from deepest rivers you
surging flowers OPEN

              and
                                   A
                                         scar newly
                                         adorns you
                                         beating stillness
                                         immeasurably
                                         in darkness a
                                         light first meekly
                                         begins
                                                         rolling
                                                                        its colours
                                                                                              violently
                                                                                                               beating
                                                                                                                              so
                                                                                                                                        hot
                                                                                                                                                all
                                                                                                                                                         quickness
murdered slowly a plume of bird's
throats fat with music wings splendorous
over bodies rapt in loving fire
a song
            of
                 hearts
                              tattooed
                                              on my arms
                                                                     you note
                                                                                      (in me played
) deepest and fluttering your eyelids
magic springs eternal voluptuous panting
tigers skin an angel in
                                       Sweat
                                                   completely
                                                                        my razor
                                                                                            keenly
                                                                                                          defies
                                                                                                                       a mountain
                                                                                                                                             blade
                            stupidly
                                              i'm stabbed thee with
                                               you
                                                strongly flavored
                                                 lush garden
                                                  of rivers
                                                     deeply flowers surging out my mouth
                                                       a gallon of petals endlessly

if a came summer
                          (over the beaches
                      sweat
                           in ribbons
                       or rivulets
                    binding the sand
                            with *******
                   and ****
                                     improbably
                     fleshy rumples
                                                     )
i'd be gladly giddy in its shall on me
its lazy hands on me
   to draw me to it in
    to it drawn a manacled surly
      bead of magic
        burning ***
          on loose footing
            the unreasonable grains
               of sloughing seconds
                 I
came a summer
                                 to
                   livid unmanageable moments
             where myself and myself
            used our stuff of soft and pink
           to drizzle drugged blatant
          skin on a beach somewhere i have been with you in the fall but then it was not so
          like the hot testing nerve (the bar of crimson branding light) instead a pale and
          frail limpet gruffly muscular light was all over it and it was cold and i pulled you
          really in my arms stabbing the youth of you slender able promise of corded
          elation hotly sudored morsels of.

Remind me when i am dead
how searing a day in the summer
feels on the back of your neck
being bent over a flower
from the earth up
with my nose
tasting it
slyly
Remind me when i am dead
how stings the frigid moss
of frost on the roof of car
when i have to get up
early and i forget my
gloves and barely
fingers over it
go and it
burns so
coldly
Remind me when i am dead
how electric your fuzz
blunders over my
thighs as you
kiss down
my chest
to root
my
Remind me when i am Dead
what the chords of music
taste like crescendoing
in a small quiet room
as the sun slinks
through the
slats in
darkness
Remind Dead when i am me

when did i have myself always being myself have i always been?
completely another word. testing the lisp of god i am a lake uncertainly
a river snaking up to wetness lastly from greyness over all the smells
of pavement after the sun kissed it and rain now. also i have been a movie
i have been a story, a play, a theater of laughing actors have been me.
i have gusseted the strange impetuous strength of the singing soil
with my feet.

                        i was a year and a day. i was a moment. i was a life.
                         will you read this when i am spent and dreaming?
                            what is a day? a day is a year. a year is a day.
                             a life is a moment. i am a moment.

                                  smile

fade don't ever lips let
tresses of your green
spoken face in words
as soft as leaves in summer's
thighs they gowned in
shimmering gleeful noon
drawn into cool shade a
tree was by the window
next to my sky's legs languidly
coating in thickness always
gooey slender limbs
always long and lean
and leaning near my
window:

                    (A summer has always been the season i have been to kiss you
                     in the subtle light of a motel in Eugene Oregon i made love
                     to you in the slump of polyester sheets about the naked church
                     of your crimson and your deeply Holly sage petals almost
                     exactly like nothing like winter you are so hot you would
                     melt steam(

when i have been a rose
i was firstly of the soil
my glossy thorns were
from me out and on the
air they pricked it loose
and my petals bustled
round my bulb and
when i have been a rose

i slept with mountains
and i have been eaten
by fawns quickly in
dappled grasp of forests
slight and enormously

when i have been a rose
i green
and light
did creep
between the
creases in light
slutty and chaste
winds have been on me
when i have been a rose

Neck totally lips hot continuously over
and
       over
            aNd
                 o'er
                     ere
                         the splash
                  ,great and yellowly gargantuan,
                coming invulnerably the earth o'er
             (I kindle mightily snoring lungs with
               tightly wrapped binding skin burs
                ting simmering glaciers topped
                 moistly with me,) under you
                  when i have been
                   i liked my body more
                    with muscles snaking
                     impatiently
                      pleasing
                       the body of you
                        lady Night
                         ;you lake of bumping fire
                          hideously i'm a plunging
                           into thee
                            , thy into
                               thighs totally
                                smacke
                                 d with mine
                                                       o
                                                     ver
                                                        me
                                                     W
                                                   h e n
                                                        U
                                                    have been
                                                i li(c)ked
                                             your body more
                                          precociously than
                                        A
                                          n
                                        y
                                         Dulcet electric buzz
                                            your crown of moans
                                               lungs from erratically sprouted
                                                 gilding splendidly

a thing is often fuzz on the blankness
foisting up to resonate superlative
most facets of itself into thy glossy
marble roundness fray of inconstant
sensations

a perhaps summer wilt with hands maybe
like cups or bowls o' laughter running over
what drizzles o'er the numerous human
stuff by a pondsome quick pretty water
glittering succulently its most cool grasp

o'er her body from it gallops the crescents
of her lush formidable query i tousle
with my tongue like last winter i was
walking in a garden when the frost
stung my nose real hard and i was
just almost inside when i noticed how
absolutely demure the snow was
clutching the soil it like a lover it from
whom it nay would release except for
that same afternoon it rained and
all was unfrozen and loved no more
the snow the soil like this terrific

droplet of her skinny strength stabbed
with youth and running out her wounds
the ablest *** dances rushing on sturdy
limbs to snare over the cuirass of flickering
electronic flesh (my chest) and drape
supreme fair fairy dust inside each
nostril and straight to my dithering acute
brain and tingles abruptly her
belated fingers unday brushing the eaves
of cobalt with purple frilling the
edges and we repose in the cracked
bucket leather seats of my drab yellow
volvo and

                 and
                         and

a day is the moment i gulp to risen falling
Night O', chiefly last, you disease first
of each clay tough with light dressing you

                      its spank

on the rouged teeter of enclosing most
day. swelling are you ripe and sensual
silence behind silence. your withoutsound
womb is tethers creeped up the spine of me
to in you pulled me enclosed an instant
forever an instant. unlearning myself,
i go to where i am touched exactly
more and better than the instant light
of day. too so we all say, "hello"

did i a human thing completely graze your cheeks and of them
eating did i lush with shoots and stocks and because wind
snarling in their delicate snuggle of **** drunk flesh
just the very juice of your berries did wine from them
throng into my throat a terrible and army lovely
? I have been under you when caved out your billowing ******* indispensably
and growled from your lips a shout of candy and burrowed into my
slippery vibrations the nuzzle distinctly your just shorn and delicious
cradle.
             yes

i got inside you last night all stupid and naked between the rubber of your
jelly lips and licked the deliberate threads of your ribs who were littered
with my skin; the gruff shale of my livid dust got sticking in your niches
and your little secret back ways and your valleys and your mountains
and your velvet terrifically peach

I                           ,        
                                
                                '
                                       ,
                                             .                                                                                       U
                                            ;
                                          ,           iN
                                           .
               who                      '
                      a                         ,
                      r                             '
                      e                        I           ,
                                                              ' .
                                                     ,leaves'
                                                 , '
                                                  ;
                                                   ' ,
                                               .
                                                    ,
    softly
                     and
                                suddenly
                                                    A
                                   complete smell of
                                  the ocean. salty next
                                  to a sighing forest
                                  tremendously twigs
                                  enormous. they are
                                   whispers, green
                                   and cold linoleum
                                   under my feet
                                   in the kitchen
                                   a pitcher of
                                   tea is beaded
                                   with sudor
                                   (soaked skin
                                    Spring answers
                                    outside) it's
                                    my hand, in
                                    freezing gently
                                    dribbling over
                                    my knuckles
                                    the half lit kitchen
                                    skinny hips
                                    of roses
                                    mingle with laughing
                                    breezes quickly
                                    glistening cherry
                                    flavored lips
                                    ,right athe
                                     edge of my glass
                                    outside(right against the window)
                                    pressed together
                                    (the counter and your thighs
                                     because sweat
                                      they slip around
                                      each, throb
                                       pumping, other
                                       your hair is stuck to
                                       sticking to your
                                       *******) the trees
                                       sway injust temporary
                                       daylight, behind
                                        the swelling,
                                        swollen draught
                        &

i got tumbled over creeks over mountains and even over
the stroke of roots like "have you ever been a permanent
walking sound?"the earth was raised in meek hillocks
distending the asphalt like lovely thronging arteries
of full and with gilt split pavement just up over them
,gilt with the song of a dying star, crusted on them
as they split the yoke of the hard scramble of tightly packed
firm loosing."a tree is sound that i have tasted when i
was just young struck moments of flesh as thin as
the instants that i was then when i was in forests and
in ponds and the silk of water drowned the heat of
long suffering summer drawn cheeks(we called them
days but really they were just the paneless leaves of
glass i spun myself through as like a stretch of damped
slightly fingers, sticky slightly, i picked up some
flecks of seconds shorn and fluttering to my skin
they stuck)tanned and brushed with the rosy tattoo
of my heart down a little just a bit in my chest.
I was in the golden state and i had heard my mother
call me as the twill of friscalating nice illuminant
brushes played against my ***** blond hair and i was
pulled from them the moments of youth stabbed
instants and i was pulled right up back to now
where i am sitting just another second dead.

Rigid, unlike, softly, more like, she's coming a rough god riding the stocks of
bobbing withers robed in music. she's quick static spark sore tips of fingers
  just meeting with my tips of fingers just with grooves barely braying over
  one or the others me we sweetly are tumults of sparks raking ***** nails
   over backs pinions extend fully kissing free air and up into shaking
    clouds her minute jiggling abdomen i'm home there in between the beads
     of startling clarity and rush of sudden acute blissful angles (more like
      delightful swirling clutter, her hips are like) turning back and forward
       back and forward writhing sails of pleasure billowed skin her
        ultimate final tongue that staggers magnificently like a doe in the striped
         coat of furious tigers she has fanged jaws gently stabbing young
          blades my neck (a short column of stuttering electrons flickering
           against her blazing article of so unpure purely purring muscles
            slick and sinuously bound limbs an angelic fist's arm on my
             teeth suddenly flush with blood.
              
                         she is many
                     she is one
                   she is a multitude
                   she is a slight twist
                    to the hairs on the
                     the back neck   (of my)           .                  A
                                                                            neck meekly
                                                                           scratched with
                                                                              nails abruptly
                                                                        slaughtering quiet
                                                                       disheveled minutes
                                                                      in her merry cavern
                                                                                               wails

Unlike wind. tall and walking leaf's
curling in bushy locks of. the very,
naked and servile, moon she's
street bounding rills of semisweet
chatter. the togetherness too much
,in,of comely arms a fawn thing, in
the forest of metal's. just leapt vanishing
smoke, into, the carnival of neon
large singing signs. post day well,
in gloom unanimously, slunk with
girl's skinny. they brushed fair and wane
as light's face creeping furtive


                                                ,        "weLL­
                                                         i was said
                                                       in those walls
                                                     sterile and seething
                                                   manic lewd gracefully
                                                  stum­bling,
                                                          ­             i
                                                               ­        was mounted with
                                                            ­           paint of sinning luscious
                                                        ­               lips who carefully
                                                       ­                rampaged, blithe node
                                                            ­           ,a noggin, mine.
                                                          cavort­ing straight narrow
                                                        un­bent sharp green eye's slip.
                                                   s
                                                  l
           ­                                      i
                                                p
             ­                                   r
                            ­                     i
                                                  g
           ­                                        h
                                                     t
                                                       i
                                                        n
     ­                                                    t
                                                         o
                                                        M
     ­                                                   y
            ­                                       f
                                              a
               ­                         s
                                  t
  ­                      D
                            r
           ­                     i
                                      n
  ­                                           k
                                                Down my throat" (ouch!)

FROmRosesDeeply
D w,n
o      inrose's
        d;E
          e
         ply Sleeps a downy deep rose
A rose unrising sleeping
A rose of deeply sleeping
Downy Petals weeping
From the bulb of deeply sleeping
Sleeping deeply Rose,RISE!andSPEAKsoSWEETLY,
             a colour sweetly Rose
a colour of your sleeping
    the colour that youaren't speaking
       (when your downy petals sleeping)
deeping in their sleeping
                won't break that darkness speaking
'bout thy downy petals sleeping

what burst from limbs
in naked fire
?the sprout of love
A supple pyre

deeply so, have ever you thought, on a moment that you thought you knew
it? have you ever thought of
     Summer with her flush
     amber skin just bursting
     almost apricot thick
     colours professing
      out her richly thatched
      mouth in between the
      lips of seraphs
      oceans of wind that
in which a frond is bending, just almost breaking bending, in the
immense touching blood of blades of sand and grains of grass
who slough from brows of aching partings
and sore graftings.

                                                                        in  yourself  think ever you Did
                                                                        the arms of your lover
                                                                 against stiffly you clutched who
                                                                      lean ribs, who in them beats
                                                                      mornings of song little a
                                                                      filled with drifting fuzzy
                                                                 daughters lazy wood's cotton

?
  in summer i went to seattle and down to its neck i drew my hands
and around them i was a sweating magic light full and a blister
of smiling residue; my grin was like a girl put my tongue in her mouth
and she pulled me real close and her bumps rumpled on my bumps
and we were real slow and hot and she was gross and perfect and long
and i remember how she's scalp was like a small black jungle
that my fingers (as her teeth were like little ****** of tingling all over
my scent) marauded around the profusion of her dazzling locks
which mocked the night who was contumelious at how they made love
with,andMurdered, whate'er foolish lance or drape of light was foolish
enough to touch with them. her hair was a serious fierce laughter. and
it filled right me up. right up to my pooling blood foolishly her face
was a goddess and i was a lamb.

have i, or letters, known so well
the knowing of your words when
so thick with verbs you jangle
meticulously raw spent kernels
of your swiftly lustful wings
     bursts ripe and halting smoothly
over shoulders fingers' hands
that ***** and flutter.
    right, suddenly, against winter,
slowly, you are colours and glowering
ductile arms snaring.
   a song of hours lifted from *******
where between lays me and my.
my elbows and my triceps,
  electric, you writhing sapling, you
sprig and blood, you are in their togetherness
you are rips flung deep and voluminous
with comely exacting fragrance
you are radiant. a star from heaven shorn
and wafts of gilt implacable violence

down the ups of the very backs of streets
just skirting the very edges of napes
the cities slightly tickled little hairs rushing
up it's thighs, colluding thickly bushy
barely about it's "ooch!" it's "ow!"
it's youth rimmed slouching pocket
hollow fully bursting. empty so crowding
tightly packed cheeks, clumps of giddy
gurgling songs pumped lazy chords
they sickly punch the nooks and crannied
edges flourishing the rainbow bright
chatter of lungs that taste the air so
healthy and so long. "Tonight, as the day
goes 'Wee!' over the ******* wallop
we"ll higgle wiggle in it's corpse
our skulls and merry bones to
frothing jowls overwhelmed with boisterous
young hearts supping it's crudlicious
pillow, supple and rotting gums
the large lit teeth of whom bust
right to heaven while we fling about
their oblong towers our shales
of *** and magic;

beginning closed, opened fragile hardy meadows outward from the tumult
of absolute stillness. a skull in every smile smiles quick wry lipless grins
in every skull it smiles amongst the bodies, youth soaked dripping carnal uncarnal, it smiles whenever the voices, **** and vividly, couple and
uncouple the twains of hips(& between them it's grinning, in their pumping
force & even in the ****** of the sudden exploding creation)"it's grinning right there, and someday when you lay in last and final you will say 'hello, FOREVER'",

what is like the abrupt subtle cleavage of day and night
, a dale sloping downward sloping into a dale, a cool
and prim sleep, a crimp of foil aloof and serious with
the pale column of freshly failing light and the waxing
***** of the moon? the fluff of somber and livid
flesh, the notes of music that are your skinny ankles
catching the sallow still strips of slanting sorry
moon's ablest kiss. she kisses thee a flower forever.
a bed of teeming poppies. you are the sap of whom.
a venom of those soporific buds. you who are sleeping
like a lock death forever young and nubile, in the bed
of mine. in my very skull. your name is always at its lips.
i say it. and i eat it. it is mine. forever.

L
  e
T'sD
         oTonight
             hard. we'll finger ginger prematurely. immaturely. and
offended glossy cheeks. the fair legs, forever apart, the night's
begging panting heaving & yes let's
                                                          o­D
                                                         2
                                                       nite
                                       impossibly posing
                                     prosing nosing (it smells red
                               and neon). guns are our bones.
                             sensibly obscure the daft incommensurable
                           s,m'og O' inside the pooch, the slumping curve
                         the curbs and dancing, the jostling snort
                        of brain's panes behind them saying just faces.
                        unchaste faces. a multitudinous saliva teeming
                         young wagging hems lifted with my fingers
                          going under your cotton and right up
                            to your "'yes'" Y
                                                        3
     ­                                                 s!

A
                                                               ­        heart is where its
                                                             ­          gaggle of appropriate nerves
                                                          ­             tingle singing nerves
                                                          ­             single teeming nerves
                                                          ­             a tumult of aching skin
                                                            ­           towers correctly sublime
                                                         ­              a balmy twinge of evenings
                                                        ­               who curl with clearest scent
                                                           ­            about the firmer freshly body
                                                            ­           of the thighs quaking totally
                                                         ­              (a face that twists heroically
                                                      ­                  churns adroitly
                                                        ­                in adoring pleasure
                                                                ­        wreaking fragile sturdy
                                                          ­              crescents
                                         ­                               limping on the hotting
                                                         ­               chalice of her febrile
                                                         ­               brink. she totters just almost
                                                          ­              at it. right at it fiercely.
                                                       ­                 her flush groaning
                                                        ­                her garden parting
                                                         ­               ),i flay the difficult ugly
                                                            ­           that wears on her this
                                                            ­           common uncanny second
                                                          ­             i turn her sorely into naked
                                                           ­            flavored robes writhing
                                                        ­               between her thrashing together
                                                        ­               i stab her forever giddy
                                                           ­            my placid crashing”

a city is a where a city is laying clumsily sprawling glittered
wrecks of cubes and
                            opaque
                          ­  lucid
                                   smoke
                                            o
             ­                              u
                                          t
                   ­                         , its manicured slouching lungs

This)
dream,
  this dreaming
   sleep, this sleep
    of dreams, this
     sleeping Dream
, Your edge is soft and hard and keen
                                                            ­   A
                                                              r­eaping
                                                          ­   reaping
                                                         ­   reaping
                                                      ­     thing,
                                                          ­A sweeping thing
                                                         a silken keen
                                                        shar­p and cruel
                                                       and kind and clean
                                                       A crumb of eyes
                                                        long­ and lean
                                                         leaning cream
                                                          d­ripping surly
                                                           ­ steam
                                                          ­   Steam, you who cling
                                                           ­   to hours short
                                                           ­    and large and green
your beginning mouth
between whose agile slippery lips
  a furious creeping mouth,
   a fresh and nimble mouth,
    leaps, slinging tumbling
     a city of thoughts
      chuckles fast
       slow laughter
        on the hours i slay
         in nooks of cotton palms
          ( where Sleep is dreaming
              a sleeping Dream
                 dreams of sleep
                              )

i have said mountains
lazy clumps of clumsy
mountains, i have  said
them, arching oceans of gasping
instant sleep. I have crumbled
perspiring cheeks loose with
bulging moonest light. torn
flaky moonest nights. i have
halved twains and quartered
thirds. yet.
.     .
                   i could not say thee
i could not say thy lavish cup of shoulders
       thy prism of corrupting
sensible insane ***
                                 thy baffling and hoary flecks
of burning frost. scattered smoothing rapidly.
      i could not say thy instant muscles gradually.

you said
"                 ME
         "

i am for words entirely. i am crazy for them. i am naked in them. they are everywhere i am.
when i walk they are with me. when i am in sleep they are with me. they

grow from me and i am nourished on them. they sprout in all the atoms of me.
they are in all my sounds
and my unsounds and stillness and my motion. they are my plenty. they are

the grass of me. they are in every wrinkle of the morning. they are in every
wry splinter of the
afternoon. they are timid and hot. they are bold and cool. they are in

bending stems of forests in me. in the wind that whispers in the boughs
of the forests of me.
I fill them and am filled by them. we are for each other. and each other for.

with gentle flakes of summer's snow
a drowsy path does pinkly grow
A drowsy path i think i know
through dale and copse it lightly flows
littered slightly from stems and boughs
with the downy flakes of summer's snow

from off its blade i hear a crow
whose throat is telling through the boughs
and twilight's swelling deeply grows
and over mountain tops it flows
To fill the path with fading glow
this drowsy path i think i know

I find my pen in whate'er words encompass I
when i lay it to the page. stark and stretching
'neath my pen, writhing 'neath my pen
The words i find my pen
to encompass it: The page
beneath my pen

of what i write you will
make of it what you will
by your will
with your will
you will make it
you will make it

WhiTe
            ,
               you
             are   a
          fine colour
        you are a fast
      colour.youarethe
    morning i found U
  sleeping in slump and
polished heather with rust
                                              gilding just the morsels O'
                                               your canny fist of petals
                                                who hides in splendor
                                                 ed morning's vest pr
                                                  icking up your glos
                                                   sy neck to rub you
                                                    r cheeks on the fe
                                                     lt of gorgeous b
                                                      rinded sky. U
                                                       wHitE, you
                                                        are the ve
                                                         ry lust O'
                                                           faries
                                                          ­ you R
                                                            lig­ht
                                                        and heavy
                                                      froli­cking wo
                                                     men as with th
                                                    eir skin you pain
                                                   t they stark and w
                                                   ith just their morse
                                                    ls very slightly ro
                                                     sy rouged and r
                                                      osy slightly he
                                                       aps of hips o'
                                                        roses and
                                                         heather:
                                                        ­     URwhIte

a soft is just as sharp as hard is tawny
fragile fingers o'er the premise
of the swelling maze of branches
up on the wind; o'er my sill
the delicious fresh breath
of the lamb of god
who put under the skirt of cobalt
(who now is wearing little
shafts of golden;
little grunts of oblong light
prattling through tufts of
whitish thoughts)
all the air in lungs
teetering past my lips
to feed the choir of blades
'gainst the mooning pallor

like days these ours are in moments stilled
the steel of moments
in us them and them in us
their hair is ours
their bones are ours
they are cold and
fantastic
and
quiet as a ship
on an ocean
so pale
and dreaming
its head a war of stars
the damp

light ****** in smoldering
they are the spades of digging
deeply purple blacking soil
on the fresh cut grave
of the small majesty
of last light
telling just behind the swollen bridle
telling the face of dreaming dusted
eaves, the coniferous blades,
of forest young and thick
“hush”

which are you? Thou who art mostly scaled in fears
Of little rotten skulls)
        & the blundering mystery
of the big dark deepest deeply reaping darkness.thefingerofgod
    the thumb of god
                                   '
               between them our souls are writhing as he PLUCKs
them from our carnival
our    really big uncouth faces
. that he tickles in our sleep with dry
          and wet puffs of languid
fire He drizzles from the right heart
          in the wrong chest of men
Who like to act all nice and sweet
          but aren,t probably either
at all or maybe just a wee little itybity (a lot);
                                                                                                  the We
                                                                                         we were weren't well
                                                                                      we're we which is glee
                                                                                      a fantasy of garbled
                                                                                       annotated cells
                                                                                        at morts nice mouth
                                                                                         at morts pert mouth
                                                                                          at morts gnashing maw
                                                                                            in it
                                                                                             we're crunched
                                                                                              by shapely spears
                                                                                               of white
                                                                                                with blatant sharp
                                                                                                  edgesinourorgans
                                                                                                   sleeping in our
                                                                                                    thresh of hours
                                                                                                     the silver merry
                                                                                                      scythe man
                                                                                                       puts us in a box
                                                                                                        and we lay real
                                                                                                         still and moving
                                                                                                          not even the
                                                                                                           most little bit
                                                                                                            we stay like
                                                                                                             that we stay
                                                                  &n

in sleeping waking
i wake in sleeping
as sleep is waking

in the nice hollow
of dust and lightning
teetering softly
(aloft the feathers of
laughing flowers
deeply flowers
smiling sneering flowers)
in the crook of arms
nestled suddenly
in heaps of sighing flesh

i wake to sleeping
as sleep is waking
(thinking dreaming)
in plumes of colour rich
on the din of atoms
that is this self

the earth is a moment. a surly moment. a collected harmonious moment. it
is the blood of my blood.
and i am in it. the thick and sticky blood. it is in me. and we are

today the sun was in everything
shimmering without cease
with seamless jointless fingers.
the massive ginger
of his unfleshed hands
prickles (barely) necks.

how deeply flowers
in spring's warm fist
(between whose fingers)
, , , , ,mumble lithe plumes
of cherry cotton
and sugar virile
(the candy of sweaty days
waters in the clamor of
my mouth) monumentally
perfusing rills
(trickling out Morpheus' ear
                                                  (
and into thy own))

when you die
you are dead

when you are dead
you are not alive

A mountain is not alive
A sunset is not alive

with cords electric, you've strung me stinging, with them, me. your mouth
is an apple. your mouth is a fragrant cavern.
in which is my my mouth. mingling. from them springs a mountain

of wind. your hands are, on your wrists, pale spiders. on me slung. your web
of cool scuttling love. on my belly.
you go supple. into palms. they are a colour. your colour. the colour of death

just before you live. you are strenuous. a boundless taught moment. of unugly caffeine. i am a noise.
and you are a colour. you said it in me. big and tiny. in my tiny bigness.

and in the backyard. by the sleeping pile of forests. you draw the hammer
of your guns. and i wilt.
sprouting. effortlessly. infinitely. eating the gilt purse of your pinkest tiny.

and we are like wind. who grapples with leaves. and they touch like
lovers. we are like that.
like health. like sickness. freshly shearing. every molecule of our bodies

onto the indigo eaves of eve. quickly, carnivorously, slaughtering light.
let's then just be.
in quiet. and symmetry.
cords electric. strummed with fallen night.

everyday i'm discussing with everyday, myself as i make out to the glamouring
the inches and dashes of every self i have
and stitches of sinew here in which lies the me that is this i, i that am

i walked in leaves of grass, of wriggling splendor's summers of shoulders
and achy crimsoned necks by the suns meters of light
measuring the stints of our crawling opaque days and suns of many sons

it's very that is that even when sun should repose his ***** of uncadenced
carefully miraculous shimmering blood
like orange and ardent flesh he'd go on us it, giving his very stuff our bodies

to wear on our wheres and whens and whys. is night not also beautiful?
it is naked beautiful. **** and beautiful
plenteous and beautiful with all its hearts in tinder palely igniting every

atom of copious earth. bowls of copious illuminant children, the things
which will become after us
the us that we were before their coming. but they are gorgeous and neither

would i weep if in my going they should take that space where were was
i. resting the shouts of my self
in the orchards of youth, i am now so but it's quickly running, flitting

eagerly from my this. in vines and plurals i am single and many. neither
none nor many. but many ones,
little bubbles of tranquil vile fluid guttering the songs of wind.

i go to streams and they are me. i go to mountains and they are me. i go
to valleys and they are me.
can i be streams and mountains and valleys? can i not be streams and

mountains and valleys? they are weeds and i am a ****. a **** is a rose.
i am rose.
i am blossomed in full spring. able of petals. i am turned to the sun, with my

root between the lips of earth. who is my lover. the earth is woman.
she is a ****.
a **** is a rose.

by another name. they smell just as sweet.

(I this very am a contradiction to itself)
this which is
the very thing i am
is not at all a multitude of singularities
but a single multitude of multiple singulars
i am large
                and small
                                and enormously
                                                           a colour daft as starry days
                                                                                                         and brightly nights
and with pale meter
my hards are soft
and softs are hard
                                         (and i am like an onion
                                          in petals of purple skin
                                          an acrid flavour imps
                                          my beam of darkly
                                          steeply cooler hotter
                                          breaths that buzz
                                          like wondrous flies
                                          in ample valleys or
                                          cotton pasted flesh
                                          in denim
                                          )your jeans were on my floorIfoundthemthismorning
and i woke up to call you just so i could touch your voice with my ears
and kiss the treble of its throat with my gangling soul waxing profusely
with sparks of verdant poems blossoming in the uncommon pit of the stomach of my gross futile blithe brain because you made them with the
errant tattoo of your slight and tremendous music bustling its enormous
yawn over the roof of (my) rainbow hard heart that would like to comment in Your plunk of navel ringing tiny glittering barely hairs my smooth and
pinkish crumpled crumbs of love and sprinkle you with careless *** sometime maybe SWOON.

some last night clutched the sorry sorely sack of clean rigid muscles
that tomorrow contemplates in wearing under ***** flaccid skin
that everybody wears more commonly on the brushing wane
of their frailing dying bodies that they wear on the short
folds of hours that everyday wears between sleeping
and starting cupping sunlight's wriggling adept
worm that in the corpse of night in through
its sallow ginger skin the hard creeping
the cool creeping; the slender cylinder
of its fornicating colors slips right
through it the basic plain extra
ordinarily placid death of
of strong brutish approp
riate night, "i wonder
why the wind with
legs as hard as
silk opens
never
right at
the seam
it's got at the
back of its small
its tiny, its fast white
hair lip, but who would
care how ugly its face got
because the way its hands got
all sharp and soft on my meandyou
" that's probably like how it was the
window's summer's open closing falling
clots of creamless clouds that nuzzled under
heaven onto armor, spears, and lovely amber
sunsets all over the back of my car when you
candy(like the lithe arguable sugar men did with
ruby apples and made them even sweeter with the
hot supple red shells they rubbed all over the pert negligee
of autumn's hard little luscious)ied the nape of my neck with
the lunging elegance of your saintly slightly painted painting my
nape lips those rushing throngs of sturdy cords that made me. Barely

are we
unlike steel? (more like light
made supple leaves of grass in
sleeping mountains where lay we
our hands of fire shorn of appolo,s Breath
                                                                         tangling with the boughs of forests
                                                                         darkly
                                                                                   waiting
                                                                       deeply
                                                                                     softly)

a confused or starry night:
It sweats
                with burning
Jewels Jousting Just
as lovely as my lady's eyes which sparkle quick as diamond's
   F                    .                                                           ­                                             !
  i             , '             '  ,                                                             ­                              '
n g e r s.'   ;   '              '.                                                          ­                       ,
                   .     '  . ,   ;                                                            ­               ;
                      ,                         ­                                                         '
      ­                   ' , ,  , ,     ,    ,   .    . . ..........................................   '

Do you? who in marble stillness,
(thus reposed) under shade of
buckled trees and heavens hand
would with thee let me lay and
into quiet charging gushing
stiffly ever and

        for
ever;

the dew of some mornings is a thing which is not unlike the kind nuisance of my lady's graceless feeble miraculous fingers. who are not unlike the starting end of day where **** and silent and hulking quiet tremble viscous muscles
of pure unlight, teeming with wondrous gleaming follicles, pimpling the
evenings tummy lapped with luna's rapid fortunate tongue. the chittering
globs of arms waxing ferocious. in climbing steeply valleys feet middle in
strange streams. the common streams. the unerring crooked and corpulent streams. in there, between between, 1and1 (you and i) our ventricles beat
insatiably voluminous leaves. from trees of amorous fruit bearing fronds
slapping silence(whileWeBeneathThemIntoEachOthersMe'sDepositSlushyViteWeWe­remore than god's unfound children returning into the cherished cherry red
steaming glue of our very and very clanGlorious howls repeatedly again angain andgain and gain: an earth wholly more to the liking of "which is not unlike us")
                            1
                          !    I:,.

toothick
a( song of roses bustled from her throat
                                                                     )
       sort of dangerous song
the sort of thickly dangerous music
that accompanies pianos
(and thighS
                  and *******) on saturDays
when you don't expect at all to find at all that sort of skinny innocent danger
thickly burnished sheets of heaven
in your b     e      d
               (H     A)!