your lips



             (the word)






are the smoothless mastery
of the sea breaking
into silence constantly
their loud sharpness;

quaking with rush of
moon hush, the fierce
treble of wave and
night beam

–glow broken
through unmute
shoveling of
lip;

and feel (where deep)
of green darkness
and the silver plucking
of woken thread.

"where were you?" i was the cooly over of mouth–the wind–
that beneath which chants of ***
incessantly

the world

in pink creases of easy Spring.

makes me to lay down
in waters of thistle
and hollyhock

the crude and sinuous
vehicle of sing.

edges just something
from under darkness
where over it wears
a girl in 22 years of
****** by brutal slender
beauty:

words and with lips
mouth around thick
and says,"

I want you to *** on my face
and make me pretty                               ."

it hurts to be loved.
it hurts to be, loved
it hurts, to be loved
it, hurts to be loved
.it loves to be hurt

turns leaf over who through rain divides the world into muster and bluster of almost autumn nights thick with near darkness; it cannot feel to shift or move a muscle only to roll under the deep muzzle of rain and stem.

"You're not what I expected."






















"What should I have been like?"

who has been my own heart
that within its flesh
there is some self
as i could touch;

after my own touch,
which within their own heart
beats?