You can't control falling in love,
but you can control where you land.

there is a pit in my stomach
just like everyone else's
but mine has no bottom
and it just keeps going.

every so often a rock slips
and falls down the precipice
forever echoing off the walls.

sometimes i hear a splash when it hits
the water and then i feel it sinking,
dragging me down to infinite anti-heights
and i can't swim.

and you could say that there are
butterflies within my stomach,
and i would tell you that you were wrong,
the butterflies fell and drowned years ago.

hang me a poem through the mouth of night the slender smolder of cold
imprecise light that it might build into a thin strip of almost bursting
  intense colour(purpleandred). it might suddenly stagger up the
   common heap of sky--through the cheeks of white neatness--
    the blithe cursor of brutal dawn, spilling with such brinding
     creepness of light the thighs of earth full of lancing steepness
      all the wriggling of life shall commence with body lathered
       of youth in stupid love of dumb *** there will a coronet
        of hot dew wreath the pistils of flowers and the dirt
         will speak the rich secret of life in colours innumerable;
          the bending of words upon always quiet paper
           cannot meet with them the fullness of their
            drooping incantation(and lips cannot
             say with always talking mouths
              how deftly the primness
               of their serene
                majesty
                 is,

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