what waits beyond the edge of a light(idontknow)
there is not a sound but
there is a very fine forest
where a crow is gently
a river is sleeping
and silver through all the trees is dancing

there is an old man who is dying inside me
he lies by a pale ocean
his eyes are and mouth mouth crawls with
ladybugs Spring is there
her lips are full of chafe and brightness hangs
about a flower less
petals each into the wind next to a pale ocean
where there is an
old man who inside of me is dying

give not a sound

      trembler

the knees knocking crane
'oer a lathered thing rising

by mute unsound

       fumbler

the crook pierced open vane
by jeweled petal (a poppy smiling)

creeply warmth unbound

        tumbler

a flower blooms in sullied fane
inch by eater -- becomes silver stung

stickysummer i remember fingers in you
were (golden brown too warm almost
slick with shade and trees where
curling youths (uncurled) pulled
out smelling like the ocean when the
tide has gone way out and) your grip
went around my wrist to your mouth
and without a thinking
drank from them

       blood

"i like girls"each hole is something
easy nice and wet
in a sallow sheathe of skin
tight of sweat
after yoga class
in between their thighs
before not after
a shower
tasting like a parting
shale of acrid
heaven
bent over the washing machine
GULPandmy"kneeshurt"

a little silently the wind comes

and the earth comes

and the stars come

and the moon comes between them
a soft as curvingly round like *******

stands a wide and flat unmoving
except for a cow or 3 field
below the diminutive inch
of a hill wearing me like a ******

rests laden in frost soil
doesn't say a thing and my
hand passes through the
distilled utterance of my

lungs a drooping crystal ******

on the steps of an old house sits a bright boy
(his hands are full of sleeping and flowers are)
he is in the summer a bit and there he is
sitting a bright boy on pale steps with his hands
full of sleeping and flowers are carefully and
he plucks each from and each from he plucks
their petals on the old steps of a house in
the hot pash of sunlight sits a bright boy, who