Big,
i cannot believe how so
incredibly
you are hot and orange
with
Summer i can remember

wandering through
the vestige
of your hot flesh

(cool exactly alone)

one lonely hand
making
the making

of a girl face
cupped by curling laughter

hair

that

i cupped with
laughing joy of lonely love

(i wonder
i remember

and dream of deeply loose muscles
in that quiet city
of constant noise

to You,

dear reader,  (who i am)

that you are

the way–the same


risen
of nothing dirt
grass through
stars and fire:

the very finite mystery of life
is a sliver in the quick of the night

burning;
jousting of
fierce lung
to make your body
within other bodies

a new molten slowly
freezing
quip of moments
seized
by brute slender violence

a repeating ever outward into darkness flame;

who'll ***** their fingers in fear of pain
(and find themselves in Summer Rain

love

i wish it could

contained within

the body
(of 1 body)

be.

that loves you the terse crushing pulse of hard darkness a forest through
infinite leaf opens the keyless vault of being and parts every vestige of
self beneath the moon becomes livid every cutless blade with white
incredibly fleeting dust of immense light

it wigs

instantly the body

in tons of weightless flower

all limb to dance with coursing heave

of minute electricity

over which
can barely be heard
the mute rushing
of
grass, "

if you're've been the aching

the

occasionally slender

drawl mouth

of

p
e
r
h
a
p
s                                                             :


've you become
my hands
beneath
the
ta
b
l
e                                                             in


a tired
cafe´









                                                                                                                                (t
                                                                                                                             uck
                                                                                                                          ed in
                                                                                                                      to the s
                                                                                                                                 e
                                                                                                                                a,




                 "sunlighttreesyourhandsandgodbetweenitallyourhips"


                                                                .

rife oh do you the new totally unique
obscene with low lean muscles Spring
feel not so near so far when stocks of
earth are steeped in deep so roots a'dying

(the little glad hand of sun outstretches
and into reaches the noosed purple
of aching darkness' ancient peak

the unfurling nuisance
of its ardent beam
to let of golden crimson
a burning rill to pour from far above)

all wan glory

all feable living

in the broken body of the shriveled Dove

little enough world how up Up UP
in your frail face is a pair of slick
rinds coloured in the drowsy dream
of being,

a forest that perhaps
is filled with sunset being sheathed
in rain

its voice that
tinly crawls
on tremendous legs of pale wind

a fine club
is wield by
enormous strength of drunk hands

drunk with vine and pistil
(poppy and thistle)

that ***** ***** *****
the alabaster hull of cloud

(a single star emits
and dances upon fall
all the deadness who
turn their cheecks up

         –even their cheecks up–

at this death more,
bright

more




vital