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?)

the defined of nothing of chaste finite summer,
you of primrose heat
you of whitely stroked youth
you of pale and freckled dumb beauty
you of faultless poppied fields, sick with colour

you, Summer, neat of hands, sticky of lip
blunder sweetness: candied sighs of limp fragrant
earth, Summer, the deepest languor of thy supple
thighs, eat. laugh. die.

terrible. O fleck, downy gusseted
sharpness keenly hidden, cruel
barbed softness coddled sweet
blade of permitting lips, allowed
hurtness of ivory shoulders,
                                                     tremble
                                                                     shoulders
                                                                                        : you wanted (you didn't) didn't you?)
                                                                                          my roughness, Dear, my words
                                                                                          hard(handharder,)Dear: snownecked
                                                                                          doe(white)the neatness of your
                                                                                          body wrecked?the pen dipped?ink
                                                                                          blot spreading?Dear for pain, you
                                                                                          need

                                                                                                         ?you
                
                                                                                                                       ,I

                                                                                                                               ,asked


                                                                                                                                               ,want me

                                                                                                                                 to


                                                                                                            hurt?said you,


                                                                                                                   PLEASE
                                                                                                                                  .

1(first
how came we
to god
           laid in ruby sand
a reticent meadow
of unyielding flowers
where walked i and You
in crisp vagrant unwinteR   . at complete crepitus
                            of illustrious tumors gritty
                            golden loose punish
                            of tawny excelling light
                            so for what to it slinks
habitually
                  atthe root of poppies striking fumble
a smell careening
                              of accurate stemming plunk(the stout muscle of dawn crept stupidly
                up      the
                                   ******* fat
                                            the mountains bridle
                                               with rigid imposing flint
                                gray skin
aaaand
             slowly naked
                            the full and bashful earth

twice as grace
the earth in molded flames
it spake with candor drunk with poppies
bursting unanimously
from his mouth

curl upon my words lady
your fragile strongness

             your
     firm and quaking ultimate mouth

(the hottest slash o' pleasure
leakinginto
                    mymouth
                                     you're)
cheek
          a    n     dcheekbe
                                         tw
                                                 ee
                                                  n
                                           h
                                     a
                             n
                                     g
                                                s A strand o' lace
                                                       and i dig my
                                                       fingers into them
                                                       and pry, by naked
                                                       furious hands, that
                                                       last trace of unnudity
                                                       (and i pull you up to my face(your startled perfect ***)a     n             dd ie,
                                                                                                                                                                                     .
                                                                                                                                                                                         ,

                                                                                                                                                                                  .

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

at a set low evening

                                    (longlean evening)

                                     the city is let out
                                                                  
                                     a distilled yowl

                                     frothing neon
      
                                     glib determined

                                     for skin and the svelte curl of a girl's lips
                                     as i pass her on the street and my lids
                                     flick a smart wink on every inch of
                                     legs sprouted of a waist curved
                                     right at the nicest angle
                                     carving the pallid air
                                     in a short skirt
                                     and has a
                                     mouth
                                     i'd like to get inside of curling on my asIpass wink

up against moon chimney
a city newly fragranced

       SprinG

like quickness sputtering
with young lean night
sinuous with boysandgirls
laughing
                  with each other
at how nice the sun was
by the lake and little crests
of smiles imp their cheeks
(and my cheeks
                            at how
lovely they are and against
springnight young with
them seems even warmer)

autumn your neck is ivory straight unfleecing goldly
and brownly thousands neat, flutter
each gorgeous beneath each
piling drifts swiftly sets
on edge
crisp morning

(who is unstrange gentle and has hair thicker than)

first love,
in whose body
my soul is made,

                                  the whiteness:
                                  your crisply
                                of
                      ­        scent
                            is like
                          when
                        parts­
                      the long
                   night
                     budding
                        the crimson
                     tooth
                   of
                       dawn
                    'pon
      
           the edged back
           thinness of
           mountain hair


(growing fairly towerish
it sprouts
as sprouts the sea
the freshest breath of life
to take by inimitable quavering
the softness of mind to depart
knowing

                      and kiss into

           the sweetness of darkness      (



                                w
            ­                     h
                                 ere

              sleep is
              nice
                              and
        
  ­                  comely wilting snow
                    on the blade of heat
                                     '
                                     ;
                                     .

a
wetly
i
did
shed a
tear
but not so
sad
as
they appear

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;

OF this I,m sure:       my hands

     are

little hammers pontificating on your head
a hard oval split and ******* of your tender blood
i wonder maybe why you don't try(atleast)to move
a bit. shift maybe slightly. but i don't think you can
so i guess

    i    will maybe

          keep maybe

yes(iwill)

               keep gently


    smashingyourface

.                                                                ­                         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.

violent You are like a biggest sound
cloyingly honeyed on my mound of massed
and singing chords
                                         (you are a rose most thorned and beautiful
    i clutch idiosyncratically
strangled scarlet petals bursting
                     a foal i;ve nursed with tremoring pits of bold
gangling and accurate stench

             violent you're a tedium
a lush and decaying growth
         so lightly cancering my cell
and I breath your daily blood                and i whimper first glowering fist

      my hand to take that penitent shape
                                                                            

                and i"ll whisper it



to their chins:
                                   they who art most a mortal folly
as to wade in my
                                        quaking presence


         andi


'              
           ;ll



     sleeep               them                           quickly rushing rushing



               oBliviOn)

o   t      d                 w   to      FRIDAY harbor            w     s
    h                          e                               ­             i        a       o
   i        a       I        n                                            t        s ­      r
s       y                t                                               ­                 t
                                              ­                                     of

                 gorgeous
a peeling ember of light
pomped and glutted
serenely basking
a fleshless
glove                                                of­        light
                                                   ­                  all over the bay
                                                             ­        and twiddling
                                                       ­              my skin
                                                            ­         between the little shops
                                                           ­          i was
                                                             ­        and i was

unsheathe
your soul
show me
your heart

i'm gasping
for air
as i
drown
in your art

i liked the night
         a morsel of arguing light
     with the morose chimney stacks
and gratuitous roofs
they wetted with creamy distilled lunar ****
and whisper beveled nothings
at the screaming silence


  !

little                                                           ­                                                                 ­                                     bird



                                            

                                           the






                                                       ­                             tinly



                           ­                                                         kissing
­



                                                             ­                         of your wings


                                                         ­                             in the always






                                                    ­                                   stooping to kiss






                                                      ­                                  brightly morning are










                                                   ­                                   a perhaps song











                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                    like
        ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                   (little bird)
                                                           ­                                                                 ­                                  the velvet
                                                          ­                                                                 ­                                 pocket of a
                                                               ­                                                                 ­                           violin



















                                       ­                                   rising























­
                                                                ­     chord
























                                   ­                                 'pon























    ­                                                                 ­             chord

























                     ­                                                             to the
























                                        ­                                         slender fragile aching


























                                ­                                                        immeasura­ble pretty



































                       ­                                                                 ­    of sky
















                                             ­                                                forever

i speak let's say i speak and let's say i sing
whatthen?i sing; i say
whitely of your lips
i sing by them
i am lifted by them

they come beneath each foot
they come their strongness leaping
they come, and Dear, you
by them you charge

and Dear

against them Summer's dull

it shines not
it heats not
it feels not sudden or serene

for though it golden rushing thunders
your lips are far more perfect wonders

my i
listens t( 2)o
the night
whisper
w
hisper
w his per

wh is
perwhisperwhisperwhisperwhisperwhisper w
h is
p[
e






r]

there is an old man who is dying inside me
he lies by a pale ocean
his eyes are and mouth mouth crawls with
ladybugs Spring is there
her lips are full of chafe and brightness hangs
about a flower less
petals each into the wind next to a pale ocean
where there is an
old man who inside of me is dying

i'm not impressive
                                                      ­  (and i never will be.
                                                             ­                             .
                                  ­                                                         '
                                                               ­                            ,
                                                               ­                             '
                                  ­                                                        ,
       ­       
                    
                                                                ­                                      '
                         ­                                                          .

superior flavor mingles with arrogant aromas cascading into perception consuming all conscious thought as wet struggles to find its phlorescent strength you bleed every color dripping red/blue/green/violet streams upon the cold linoleum your pale shell the most beautiful thing my i has ever beheld and i want you so badly that every electron in my physical metaphor trembles with such aching desire that i want to tear off all my notions and become a something that isn't

loose shadow skir.t
bough broken light

      pillars

hide our crafty finger
painted cheeks

            (lilting grooves reposit
             shady bones rolling
             grave bound)

we won't be for much longer
so just giveth thy. in verdant
dark flecked chastity

i love
(the feel of)
her
{teeth}

soft islands
in pale ocean

your pink trees

tastesogood

shudder

palest inch of human health
who fringed at the edges with
hurting and raw pink a little
like a tulip on the faintly
murdered hush of caving night
is slick with wetness
                      
                   (petals, stem, and earth)

digs a root into breathless miles
of rich, wanting,

                                  dirt

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
         "

a who
so what
that nays
or nary
a not
a knot of narys
guggled to
from shrill    th
                    roat
                                                            she called the kettle B
                                                         l
                                                              ack

do not go there are trees and how many who knows the world is round in Spring and fat in Spring is the far wonder of somewhere the chickadees of smooth sweltering dolls with their dulleyed limp mouths and they don't say a "******* word"

it came about i graced higgly piggly (to saunter, generally, my flayed marble in the gross determined light( winter specially came upon all the arbor straights slatting it correctly,

in the curious forgetful wings
         of pallid darling sleep
your ******* areso a shimmering
flock of ardent lumps
my humors colic
                                (i twice and 1nce)
my vague and distinct mouth
to huddle on their splendor
my charming and my spit

drizzled with beads
of shimmering light
you cry like a god
as you writhe
in the night

listless golden child
release sweet vibrations from thy
frail lungs to crisp the air with their slender elegance

i know     th  e    loose; puRple, scream
       splattered rent
a vessel bent to sleepy hammers C;rA,sHing

            but in so it was

worn weary thin hipped goddess. A

summer enormously frail fringed and golden
summer arguing with timidity
with youth and tangled
laughter gargling
low streets strung
lights mellifluously
straddle amberly the
nape of silently
and beginning
suddenly light
over asphalt
springs leaping
the mountains over
and
        SpLaSh!irides
                                 of
      3 petals and 3 drooping sepals
    glow gently
   caressed
                          at
       handless *******
       white

               ,

     .

         ,


.

pitter-patter
p i
  t
t    erp     at
t
                er
      pit       t  e      r
p   i t t  e     rp a     t        ter
minute feet
  
                  a s
       l                  h)
  p              
(s

in dappling puddlespuddling
in
half lit
hallways
as grandfather's clock coruscates deep
vibrations through this midnight hour
i
peer
         through
                        the
                             vine
                                   caked
frameless translucent notion of thought
                 onto
the pasture of this my memory
                                                      of
                                  a
           midnight
past




                                                         ;

the splint to mountains trollop
and ecstasy of luminous death
a sunging light is hurdy gurdy
and
            to behind
their rocky stiffened pose
it's a plunging ***** of deeply laughing violet

dying's like
(hot between swift thighs)

a gush
of wires cloven

minglin'
(wit' fingers cloaked in)

the *** of youth's wet sublime

to ***** on the finger of my body

youthere

is a small blood

a drooping bead

           of(hangs



in fracturing silence)

twixt rigidly supple youth
collects(



                    A



                                Bruise




                                                  Slowly



                                                                     Larger



                                                                                                   )





                                                                                  a
                                                                                 nd
                                                                                the
                                                                              moon
                                                                              playf
                                                                             ully is


                                                                   slender




                                                                                            crescented


                                                                 wiggles



                                                                                           hard


                                                                     with


                                                                                           my


                                                                           fingers



                                                                                    tightly

                                                                               in
                                                                                         it

                                                                               SCREAMS

i have felt almost deepness
pouring out ever pore of me
rills of music sweetly
and i am a fountain
of words beautiful completely
unstuttering words
and every one is for you
my dearest and my littlest

            YOU,.',,
                          .
                    .        
                           '
                              ,
                                     '

                              '

                   .






                               ,

every tinyenormous
partial whole
explored
the dawns tide
as night's
fornication(with day)
made a crimson
babe
screaming a vermilion
puddle on
my perception
of
this

so

lovely

a

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.

(dreams)
                  just
                           thickly
                                        and
                                                  copious
                                                                 what like pale
                                                                 towers ascend
                                                                 nights to heaven
                                                                 in which sleeping
                                                                                 fair
                                                                 winds ma
                                                                 gi
                                                                       st
                                                                 r
                                                                      a
                                                                 t       e
                                                                 the lewd buds
                                                                 of lilacs and
                                                                 poppies un
                                                                                     opened
                                                                                                   buds nudely
                                                                                                                        before
                                                                                                             crocuses
                                                                                                                         and
                                                                                                                    between 2
                                                                                                                          sheets of
                                                                                                                                  softest
                                                                                                                               cotton
                                                                                                                                     the innocent
                                                                                                                               sugar petals
                                                                                                                                      of their bulbs cleanly
                                                                                                                              is sundered

that last who goodbye says too quickly is your demure petal in the wind amongst the trees at night
there is sound like living and beetles rustling there is a doe in speckled whiteness comely mounting
the no sound of darkness with a chirp of starlings in the eaves shake a branch from leaves flutter
and magic as thick as girl thighs suddenly.

                                                      ­                   ,

                                                            

                                                        .


   ­                       
      
                                                                ­      '

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"

when admits into me the splendor

           ;(your heart)

by quick immutable prancing cloven love
a shall star

                        (within dumb lips contained)




                         revolt against darkness




                                  A brightness



                              more sweet than
                              bitter less
                              and without limit

                              (honey;salt)


                              Dissolving completely
                              the whole of your breast
                              into livid Spring
                              a bruise


                               and become

                               again whole

                               again young



                                again,

                                    .



                                       ,






                           .

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)

mouth quickly incredible tripping with youth meekly feels
moist, single, and crimsonly accelerates two bent velvet
lengths of lip, mouth, singly imports a kneading on my
short lanks of uncoloured. Dear,

                                                          who small, wan, paleness
                                                          of cheek is writ with the
                                              quiver
                                                          of
                                                                cupid's
                                                                               pricking,

                                                    treads
                                                               of thy nostril, lip, and ear silver
                                                               hangs a curving set of beads from
                                                               thy nose

                                                                                 and the back of your
                                                                            head
                                                                      is
                                                              nice
                                                     under
                                                 my
                                           hand
                                     pressed
                                  thickly
                                 into
                                 cotton
                                  and
                                    your
                                       back
                                         ,which,
                                            slithers
                                              and rolls
                                            says,
                                                      "hello, destroyer"