitive pores and

sensible glands and senseless fun,

cheerup.

If you are lying on the railways, eyes shut and coiled as a newborn feline, life itself is flimsy as the wing of a moth, yet your eyelids assure oblivion to all visible threat.

Perhaps the fool by the rails who gleefully mimics the traffic patrol will tug on your sleeve with the curiosity of a boy in the zoo, or perhaps he will simply pass water on you. You’ve seen him **** by the roads twice. Once he received a kick on his glaring bottom by the patrol.

Eventually, he takes a triumphant leak on your body. Brisk as a sleight, your despair is now fury. It quenches your parched determination. You pull up your frame (ever since your decision to be oblivious to pain, you forbid us from stating you possess a body, how petty could you be), connecting your drenched, frictionless fists onto the fool’s face. His head drops to the side while you throw in a few more damp punches.

They are catching up with you.

You do not know where to go, possessing nothing but a few noisy coins. You ****** yourself towards the quotidian route that will never grow in familiarity, with the unsteady pattering feet of a wounded animal caught in pursuit. You know of nowhere to hide, there is no escape of capture,

especially when you are reeking of sun-baked *****.

You abruptly recall your reasons for lying on the rails, yet what comes before impulse is the tedious task of stacking nerve. Your former wounds beat in harmonious agony with the new, chanting foreign grimaces. You understand this is why you create wounds, though you claim to be ignorant of pain. Physical pain is perhaps, to you, the most forgiving of all pain. You enter a diner, naive of opening hours, and order a bowl of sushi rice with sashimi.

why did you go
little fourpaws?
you forgot to shut
your big eyes.

where did you go?
like little kittens
are all the leaves
which open in the rain.

little kittens who
are called spring,
is what we stroke
maybe asleep?

do you know?or maybe did
something go away
ever so quietly
when we weren’t looking.