her sitting through such drunk din poked quietly from between the pages of a book (a little in hand which)"what's it about?"not shyly"post-war France."

your heart is
(so way).

the way it is, so.

it is to part blood
(the filling of my lips)
with your lips.

and its body is so clean.

it is the to pierce
by beating madly
tattoo of carry me forward.

(through darkness carry me forward)
and lurch upon the flowering of its heat
(my heat)

to tumble steeply up
in comely gouts of daftness:

my heart.

there's some



            (destroying) inside you that

                              

                                  i
                                l   o
                                  v
                                  e

                                  i
                               l
                                  o
                                      v
                                          e

                                 and

                                 i ' m

                                mad

                      to have inside me


                         (destroying)

There's some sense of things, how do I say, I don't know--I feel it uniquely. As when I have been my self, alone in a car, watching streetlights wash over my hands. As when I a have been amongst the stark folds of almost winter nights. As when I have been pressed suddenly from unkissed, into, kissed.

And how do I describe it? Maybe I don't need to. Maybe you already know.

Who knows, perhaps.

immortal is to die
it is
when arrives

(cleanly)

out of jerking
lances of
mysterious night

kisses gargantuanly slender

(as the petals of a poppy are slender)

meet furiously with knowing
and becomes unknowing

(faster than a lips become
nothings easily)

eeking from brief impossible slumber
the crisp whiteness of its noose

to hang by all men
instantly into dying forever

Spring is tight between her thighs
((with DoeAndStag)
together

                  leaping           ).

Winter's nice her fingers deep
'round comely sickle
slowly reaping.

)Summer's **** her mouth is sleeping(
open ******;
swallow all.

(But nice is neat,
and **** is sweet,
)when all the trees are rapt with Fall.

"that christ was a good ol' boy
he was a good ol' boy with his arms hanging
with his arms hanging hung he was a good ol' boy.

he cured lepers and he
went like mad to kiss
their bodies rotting he
went like god's supposed to go
--right up to them--
and he hung his arms about them
and he cured those lepers he

died on a cross
somewhere i don't
remember he was
a good ol' boy

that christ."