fresh feet
in sawdust
rust
before noon

the letter always bled for her for her eyes (brown as those old bottles in the medicine cabinet) bleeding words like teardrops yet without spilling onto the green tile floor those words always pure only staining the paper glossy black ink blood like muslin stuck to an old wound those words always strong yet blurred, obscure words only a scholar would find obscene

happy are those who die because they have returned to those first crumbs of dirt that fed us to that first hole to that soft black and smell of coal

she wants head
male bonding
siamese twins
tango 69

me
i travel by images

corporal landscapes
the mouth is the tunnel
quick, now
the tongue the train

windows on the world
unmistaken

still
same refrain
we will meet
we will meet
somewhere again

end of the line

with
the power of torso
speed of the memento
lost and then
found

and
always
the blood engine
pounding
puffing
steaming its blush
on the cheek of night

a memory
yes
but after
yes
atomic foreskins
pink and fresh
yes
but no
no dream rocoque
no krupp haloes
no religious artifacts
made of lampshade skin
beneath
a million kilowatt moon
no anticipating geometry
the smell of soap
nor calling into question
human sexuality
without flesh
nor the vibration of blood
that angry lobe
hammering overhead
that echo bite
again
and again
clenched
no teeth
no Hiroshima
no again again
black graveyard womb
milk-glass lit
bandaged echo
**** him **** them
familiar bell music
**** them all (with)

the shiver of hands
blind without memory
and so,
friendly still
yet sweet like the words
forgotten
to the tremble of lips

quiet
there are no surprises here
rest your eyelids
until they become stone
rest your heart
until it stops

(it beats now only for itself
in some secret place)

turn your back
but stay in view at the same time
(now look away,
anything else confuses)

stand still without saying a word

you can’t see but this is how
i separate day from night

and the starless sky
from the empty heart

in a wine glass
sleeves of a sleeveless dress
knotted
around its stem
and a bull’s head sleeping, breathless
tangled
in the scent of pearl and warm flesh
standing on a drumbeat
balanced
by a prism’s deceptive stammer

you swept the ashes of winter
lit red and ****
drawn naked with smoke
and coal
still glowing
in the shadow of paper flowers
pressed to walls of plaster
and stone