by the hours' split (and half of that) the wasted marble (her head) discharged, of her oblong thrusting voice, to shamble quickly silence fingers gruffly wringing all the necks of loud and it was also. it was blithe

Darkness,
                                                                                                           in sometimes
                                                                                                           sitting aming
                                                                                                         areing
                                                                                                             ising
                                                                                                                   i'm
                                                                                                             from glades
                                                                                                          of chastely tiny
                                                                                                         beads pink
                                                                                                      about
                                                                                                                my eyes
                                                                                                      immeasurably
                                                                                                              welt slow
                                                                                                    moisture
                                                                                                             at this
         very




























































­

















                       a.

my lady,my lady
when you come MY lady

        all

the skin of my scents brittle
and the nakedness of my soul
is alight in your smooth purity
(stand with me next to the neat
trees) alabaster leaves whispering
a
                        sudden

benediction to your delightful frame.
how? can you be my LADY? what god
blessed me with your careful drug.
                      
                                                        olive
heaven: i love you love me. loving your
                                                     precious

my lady hither coming come hither my lady O,
my lady you breathe so. marry my veins with your
rich blood and take my apprehensions. if an oblivion greets my
crystal smile on the morrow if you were by the side of me
i would welcome it grinning like a fool.

somewhere a boy(at last)in who darkness
uncoils
unfolds drips
down each bone
down each finger
            to each tip
            tingling
            crackles
            the teeming
            camber
            of a girl's
            waist feels
            like sweat
            tastes like tears
            wetness and molasses
            smeared mascara torn
            tights around brief ankles
            a skirt lifted and immaculate heaving cries

'sometimes

         sometimes"
sometimes i am like
                             the
                       crinkled edges immutably
shattered leaves of grass. frail walled
towers quickly evaporated patrons.

i(n the fields comes the pale scythe. call me to
the lady death and number me among her sons.
a new sorrow so ancient unremembered eternal,   )

     sometimes we are like:
the vein heavy throbbing perfect union of skin
i don't want to leave her naked cradle. basking
in the dew of her impenetrable

             somEtimes she is like an ideal
unparalleled goldenbrown olive symphony cascading
rhythm glints onto the sudden gasping heart kiss blessed
cheek i wear worn to her constant lip strokes]

sometimes

                     sometimes

    sometimes i am like the rain

i have heard sleepness confer with night:

                     GIRLS!

what a boy might, like a boy who works
hard at them, like girls.

                                         A BOY

with tall muscles, who works hard at them,
and would like to glide unvicarious
rills of longingfingers up thighs into
bunches of parting cotton,

"
                                                               ­                                                                 ­                  s
                                             ­                                                                 ­                                o  
                             ­                                                                 ­                                                    r
           ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­ t
                                                              ­                                                                 ­                           o
                                    ­                                                                 ­                                                     f
          ­                                                                 ­                                                      b
                                                               ­                                                                 ­     r
                                                               ­                                                                e    
                                                           ­                                                                 ­         a
                                                               ­                                                              t
                                                               ­                                                                 ­        h
                                                       ­                                                                 ­         i
                                                               ­                                                                 ­     n
                                                               ­                                                                 ­ g

                                                              ­                                                thing
           ­                                                                 ­                                    breath gulping leaves
                                                          ­                                                          you
   ­                                                                 ­                                                   stand sternly sweet
                                                           ­                                                                 ­(in night you do)
                                                             ­                                                               y
­                                                                 ­                                                         o
      ­                                                                 ­                                                     U
          ­                                                                 ­                                                         stand neatly
                                                          ­                                                                 ­    between heaven
                                                          ­                                                                 ­                    and aching dirt
                                                            ­                                                                 ­  you heave an errant sigh
                                                            ­                                                                 ­  and thrustward falling
                                                         ­                                                                 ­     eaves you mingle pinkly
                                                          ­                                                                 ­    (your heart stammers)
                                                       ­                                                                 ­        between beauty
                                                          ­                                                                 ­     and i arrive on your
                                                            ­                                                                 ­   naked impossible skin
                                                            ­                                                                 m
                                                               ­                                                            y
                                                               ­                                            own
                                                             ­                                      skin
                                                            ­                        and sweat
                                                           ­                                 r
                              ­                                                           i
                                                               ­                                g
                                                               ­                          h
                                                               ­                                 t
                              ­                                                                 ­     into
                                                       ­                             your
                               ­                                                     clefted heap
                                                            ­                       my ardent
                                                          ­                                sting




                       ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                    '

knees go weak summer very smile

                                                                    

                    spUrts

over: two legs, skinny hips, a mile
of stomach, daintily *******, neck
and a chin(also)above sprouts a                nose

nice how it flush face with
saliently bursts ivory white 'neath
limpid fissures of greenly sharp roundness

(eyes)that flutter, held by cheeks as
smooth and innocently as driven
snow sparkles just a bit in the summer
between the **** hillocks of my
thighs a mouth pristinely admits

      me

who art thou?afraid of death
a blush of corpses figment children.
cadaver smile clean teeth toothy grin
brilliant dim. what a cool darkness;
alabaster skin. skirts all aflutter. the promise of
sleep. in her arms. cold. and! marble and, stiff or
waiting. know it, the dirt precisely.piled.

an affront to waxy apathy. sallow lips. clutch my open oral. tongues mixing;

                                                             how
                      it
                                          is
just there
                                                                 whispering

                          and   meticulously granite straight up. some flowers
for it.
maybe??

did i ever mounds of roses sweetly dew the air and petals of the sun

which eased upon my flesh in minute crimson gasps flitting from

his tousled brow?

the moon did. with unerring prim lips (puckering kissed sore muscles

) flocked and nuzzled up the thighs of night; marching straight up into

weightless heaving moments(whenIfumbledwiththelatchingcleatofyour

barely holding bra and between your ******* i laid one complete self

) my hands, which cuddle every furious cell of

straddle nothing crumpled jilt. i'll sticky light and call you in a morning

i think to starlight i am not strange
(but to men, maybe
              
                                    )because

the day's wife, night, is richly
a girl who wears a colour that
is not a colour but is better
because it has fast hair that
is so with sheen and it is
pearlescent its body is furred
in a trillion minute zeniths
on which i stack my feet
climbing into her mouth my
body becomes 1 of only
an infinite and though i
die i shall again be in her
not strange (a star)

                             but to men, maybe

burst distinct order. the old new's gaining trembly girth in spongy sauntering crawlingand BANG surely nothing's still as moving jitters cream a taunting yes

the quiet always

of death

who leans into us a

          bit more
          each day and
          who's
          ivory
          stillness
                        creeps

death
          who steals

           crisp young

                     petals

                     from

                      inMay

                      trees


death
                      whose
                      leagues
                      upon miles
                      upon fathoms
                      of dreamless
                      shuteyes
                      strengthless
                      and wilts
                      mutest
                      uncolour

                      shall filch
                      meoryou
                      to soon from the other
                      's, unyouthing
                       also, arms

                                                but death never
                                                will conquer
                                                the svelte
                                                instant of your smile
                                                or the unlank verdance
                                                of their
                                                snarling crimson
                                                imping
                                                with my lips
                                                soundless
                                                legions of
                                                eternal
                                                SUMMER

i want to gaze upon
you with my
artificial i

and capture
your shattered
perfection in this:
a digital whisper
to smear over
electric
walls so others
may bask
in your frail
glory

(my sweet nothing
dance before this
lens)

my artificial eye

comes from the earth
a flower roughly
divulges tenderest
colours in early
morning dew lathered
becoming immutable
unbreaking

                      destroys

open me your hands
fists cruelly which
their tightness conceal


                                                  a
   ­                                            Slender
                                                 blade
                                            Of
            ­                                         spring

                                        In

             ­                                                heat.


                      (a cut distinctly of certain cuteness bleeding)A


dolllike limpness
of stiff
cherry breaking.



                                 a branch of sometimes petal bearing stems.

                                                  (a kiss and roughness)

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


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

nary the further root(nor nearer neither)shoots
reaching similar jeering your carnal fold whoops
a crown of pink, whose gentler thorns enshrined
the meekest cruel sweetness of with mouth combined
posits a slender abrupt howl from the heaving
noose of abdomens 2 backed seething
(a beast twained)
or so sayeth William

i never was a star
nor fell
nor in your eye
did a glimmer of me
gleam
               yet

i loved thee
O and how i did
i loved thee so
like because April rain

loves the skin of just flowers
hardly stems
with green and aching verdant
murdered night

where supremely reigns the
coy hush of shook heavens
purpled tears

O i, who loved you, did
like that improbably
like
next to a river
where you sat
wide perfect nose
bent 'pon the distillation
of a rose

who like you
beautiful
crimson lipped
bore a snare
on which wells
the split flesh of my palm
also

              crimson rain

hurt: he's
a boy

waiting. A boy waiting and
he's
hurt
between

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

and(sometimes))he's
a boy)

between rib and lung(



hurting,

         .

            '

         ;


               .



      ,




                      .




            '

in so night pert stings of

           (pouting *******)

where laid a finger's boy
(his whole)
trembles nothing
quivers on the aching crush
of finest ribs
     just

spindles hardly distend
in cambered hush

impatient, smiles

through
               )running forests
                i am galloped leaping
                (step before step after
                climbing the air swiftly
                to the moon creeping
                over every wind quaking
                bough) spontaneous
                twinkling tinsel enamors
                completely the smooth
                satin cheeks of darkness
                upon lightness
                quivering
                absolute small unfamiliar
                newly cheeks embossed
                with sparkles furiously
                                                           where
                                                                       i set myself totally
                                                                       fornicating
                                                                       with every drab miraculous
                                                                       muscle
                                                                                    of a night
                                                                                    wholly
                                                                                    drunk
                                                                                    with flesh(

perfect light, LittleSoft: like) skin;
(hands talk
beat pale darkness
against rocky
edifice

like

ness

:i

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

i nearly do think

               and dream upon

the wiggling human stuff
the chaff and bile
the sugar and kisses

       i neatly do collect my

unmean thoughts on the
elliptical burning teeth
of life(wherein reposed
days are languished
and animated)i take

                each trembling

hollow vesicle of common
people things and crop
about them me and my
particulars

                    i
do think and bumble
i marvel and revile
(and i should think
after knowing
                          but i
                                  don't
                                          know
                                                 A thing)

stars that should falling
my hands extended
to catch you breaking
light will curl you
on them in a pile spent
of completely lilies
shall incredibly endow
by momentary
perfect invulnerable
love a crimson
dash of roses to again
lift thy supple
marvel up on heaven
shining so stars
that should falling don't
of anything fear
i'll with tenderest palm
eat the thorn that
would ***** thee and
spend my own
blood instead of thy
own conflagrated
O stars that should falling

i
sweetlycrimson those
             c
            h
              e
            e
              k
            s
of a porcelain daughter
              h
               a
              n
               g
               i
               n
             g
in the splendored languor
  of a sugar light
dusting her
  with a powdered kiss
exact t
         e
       a
          r
s
rivulet down her soft landscape
           i give my
sinew strewn arms to a clutch
about her gentle a
                                 r
                                   c
                                  s
as her quavering tremble
gasps

a

broken

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

thathathathathathathathat
perfect
perfect
perfect
perfect
i
n
kee­ps me in
-side its enormous tiny
ica
n't say noto
those folds
-avage
flavor
that perfect pink

your hands in sunlight have often been god. And

i

have often been in love with them the way
they coilsome the body of a cup
in summer when or
(in your lap)
outside a café

neatly

you laugh

and your hands
(in sunlight)

86 boys jeerless laid in the earth today
86 boys unlaughing
86 boys white
86 boys skinny
86 boys laid in the earth today

(i stood and watched them lay a shovel against them 86 boys sleeping
in sharply frozen wilted hands of almostwinter 86 boys went into the
earth today i stood and watched them lay a shovel against them

when i've tripped a star
whole over night
the silver flinging
of its crispest muting has

a daughter shed
of lightness
eyes its
their
teetering upon
perfectly easy winking

and her hands are so
they feel like
like when
night is so long
and hot it
stifles moving into
a pinch of stillness contained

by the exactness of my square room
struggles to retain

that lovely burning
o' 'er
splendor splitting

wings so gentle
i painful pinning

have neatly to keep
their body's wonder
to my sheets

sweat so glowing
as like the yowl
of dying day
it cleaves easily
darkness

and it rises 'pon
love after
love it
soars

when feels driven by some impulsed curing
of day into swift clumsy night i

am flung by silence

into the only mystery of love a spangle
tinly which ekes from splendor
slowly tumbling over end over
between the ******* of thing girls


           A finger of light

(cooing)i


                      a breath shake



                                       from



lips hotly tight in coiled something
furstroked and lurid with my lips
part (destroying)


and bruise into white

a fist of painful.      

                                    Uncurling

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

2day glass
through heaped sunlight
dusty
accumulates a second
when fair meticulous
paws stir
                (claw and whisker)
bunch and unbunching
deftly
shatter lilting
minutest bobbles

did you ever reading unbearably beautiful suddenly
fall out every letter or words even really tiny and
without sound stumble up into air cringing
with evening's unsharpest light

                                         i

lufrednow ylpsirc srettel ta yletinifni nageb i did
   snuon sbrev ecindoolb gnuls sdrow derettefnu
              gnixommulf meht revo thgir llef i ylevol
                detanhcne yllacigam yesorpnu yleritne

youth lived harder passing into unyouth
your hips something nice are full and easy

(they are curving

they have docile sleeping entering


they are wide have thickness firmly steep

                                                                          )

like them better apart and better doused
in my kiss agile slanting heaps of love
and hips,baby,they are some kind of
tiny perfect entering curve of sleep
me and please come into (you like
to pull me out and)

made just for me
          (young   skinned heart)
                 please loaded voice
         beg a clutch o
                                f
  so lacy palms scraping denim sheathed
thighs.
                                                                   every
vestment ripped serenely. sensual laden edifice.
i know only this valley invited in: i travel gentle
grooves. & so if wanted i will give your canvas
               my crimson
                                         stroke.

slee  ep.  .   .

              
                though

             you
                   are

                           awake


i am alive in you;


      (in thy body–

          and amongst thy leaves

            i am naked and fragrant )



i am touching the cool spine
and the cambered wrist;
lightly mute, **** and bruised
with dark veins.

your cheeks are pale;
your eyes are soft–
hugely brimming
with neat darkness.

you come over the mouth.
you hold the breath
between delicate fingers.

you are nearly kissing,
each nearly moment of body.

you move with quick slowness:
never rushing,
never uncarefully treading.


((s l ee p..   .

though

         you are alive;


i am awake in you.

                                       )

                                       )

when

ithink

on that idea
that is
me

i

question its
validity

what"I"dois everyday i wake up as differently as every other
morning i've woken samely a different person than every other
morning i've woken similarly the same difference that was
similarly differently the same as every other morning i've
woken this same way iswhat"I"do

would , maybe someone , inform me as to why
fleeced in morning's fiercely nimble glow
a flower might, undead, livid, 'gainst the neat
stomach of sky crackle stunningly minute
yellow
                  and roaring

                                             with intense fragility

be right next to my hip and with the 2 red, and a black, dots
of an ant scurrying across the span of a barely petal;gleaming
deliriously apt with colour)smile, a wan, nolips grin and
that that it might be Spring in a whole bright day clothed
in a seamless cowl of grey; the general blade of sky might,
like a leaf of grass, leap from heaven into my chest

               staggers
          ;
tumbling into domineering noon) and that I: ridiculously living, might
witness such an instant incredibly perfect. Dying
                                                                                        ?

.































































­














                                                  ­                         Tell me I'm a ****.



























































­














.

a dancing shadow widely spectered an obtuse blot 'pon bedroomed wall. or slightly also melancholy: it's rigided amorphousness stank of hollow

at last again the dying

(this prickish

         the soft and)

Spring is to hotter

(body are

            the


                  more     )

become in Summer


        


          (a tongue)

of such heatness to move
articles of fun
to disdissemble gorgeously

they

's

shoulders fiercish cumly

and they's

muscles pointed
waists
attenuated
to hipish
widely spend


(that where

where spends

my wonder

to wonder where

what under there

is what underwear

                                    )

think
i hope
it's
skinny

it's
thin
neon easy

to "please"
too "please"
hot too
"please" to

remove please

on your knees
(please?)


in Summer where
under there
wears
an itchly urgish
to bare

the clefted fold
in freshly cloven 'air


in (the)
dying (Spring time)
the (only) pretty (ring time)


When Birds Do Sing

i've some power fingers terribly monstrous
knuckle deep in

hair too,thickhair

in bunched fist

strung tighter

pulling
pullling tighter(and from where parts

monsters powerfully

                                        

                                          )


wait instantly unsleeping
at a little slick with spit
lips between lips barely
teeth press and press and

monsters (unsleeping instantly)



                  ReleaseD

i think you,
when the world
(easy with roses)
speaks a hymn
like the mute
crushing of
parted night,
will rise beyond your body
to sing with fierce grace
your hands as lips to speak;
such love (even the roots
of flowers have never known)

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

i can hear

(and outside)

painfully it's rain

(and wintering)

i can hear.

I know I tell you this all the time, but I love you so much. I'm so unbelievably thankful to have you in my life. You are the most perfect woman I have ever met.

I know you are sleeping right now, and I know it's the most beautiful thing on this earth, because I have watched you sleep, curled up next to me. The neat calmness of your face, the way your hair falls across your cheek–I love it, I love it so much.

I want to be prefect for you. I want to make you happy and fill every moment of your life with joy.

I feel stupid. These words just aren't what I want them to be. I wish I could truly tell you how much I care about you, but I just can't seem to put it the right way.

You are always within me. You are within my blood and soul. You are within every pulse of my heart, every lash of sunlight, every strain of laughter that passes from my lips.

I'm going to do my best to love you and treat you with the care and respect that you deserve. I know I'm not perfect, but please know that I am trying to be better.

I wish I could kiss you. I wish I was laying next to you tonight. I wish I could kiss your brow, and nuzzle you with my nose. I wish I could lay my hand across your skin and feel the heat of it pour through my skin.

Sleep softly and soundly, my love. I will think and dream of you tonight.

I hope you read this in the morning. I hope that some small amount of what I want to say comes through this to you.

I will think about you tomorrow while I'm at work. I will imagine the feeling of your hand in mine. I will remember the warm smell of your chest. I will think of you and love you, and my love will guide me to work hard and honestly. To do what ever I need to do to make our life as good as it can be.

I love you so much. Sleep well. I can't wait to see you again.

i was 23 in the middle of winter there was a sound like creaking the whole world was hot and nothing was at the same time everything came stiffly in your mouth and you




                                                      swallowed