the smelting eye
   of the pale morning
would close in a
   smile;inhale
the daylight between
     each fighting giggle

embrace the caring air
        of reading! take note
  of each of my bleeding
words & palate them
to taste      the true meaning
   of how i love You

every letter belongs,is Yours.
every poem i have
                 laid down to rest
is Yours&Yours forever;
   if only (the sky still glows)
               (You still read them)

of Me, i hope
    the sagging moon
         & her tired hands
   fall on Your shoulders
to wash in how I see You

i hope
  the delicate dried
           flower
     & her springly laugh
  realises You love Me

i hope
    the singing magpie
& his warbling tone
     echoes the songs
  in which I played You

i think
     i hope You hope
           i Am

obtain,Gardengirl,
& plant me
        

              deep
er
    than ananemone

(days wilt like U)

sunshine,midjuly,
will bide his time

(& when pixies
        ,braiding
with his light,
parade  in cars of
golden bluegreen)

then   i will wake
a perfect Rootboy,

&     ,I will expand
under every love (
but Urs) & nurture
foreverness,always

(it is filled with)
(jam & sugar    )

She tilts barefoot on
                                     eve of
                                     evening
,lilting,  a pacific hypo
       thetical excerpt on

"
why(iam)here &
what(wedo)next
"

it is something
of a copper wire;
    vitality.         in
the longer you lap
your legs in its terra   cotta
                                       ,the more
                                        exacting
(stringentl­ysinuous)   the scar

a sense of
where i amnt
more than
 where
i plant my
ankles like
two little
orange
trees.

she stood,playing
the crossword
    like her great
        double bass,
& i wondered
what would get
   tired first ,,,
        her feet or
            her head

intercity, riding the
stillworn lovelines

(the long blue string)

our hearts are just
buildings to live in

in square retaliation;
the sunhot riot against
repose!
men draft their perfect
                         manifestos
to platonic jeers & "i know
& yes buts-"
                       seething melt
         ed jaws clenched shut.

more stop, there's more than
quiet anger. there's chatters
natters  less tireless flattering
words; true joy is bred
                  here on tarmac beds...

bell boys & horn heads & maraca
shoe sole songs,     carabiner cords
& their unknown composers jangle
walk the way to fame! let but spoken
time unravel her silent duskful flame

in square retaliation,
riot the moon reclaim.

is a slender beauty. the
    sideways stance of
'i hope it does not
                     touch me'
(it does,though). love,
with its perfect
               nail beds &
finger knuckles.
   She will reach you
      all the same.

there is a fatness to it,
too;    
    a lying roundness
who wills She/will not cut
you. She is scarletred &
  lives in you;She is
  who you call 'living'.

reservoiry in its
volume,
               fill my lungs
time&time over. fill
  every saucer,gilded
&unstolen, replace my
air with it. She does
   not breath colourless,
but has the flow
                  of water.

in the word,'love' is
the recurring curl of
love,
&love
&love
again.
            She is the end
             & everywhere,
if i could only see Her.

the un bridled un
                         buttoning
  of sense
               ...
                (          a     pointless,whipping
                                             towel of wind)
                                                        ...­
& the sylphic roots
           ,whom in their
fishbowl head.
      their endless lung

                       un dressed You
         ....
                               (static RINGing
                                electric moan)
                                          ...
& Your greenhillmounds
                 trembled
          greener,became
...
(this              wracked                 incessant
          waltzing whistle.    )
                                                ...­
                       a poolofpunch. the
                       cellulose We once dug
                       our fleshly little Thumbs into
                ...
                   (a two-hundred mile
                                      rockfall splash)
                                                         ...
                       stained like
                        the idea of heaven

  &myshirttoo                             deliquesced
     diffused                               &liquified
  
We covered              Our Earthly Body
                 in organic spilling mess &
drank

(ffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff­)

                 Us                        like we ******.

You are why I am      here so early;

hoped to see,&just see,

not say a word.

===============================

& You are not.

at home with Him,eyeing

Love's great    big omelette eyes.

the soft curve of chance
                              could not bite me

(though sometimes i wish it would)

but fashion a path
                   that takes me to heaven



almost skyward - you
                                      yet equally so
                                             armward

draped head in gold&sunlight with
your planetary blaze

maybe less avessel for life but more
                                           incendiary

electric,plasmic & so not crystalline
despite your form,inspiteof how you
shimmer & dance & fadein&out of it



you are the future i see when i sleep
my temple to your hip

it is my temple;

your hip

step into a name
like Urs           leaves
my feet so pale&dusty

;;;not for lack of
richness     ,,,no!

        U
        hang
        like
        a
        tho­ught
        bubble

under moon (& her
             gracious mind)
,   a real.tangible.place
&         so        are         U

    We could live in
           la mestra
(how ever U would like
           to spell it...)
Urs  is  the  only  name
     that            matters
             to   me

i am weary of the
longing;     the black
cat blinksslow.    i
am tired of the loving
,loving take me home

she tilted'yes', with love
in her eyes. the rattling

experience of time spent
together?forever. who is

the authority on love;he
wears a belt&tickets hope

my dad's wedding ring around
my neck    i press it to my lips

imbued,not half,with promise

           love is a cool gold band

(wood pigeon,cooing Me
  its therapy                      )

You are a little bow,tied
around My fingerstems.

You fit there well, You &
a loveline, straight to Me.

swishes Her skirthem
in a swift
        and graceful bow
           
    &
  a knowing glance
  (the flushed cheeks
   and kissing eyes)
flashes like
                      sparking
                      end of lip
                      
                        striking
                      end of lip

,cool,       into water
  like socks; whirlpools
splash is more than  that.
  suddenly        something
              from         nothing
  n  isn't that sooooo
         gorgeous ???

                                     no,so
tragically      temporary.

this air is dry;  summerful
yellow turned dehydrated ,
kind            of           orange ,
slurring      into drier hands.    
       same ones that ran
                    over
my beautiful ribs. beautifully
giftwrapped,edges folded neat.

    i really am so very neat.

the Mean Eyed Cat climbs My
kittentree legs and says "stay
on theme Man good writers stay
on theme" so i cough a furball
mucusball hairball or skinball
whatever Man im gonna cough
again and again and again
and rid off this Sick Cat ****.

rainfall tangoes on my tongue
it tastes like metal tonight my
bullet teeth could say anything

two purple books sit tails between
their legs on my coffee table ran
-som notes to my temporal cortex

low speakerbuzz like a 1979 sci-fi film
i cast my mind like fishhooks;thewires
a two-stop tramline everything will be

ok?

she shone like an astigmatism
through the trees. i drove on,
watched her arms like radiance
grab each corner of the sky and
hang it on moonhooks. i savoured
her like a mug of peppermint tea.

when the first watercolours spilt;
yellows kissing oranges bleeding reds,
i held her gaze above my head. she
began to melt the daytime and i felt
her wash down my shoulders. i tasted
her then. i saw her clearer than ever.

i ; moonhooks

she shone like an astigmatism

i watched her arms
                              like radiance
  grab each corner of the sky
     & hang it on moonhooks

bleeding,began to melt the day
& i felt her wash
                   down my shoulders

i tasted her then
    & saw her (clearer than ever)



ii ; rockshine

she shone like an astigmatism

in a more
                 wo/rld
                            bre(ak)ing
                      ­                        way

   crystalline, the sky scattered
rockshine like lunar bredcrums
     &    4    one    point    three    
   seconds
                  i felt her on my skin

i need to be
    away
 with the fae.

none of this feels
quite     so samely
           ;
the charming lilt
of a     hotreddot
     crystal/eyeses
my throat like
       cotton wool.

i need to be
music;       almost
like how    i ammm
myyyyy  poetryyyy,

n      i        don't  
   knowww     howww.

it is honest in its opalescence.
my love listens
                        to the rising tide
                        &  the ebb&flow
my love buries itself in green
                               -bottle sand.

You, with your
                           searching
                           fingers
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
, You are missing
from Me.

naïveenvious,queasy
like aurora comes

plants her many dream
like feet into earth/I

**** up raw life,a funny
little biological straw

sleepdrunk and riddled
with the thing between
the blinks;

                  boneneedled,
it knits me some axonic
skiprope fuckyou prize.

palmed into her mouth as she
was the sun
    
  O                      swallowing

the texture of recursive ***


'there is no tension      o
here', any more.      

0                                 space
                           is colder than
the interlinking of    'spheres

end with music like a winestain
wrap a shoulder in reflux dig ur
talkn from ur throat its no good

its question time for the dreamers
is there really such thing as cheez
or is it just some joke im not in on

untuc ur shirt like u walk a churchgoer
whip nocturns back like a duvet o pluto
u infest stronomic beds like bredcrums

little Magpie, dancing your rooftop
waltz. your wingtips catch my eye

,into dizzy love, & i see one
thousand two of a kinds.

where You danced, it was
not on the     doorsteps
of this

            space
    
  but on the lowhum,glowing
grass of somewhere far
  more real...

ethereal,the walls harp
in operatic glee,
                            the angels
walk like You & twirl
                     & twirl
                  & twirl

   ,they are dizzy with Love
& they fall, to line the floor
                          for You

the airsick scarf of
                                    /well,nothing/
snakes down My back
as a familiar hand          might
a pale&flexing spine

enticing'er
               swimming assembly
                     of corpuscles
     (&theveneratingrubsofsternum)

ha! no! relinquish the
   cold.     &
   metallic     sting

                                        to Her,so
                                        svelte,the
       ­                                 succuba
                        ­                of chance.

to Her,then,
  the sketch of
one schimera