let's say begin me the you way
does
           open

more slightly
the closed fist of my petals,

than opens me the light fingers
of in may Spring. than

the rain does,
in autumn when
dies the trees to neatly wonderful,

(and i come into their black bodies
the sliver of my mute flesh;
stopping on brief immutable desolation
my awe to wander enormously)

the dew is fast and quietly begins me
when: like that you

are like you are

like my to unfist (and with bright colours
)pollen

                gold, suddenly,


                           forever

does up what seems a little clumsily down snow?

White and
White and
White and

everywhere, perhaps?seems snow

seems no

edge or fay

where might Spring's lewd fingers fit?
lewd fingers fit fat
lewd fingers find fickle fair frayed a bit fay
where its fingers can fit?

(the sun)
whose thick fingers
between the quick thighs of night

       can. fit in)just Spring

not matter does whatever this world thinks(i

will go by flights of angels
)on

their breath

i will go by florid gasping of soundless immutable
waters into

              waters of. i

will pass my little ship its sails may bend
but
i will go o'

i will go shall not by the whatever the world thinks

despite angels (on whose breath shall carry me

into

through what body of flowers does your kiss move,
its muscles softly more

where palm tightens against neck
titanically blossoms

your breath
in leaping heaps of strenuous hurt.

hurt that loves to.to
come against me
the forking of its river, its

wideness of thigh, and the plying
of my open fist

to splay the dirt

and plant amongst your dying earth
the heat of

                    infinite

     Spring,



                        .


          '


            ­                              ,
  





.




                   ­   
                                 '
                                 .

as if to seems by (hung the little world

          the eyes noose

                                   ). Perhaps or

the soul more?

the could be hands loose
,the pinkset ear, whorl'd?

(between who where is who
makes or unmakes the rain)?

hands and unhands alike
tremble to fill:
the crooked barrel
o' flower's stemm'd pain.

(the ridiculous i.

                                the absurd you.)

forget not words, body
thy soul is

                      and

hair            fantastically        ;   more unsquare


than an angle

measurable.         Not


                                 A
                       number
                           ,
                                        a

                     S
                         H
                               a
                                   pE  divisble


or an exact
adding of some subtracted
arithmetical wholeless
singular substitution.         (your
                                               mouth
                                                   is
                                              a
                                                           quiet

                                                groove
                                                               of
                                                      darkest
                                                   earth
                                                              )where


                                        innumerably


                                                              grows



                                                      the
                                                destroying colour

                                             of infinite flower

it's dark a cat shifts
springing the sheets
stir you the cat
and a branch outside
the window taps taps
taps the window outside
a branch it's dark the cat
stirs the sheets spring
and it's dark you roll
over and somewhere
a dog is barking

quietly mysterious and far away i love you
i love you the big and small unnearness
of your imagined hands i wonder which
on your body's wrists (and the head upon
clothed in shortness) are skinny so nice
and never to be known by my hands you
are so unloud will not ever close and


                         (i will love you always even though you will never know)

open me your hands
fists cruelly which
their tightness conceal


                                                  a
   ­                                            Slender
                                                 blade
                                            Of
            ­                                         spring

                                        In

             ­                                                heat.


                      (a cut distinctly of certain cuteness bleeding)A


dolllike limpness
of stiff
cherry breaking.



                                 a branch of sometimes petal bearing stems.

                                                  (a kiss and roughness)

            Open me them
                       there
                   slightness
                       will
                  bare
                            a span
                of
                      lewd innocence.


a strip of easy with parting rain which sometimes in April feels like dying
feels like pusshing apart of lips, hot redness, and ***** of steep fuzz.

.































































­




















                                      "Did you ever really love me?"



                                      "I don't know."


























































­





.

.





























































                                "I miss you. How are you doing today?"

























































­











.

.





























































                                                  Let's dance.
  
                                                  (And **** everything else)

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."

heart, it's
by you the

     such does:

rainfingerskissingsunlight.     the

**** gentle,

and the winsome easy.


(heart) i
have climbed
by the steep winter
of your ribs,

into the crisp tumult
of cringing heat

my hands to make
(in your nakedness

    ,trembling,

)a coo


to halt the quivering of your stomach
at my entering sound. (that


**** baby

i want to
fill you, and

please       not

to hurt you when,

baby,


i love you
and because (he( u )art)
i don't want to i'll

stave the eagerness
of rain

to


pour.

of

(do you suppose)?raintime morning with

creeping.

                               shadowlightshadowlight

crreping


strands,


                      hands as



soft can be? the inching,

caress,
and deeply?

o how easily your lips become me,
the burning crimp
of urging kiss,

to depart myself
and wander amongst
thy body holy and vile ridiculous winsome trivial spectacular,

(arm and thigh)
whose sweep and gait is love
made ready for tongue
to impart slowly tenacious,

whose comely hair is course tender difficulty splendrous,

whose moments are singeing exactly innumerably few
(and never enough)


who i have longed for in deepest valleys of untouching cruelty
(to cup thy whole mouth
in my mouth,
to carry it forward
thy kiss a burning standard

into inkset darkest darkness of night



that i might walk without stumbling;





that i might see           )

life, i cannot begin you to describe beyond my dreaming self your how divine moments of simple nothing.

your body is not, and i love it the how it is not. it is

and not it's


some muscles firing with hurt
seething to ache
so horribly
wondrous. it's driving

to the beach

too early in morning and you're heads not clear the sky is so wide and the sun is barely. it is

the uncurling of your fingers between
dishwater
and the winsome triteness
of the caving instant of your breath
caching in your throat
as you realize the dying
of your frail self,

clutching furiously the mundane heady song
of a coffee cup

(and in perfect silence emitting
the most enormous roar
of surging electric stillness)                                .    Life

you are half terribly
painful to. and life, you
are half splendorous to ****

sweating in the heap of your
car behind

the creeping sweep
of raging vein. Life

you are perhaps nothing. But lifE

you are the most,

and nothing hurriedly to slowly
take between the unutterably tiny *******
of snowgirls

their coldest song of closing lips,

and speak something hot

(something big).

.































































­













     "You might be a vegan, but I swear your skin is milk poured into the careful shape of your body."


























































­

























.

it is the dawn which
(skillfully erected)
light hands improbable

touch


              just


with barely strength

lift and lift

the sinuous lid of night

)peeling vigorously
the closed earth

    ****

.                                                                ­            WNTR, o
                                                          
                                                                ­  the     earth


                                                                ­  is how long

                                                               ­                           
                                     ­                                                      )in you?

                                                           ­       crisply perhaps

                                                        ­          stiffmuscling die erected
                                                         ­         foal trees. Barely skinned

                                                        ­                       ,

                                                              ­                    .

                                          ­                                           '

                                                              ­                     .

                                                              ­                 ,

                                                              ­                      .

                                        ­                                                 '


                                                             ­                       .
                                        ­                                           H
                                                               ­                  e   A
                                                               ­                     V
                                          ­                                       y with
                                                            ­                 light dying
                                                           ­                of    shadows
                                                   ­                  )between

                                                       ­                             o
                                  ­                                             WNTR
                                                            ­              i skip a penny
                                                           ­                    across
                                                          ­          Bu
                                                    ­              g e
                                                               ­  yed june

                                                           ­                        (Ag
                                                             ­                        irl inn

                                                            ­                      ot enough
                                                          ­                   clothing


                                                      ,cuz it was june o lord it was so hot i could feel my sweat across the

                                                       palm of each hand go slick like oil across the cool common pinch
                                                       of the fuzzed in ***** tinter grass.

                                                       i o and uncurling stiffly went like the shoots off of roses: topaz
                                                       i went red like the bitten ******
                                                       of girl tingling
                                                       unchastely
                                                      ­ snowless hips
                                                       )without WNTR which
                                                        sof­t of hard
                                                        and hard of itch
                                                        itch­
                                                        and     ­                     itch
                                       ­                (in WNTR to please
                                                        re­move me my health
                                                        an­d barely skin me
                                                        a foal tree

                                                           ­                      untwitching

.






























































                                                                 your unclosing was so tight. it
                                                                 tasted like the ocean, brine and
                                                                 went so fast my knees hurt
                                                                 splitting its tense flower.





























.

i love you and i'm sorry because.
i do not love you the way
you are perfect(andyouare),
i love you the way you are not perfect. i love

you

the way

you are. i love you

the way you have felt sharpness
(between certain dark things).

And i love you the way
you are uncertain darkness
(between sharp things).

and i love you the way your strength is pain.

(and i love you the way i am sorry because).



And i'm sorry.

and i love you.

hello i love you the way
you are not.

i love the way you(let's)
become painful
to touch.

to fingers,
fold beneath
like the edges
of a knife are to fold

into my flesh
crimsonsome
and welling of(roses).

.




















































                                              "I just want you to know, I care about you a lot, ok?"














































.

shout, i know it's dark you might
hear they
might
hear
please
shout
(into darkness)
the fullness of your throat to make
a sound of such irrevocable self,
will part on its smoldering blade all darkness
will fold 'pon itself
fold upon itself and it will
tremble apart the walls of creaking death


(And you will ride it something brightly of destroying light into terse nightness of body
A colour splendid to feel as flowers,
You will on it fly
And your throat might crack to waiver slightly its beating,
But O heart you will
By fleet improbable wings of music
Fill the voice
And fling through dying
Rills of love so blinding

Even darkness cannot be seen.  )

i think you are beautiful
(and why not?) the sea
is beautiful

(as like your eyes(
where between they reach:

(somewhere dark)

somewhere wet.

I need the softness of some small moment to open me.

miles away(go)
by

clicktrain by

     clacktrain or

bybusby or

        car


miles away(go)
where between
a city of roses grows

One thornless rose)its
stemwhich
thoughthornless
hurts to feel fingers

inside bed
groans i can
hear the rain outside
painfully wintering and
the shifts covers her (the hands between)
sighing erupt palefully spiders incandescent
the notmoon doesn't its light and outside i can hear
the rain(painfully)

i can hear

(and outside)

painfully it's rain

(and wintering)

i can hear.

fingers(deeply)
who amongst dirt
suddenly moments
point

steeply through drunk summer

rain upon lips
(fluttering dismissively):

memory to imp
(by blind words)

such wings, heart
leaves(roots)body

grassAndgrassAndgrass

become. (my dear that i have loved beyond poems to say)

hurt: he's
a boy

waiting. A boy waiting and
he's
hurt
between

rib and lung(wilting). He's
a boy sometimes

and(sometimes))he's
a boy)

between rib and lung(



hurting,

         .

            '

         ;


               .



      ,




                      .




            '

.





































                                                       Your body is a word that I am mad to say.










































.

i love you how one time you were the ocean i could feel sleeping amongst whose waves a girl.

think: what muscles
(the heart's
are stronger) often

they coil in distinct
perfume of girlness; soften

(fiber upon)

and weakness easily
becomes:


think

.                                                                ­                         Q
                                                               ­                        u
                                                               ­                             i
                                  ­                                                              e
 ­                                                                 ­                          t

                                    ­                                                        O,

     ­                                                                 ­                       though
                                                          ­                             woh
                                                             ­                                little
                                                          ­                          ylgnis
                                ­                                                             you
                                                             ­                            era

                                                            ­                                :
                               ­                                                   soft and crisp;

                                                         ­                    won't you enter me

                                                             ­                 the gentleness (your unsound)?

          
                                                                ­                             I
                                                               ­                                 n
                              ­                                                                 ­    c
                                                               ­                            r
                                                               ­                         e
                                      ­                                               a
                                                               ­                             S
                                  ­                                                           i
                                                               ­                             n
                                  ­                                                          g

    ­                                                                 ­      by voice and unvoice
                                                         ­                  the white song: living?

                                                 O Quiet and you are so i think you are beautiful
                                                       ­  in your shoulders and in your neck i think
                                                           ­      you are increasingly beautifuler
                                                     ­                      than doused in night
                                                           ­                     and stars earth.

o to breathe
how it is i love you:
your little quiet which
do not your lips betray
the slightest music.

o and quiet
how it is i love you:
the mute pressing of your body;
without words which
for saying nothing

is louder than all the world to speak.

oto
****
insideyo
uthe
hours
ofm
ybody
wouldbe
(ohpl
ease
won'tyo­u)
themost
dying
wonderfully
to
unbe

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."