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PK Wakefield Jan 2013
.












                                                   ­                                                     run








­





                       quietly















                                          ­                                       feet













                                            thr­ough











                                                 ­                                                                 ­                     wind















                                      o'er cheeks













                                             ­                                               o'er earth












                                    green stuff cloven


















                                        ­                                                                 ­         run













                                   mutely














                                            ­                                       crushing













                                         hulking silence

















                                        ­                                                           run













                                                ­      feet













                                         ­                                                       leaving


­













                                                   ­   the













                                             ­                                                            air



















                                        to­ breathless hours shorn





























                              ­                                                                 ­                to fetless hours worn


















                                 by treading sunlight







































                 ­                                                                 ­                        in loose warmth


































                        ­       of muscles extremely






































                 ­                                                                 ­      run
PK Wakefield Jan 2013
ugly is more

real pretty than is

'cause pretty
(though skin and because, also is)

always but ugly
inside always too


always
(always)
PK Wakefield Jan 2013
DEstroy(of)er(whothe)

               earth


is slender waisted gaunt
pale skinny horsed
and short

                       in leggings
           (smoKING a hard
****)wiggles pink at the


folds and heaving
in youth


wears some glitter on her
over the balcony
*****
PK Wakefield Jan 2013
Therewasthesoundlike(
even though you just broke her)
stillsmiling(and your fingers            R

blud                               ugly

and smelling like                                       )


the sea;

bREaKin,G

on rocks

in the hot Summer

when the tide runs out

anditlaysflat

hot on its stomach

(with its *** in the air
                                       )

theslowlybeginstorot

seaweed and gurgling

butstillsmiles(a very meek


                            rill (one only)



runs down its thigh

Rightbehindtheknee)collectsinto
a shoal



                                     and



                                                 "morePlease"
PK Wakefield Jan 2013
there is a man in a small voice with a tight hallway

he is waiting

he is waiting, his boy like dolleyes watering
in his tight voice
is small hallway

he is waiting
PK Wakefield Jan 2013
let's all ***** who spring
(feet first)
climbing the swelter of
prim night



                        a bud


back ribbed in sinuous
muscular colours
rising drunk tingles
on quivering odors
lightness; darkness mingles
in single singing petal
revolt faster into

a cherry (stem clothed in)
crimson

and faintlier moans
ever

       faintlier
PK Wakefield Jan 2013
a dream is big in you reeling through young arms stabbing
(by able blades of deft hands)
the night


                     a rose


of the magic distillation released
shifting 'pon the wind
trembles not a clove
but sand 'neath feet
is unsturdy moving
out to sea a moon
is larger than anything else
hanging by some cord invisible
and a lark cringing on the air divisible:





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