i have loved.
the crust of life
the o how divine reeling
of its casual thrill. and

the stern parting of flowers to break
against each heap of striding leg
their sinuously lurching scent.


     (i have

         and oh god how i have

                  loved the demure ***
                             of stopping day

                    ;and where it has splayed most lustfully

                             entered
                                                      have i

                                                                     )the music of my

                     fist



                                         and the chanson of lilies.



God, and sweat oh
how i have loved thee the
swiftly naked among unnaked things.

(as a juniper, caroused with poppies,
and my neat hand curled upon a glass perspired(

the driving through late nights
and the sudden stopping at the end i have gone miles into twilight and how many i do not know to find girls in sleeping bodies i have gone miles into twilight to find them and press apart their sleeping bulbs they might suddenly alight)

but does not my fingers' itching
to meet with some things tight,

or day begin,

or the last futile gasp of easily purring Summer

match by cruel luck
the urge of life to sin?

i do not know.


i only know that i have loved,
(let us see if that's enough).

bruise
i like
to press you. your

body and


the skin beneath me please

i would like to

                            ,
                                   press you.

what's a poem?some numbers
(after all)howmanydoyougot
                                          ?i

got oh how many let's count
'em
        do

you think
you'll get as many?i'll

like yers if ya likes mine
let's like em

a word without reading
cuz

         what's a poem?

Just some numbers, after all.

some's
a   little bit,

starrily snowing,

sky so

(a rook between
         h
       a   n
          

         g
            i
       n
         g               by


)

my knees hurt-- praying in your church

issohard
for

25 minutes of writhing

i pray

my mouth runneth over
with your cup and

my knees hurt

pr
ayingi
n y
our church

which have felt.

the night sleepily in white dressing gown
up


and grinning


with the **** sliver of its moon a bit
wide luminous and softly(                        .

a dream that teeters
briefly with infinite stupid self

I) the ridiculous me
that with five fingers says some wan curling;

there is a fan blowing, i can just hear it vaguely

stooping
its rapid cheeks somewhere; silverly.

And) can anyone describe
why laying is pleasant when dying is to lay forever?

(i think
and i don't
and it's so cold outside winter the trees are creaking but inside it's so warm i pull the covers over my head and begin some divine fantasy of girls.   .      .

Unfeeling girls

it was cold your heel hurt and i'm sorry because we were walking to get some food i was thinking about how you are so nice to kiss and "this is magic" the world and your eyes and the easy body of your silence between the houses "this moment" and my hands full of box with scones i couldn't wait to see you smile


"I know it's ridiculous,


                                                but I'm serious."