my alive:

   this awakeness seems to breathe

of being close through skin
to heart and muscles
singing softly stroked

by peach parted
over pit stinging;

the gross and fuzzy pash
bristles and bur
catching on roughness of
lip:

has two eyes
completing after darkness
hair in pale perfusion,

lipping with flowers
curled in mounded heap;

whose breaking sound
(star startled)
shook with saliva

–throat can't

               but to

                    unkeep

"enjoy what you can," says some curly headed mouth
open over the hard shaft of her camera
a thousand times a day
snapping
some
lookatme's:

                                    




                                         (and never stops *******.)

"*******," this if not alive if not dying of each buzzed ripple
of breath which tensely erupts
into uncoiling fold of morning
over the silent chord of sunrise

seems if not speaking seems
to eternally youth, breaching
the seamless cording of
a short girl's throat–says,

"alright,"

and
        "i
wish you
l o v  e   d

    me."

"I don't know how much longer I can do this."

who forgot a word their lips trying to
find stumble stiffly up into the mouth
of a gun's barrel saying,

"Someday you'll see it."

"I'm not always very nice."

eating you out in the back seat of my car
your strum stinging
from where your voice
is quickly singing

i pluck and seem
– i reach and touch
– i, still and clean,

finger the itch stitching
of your corded and
dasmer throat .

i hurt with
knees to
garble an' streak;

to make in mouth
(where all sound i' meek)

my fingers
(as deep
in your throat)

as you can keep        .