dead what's it ?
inside the clasped lid
of never to part darkness
inching each breath
presses
pressing
with each breath
towards that titanic chasm

(into which leaps
every humdrum
scintillating eruption
of drab being)

I cannot imagine
anything more absurd than
perhaps ******* or sitting
outside on the pale veranda
of a minute café
tucked into the
silent crease of
a dying city


the light stroking
carelessly the **** soil
boils
with extremely sleepy
afternoon
every where–

and occasionally
a child
can be heard
murdering silence
with its long shriek
of rapid youth–

i wonder and play.
my hands neatly in the comely foil.
i bend and kern
each brilliantly lashed
marvel of coalesced laughter–

a tiny poem is sitting
slant wise their
across thighs
with deliberate health
of constant ***–

there is a mountain hurled
studiously *****
aggressively swept
by moonshadow
and nightdust:          (amongst the reeds

                                     a tired frog

                                      is lilting


across the ether
its ancient song           ) I wonder,


can you hear it to
ever think
upon the frail note
of its enormous throat
that to live is to die
constantly as–


a truck turns south
into the friscalating
dusklight its shadow
is minute;

and how can it
the insane probability
that we naked forevers
might suddenly be
in each distilled
anthem of terrible life,
the brute
the heap
of chaff
off from the stock
reaped by unthinkable hands

(but i think and i wonder
and my hands play amongst the
cool beds of immortal rivers
endless coils of blinding self

elle n'est pas one hell
of an elle in does
brightly chafe with
dower stocking removal
hastily into thigh as thigh
does improbably hairless
Glide into petite grande
pink pretty pinched heaping
of dryless ****** helping
of **** help needing

A quick drizzle of angles that
unsuddenly with immortal pairing
bare the rude stem of Spring–

which cannot unbarley but to shreak
the tiniest whisper of "please into my
house enter the deepest blooming
of red red red steam   "

being i just could only
that at
the naked perfume
of her
seeping incessantly laughter
but to boom as wide and cloyingly
drunk with open health

as God had said
making the world
by one word: she

said not one word
(making my world)
but two,

               "**** me"

sheet crumpled not
deeply thrashing
with life as a last night did
dead now dreaming
as dreaming sheets oftenly
boy with toy like
fantasies of apart joints
socketed into unsleeping
hips in the darkest of
night's dreamless deepening

sits some thick blushed fitting thighs
around softly become
of mouth and lips

bump
bump
lips
bump

sits
bump
bump
sitting

***** curled
Summer
salt summer
fitting

petals in
doused
quickness
of aching
to part

on stem
on pistil

groans
groaning

the little house
of your hips

(where my mouth lives

in body whose white lectern
turns
fragrantly to
dust

, i will carve

a notch deep
into your *******
snow fingers and
dove hands of
love cruelly which
i cannot unmake
my lips for                              .

the not body of Spring feels like
girlhood stroked fur purring
wet between April and May
slicked rain of coming flowers:

                   Not easy
                   Not hard
                   nor needing

for kneadfuly clutch of loosed steam
who makes tearfully joy by within
forests loops of the curling stuff
her own not body

by warmth
by wet
decay of young
foals white petals parting showers of chaste rain and the

tight
tight
tight

emulsion of pushing through
the supple cloud of morning:

                    SUN,

"Did I forget dying?"

asked who

hung with livery
of silver youth spun
by rouge turning
of night into day                                    ". Perhaps
                                                                                    "

or because suddenly
remembered summer
was sluiced in body

of hot water around
slim ankles–the opening

of every small vein–
rushing to mix with
motes of dying laughter

the very petite and
fragile model of thy self                        " one day when
                                                                     the incorrigible
                                                                     rough noose of
                                                                     Spring has tightened
                                                                     about every gold
                                                                     trimmed loose laden
                                                                     goosenecked whiskey
                                                                     minute of kiss *******
                                                                     between wide thighs
                                                                     tear tumbling and
                                                                     blubber wonderful
                                                                     life shall with death
                                                                     's vacant fingers make
                                                                      a flower of thy body
                                                                      renewed at the lips
                                                                      of thy grave every
                                                                      morning pearled
                                                                      in dew
                                                                                                         "

i am your body,


my hands the

dark hour between

shook cords of blinding day
                                                  ;

cursed
     /
coursing

of curved
hours distilled
          .distinctly

***** heaving
of

tight aroma .  Atoms,

hither thither
bump pumping

white into white hips

fissured

at the breach of

          .

(to you my love to feel
wishing within throat
to fold my most unfolding

into you
the hands
my body (yourbody)

tween shook cords

of blinding day

"We'll start with choking and work our way up to slapping."

each within each
becoming thick
becoming flower

most petals
most aggressively
****** brutal

through smooth throbbing
of broken smoothness:

back little unsquare
hips fully
plush between
chipped fuzz
electrically quivers

with arrow
deeply notched
pink roiling
steepness through
mouth rolling
tongue over

river over
of scarlet
rill

steam drunkly
burst kiss
kissing
into musk musk musk;

(very short swollen and rudely
dancing brokenness of
lips parted over lips
parting to leap
cherrymuss
of motile body
biting bed sheets
not wanting to
"     scream     "

.




























                           Brief,


                         ,

                  Who are

    light dapples o' fingertips
between curling pillars of tight breath

(parting trees;
parting light;
parting chasms

o' touchless yearning space–

                            To
                                feel
                                   To
                                       hold
                                         To
                                             enter

(always light;
always warmth;

  within every brilliant fold of forest–

                           Most
                           tame;

                           Most
                           subtle

                            coil o' resilience,



                                            ,


                          
                             ,



              ,

your lips;   your eyes;   your hair.

.


























































                                                 Winter.
























































.­

tight within

      (release
                     )

muscles that
tense

upon    fiber

music     blu

as with   red
fills

            filled


thick in dark
(between
bars of
sallow
starlight–



                   breath

in inching

columns of


                   sweat
                   sweat
                   sweat;


skybreathinghandsapartkissthighsinsidesplitcurvingdeath

gold

that beneath from
sturdily shouts a girl
in milk as body white

easily

that snipped of barely
perhaps flits enormously
which face is hers

curiously

curling upon
most girlish smile
of most maybe lips

gone

behind quick glass
–and rain started
to fall

it is very soft down here,

the way and

i can barely hear


              (are you talking?

            


                 i love you

Her is




                          some




    some drowsy

myst of being;            a





palpable drift




of



white white white sleeeeeeeep,




from the curt
lips of
dark waters                    



with tense sheen
of dull light



she fits
she slips


1 pill somnambulant


through drunk
through dowsed
coils in scarlet




laying
laying
laying



(in xanadu


           where




k  u   b  la          kh        a              n


a



                ­ s



                  t



                              a




t­               ely




p lea s ur edom edid de c
                                            
                                                r
                                               

                                 e
                                     


                                                e

white dappled easy
O intensely fragrant autumn,
you are the sun who
enormously tilts its brazen

shoulders 'pon the neat
and drowsy mountains. A Titan,
that toppled o'er of bronze,
gild the mute band o' e'r pleasant span;

with pulsed nonsense
of hulking brinded hide,
that wreak'd of tress,
fit where all souls seek to bide:

that wherein all sleeping's never done
(and Virgil comes to lead,
t' whence health's for ever spun           )


                        .

to live which what life beyond being

   (is there some I

stagger up with moonlight
the cool instant breath
of standing hot between
nothing and nothing                            )



vast and vast and vast



that enormous when of feeling the wind
around drunk drinking of the texture of a breath:

collapsing the condescended body of the moon stars laughter just inside the house outside which dreams the world of rain darkness and the impossible languor of health–


the need

the urge

the rush

to quietly pursue books of open girlness;

pages terribly comfortable to grasp and fill within letters of self.







how which we desire what to be perfectly exact of easy being:

the frond which stands strong without tending of hand–

the garden filled with the immense flower of youth.




And never to die,
never to grow old
or weak inside.



(what an impossible thing it is to know; to love; to live                    )

what an impossible thing it is to laugh

The first act of creating oneself is nearly impossible. Being that they must ***** the very plinth upon which all creating is later done–all plinths themselves been built on ever prior ones.

to mix as mixing fingers do
that pleasant scape of cut and hue
could only be by perfect hand–
to spill the sky with food so grand;

for eyes to eat for ever more,
ere come the bleakness: acheron's shore,
where stood is there unlucky crowd
embrace'd of apple from knowledge boughed;

and the lark that fell for un-leaden branch
to stain from souls forever blanch
died to live–immortal make–
when each, our bodies, meet their break

shape that cuts
(girllike)
closely
shaven

with sweetness pressed
alone a little empty

needswants

filling to be

–inside–so mouth;;;

skin love,

hands dreaming on
pert curving of tiny
white white white

she she

"Can


             I


go down on you?"

Do is everything because becoming by the hands of our repeated selves
(or so i'm told by Nietzsche is a really ******* ******* that can't
Kant a **** thing about a thing-in-itself give one flying **** too
many after hours drinking way low into the bottom of some end
i–means–met by the dark absorbing linger of neon around sign
talk talk talking about how Nietzscher'd teach yer about a thing
made of its own ******* will "you **** me or what)"?

wet stoops
wet sleeps
down beside
vibrant hulks
of day into night becoming
a persimmon fleshed in robes
of sweetish musk of raging dark:

that blind canny o' comely marsh
where sweats tallly the brisk frigid
smirk of winter coming into between–

i cannot fathom
nor wonder 'pon a thing more
violent **** or primly stolen
than the absurd tumor of suddenly
which every immense second of life
Is.

and how do i call it?
how do i name it by itself?
is it nameable?
is demanded some strict finitude of immutable logic?
or is impossibly monikered in nothing short of illimitable self?

(and who have I been? have i been myself? where did i begin? and shall i ever end in knowing?)

dying is that a little girl x63
going into dust as from which
came her just sixty three years
ago not loved once within
them or met with the kind
smile of anyone but her old
little cat that just as her within
became as into dust like
(From which they were breathed)
that 63 years ago pile of used to be

the big old quiet of the electric house is somewhere around me humming incessantly with a heater .   a cat is which becomes smoothness neatly into
my lap folding upon whisker self of darting blackness the night outside
which compares with complains with rain through wind and trees my
window against and there is between it all the tiny miracle of a chime


                slowly    .

it's autumn i cannot believe how i am alive again
the trees are and the day
in bits of orange
recedes into dark
fathoms of unday,

i wish my hands held
your hands that like
god hold the making
of every little nice thing

and every little ugly thing
of making inside me though

               –i wish–

how suddenly fragile i was
when we were

even though
we never                        were

. It's autumn

and i cannot believe how


i am alive

feels like nothing that inside which is alone enormously too enormously to be anything felt or unfelt into every corner of being seeps
like a big room
too big
to be
inside
it
feels


                                                      




                                                           alone

it needs to the
constantly always
want endlessly
enough that

never

never

never

never

never

never

never

never

nev­er

never

never

.































































­










              "I used to be so nice."


























































­
















.

she it who little nervously is

most soft
most innocently head

throbbing

between neck and air to be

loved to be

needed to be

wanted of more than body always
can't but to "I guess

we don't have to
tell
my            boyfriend.

i love whose swift wonder is the barely day at absolute neatness of death
when
bones the soil
ribs of shadow softly,

                                                            It

pounces by lean irrevocable muscles of serene nonsense
a forest that
melts as cool toffee,


                                                             Warm

slick easy between frigid bars of darkness leaping
(that where girls are always laughter
and health is never keeping   )

this little gilt feels into darkness more
everyday Pink
emblazoned
on its *** emblazoned
every day
Pink
into
darkness
f
e
els.

quiet


road


between


bending grass

crimson little lake break
where there

          (sigh)

"again"

emits

           twixt


thigh and thigh

           apart

suddenly when

17 "please  ?      "

who writes a poem death that the world calls life God
in inimitable shades of city laughter rain and smelling
with the bulge of incessant betweens where clothed
in the clutched clefted pinch of love all boys are telling

.































































­





























                               "You're just going to die someday."























































­
































.

you the
con is ce

stract

          ab of

hurt *****
too
put inside

    me

thick fingers scarlet

(in a petite lake
of white white white )

you moan
you churn
over your belly
onto your face
"down
***
up
      ."

from somewhere nearby a lark is suddenly
over
the whole dancing mess of humanity
even louder
than is to be the screech honking
of voices car engines
into cringing violence of
increasingly silent manifolds
around the white body
of that birds cracking majesty
it opens its throat and the entire world shuts the **** up

what do dreams meet flowers  ?
whose
             fair

hands seriously complain with

graves straight upright grey
in tight rows    ,

some effulgent rill of daisy
suddenly the earth breaking

the stiff silence of
FALL

.
















































"You can hurt me if you want."



"You're not into it–

I can't do it if you're not into it."







































.

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

pink
that immured
betwixt chaste
cleats of girly leg

the hard ardor
of boyly prism
to wantonly beg

it by pale scythe
of membranous ***** reap

the clean growing
of all tall cane
where reason keep

the unsweet substance
of cool and pensive mind

(but by blood and hot lather
in stupid gouts of
scarlet
needing
bind ).      .              .                      .                           .                                            .

a thorn gently
palm
eager with which
to meet:

red

how inside feels moon
when slight suddenly
****** all nerves

          (tingling)

perched on breath
every vessel rages
with intensely purring starlight


                And
each self wholly vibrates
;teetering;
with brief invincible death.