miles away(go)
by

clicktrain by

     clacktrain or

bybusby or

        car


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

One thornless rose)its
stemwhich
thoughthornless
hurts to feel fingers

keep these hands alive in your hands; that they walk and breathe; that their skin becomes downy in the spring, and from them spears love-roots of dark grass, filling over the hills and meeting with the excellent night their shining bodies.

live, love and smell the rich perfume of your lovers hips; meet and again touch with them your cheeks, and delight in them–the coil of their heap.

they are with your body, and to touch another's is a great privilege–and i know it.

wander and know the nape of them; laugh and extend your blood into their own.

invite their inspirations into your own breast, and make with it one respiration.

they are cool and wonderful between the ears; they are soft laughter and stupid giggling; they are the arcuate sleep of a rose thorn–deeply within your skin.

know and love them.

hold not back your laughter, nor praise, nor joy in their clutch.

touch, ramble, delight in the visceral perfusion of their mouth and kiss.

what avarice it doth crAVe so greatly in the odor of gold so a flavor is guilded our minds and we make our arms for it so we may hold more, i loved the dawn. gold enough for




                                                                        






                                 i

there is no living which is not dying

how would i know claw or feather(myself or myself). there's me only and also me. like claw sharply or feather downy.
me and me also. that's what i am like. both neither or either.

i again return myself to hands of thoughts and returning again i arrive and look on them.
and they are wonder.
meekest starting; hulking ending. they begin and they rush. they end and they abey.

not so nearly as a frond, more like a leaf, just new and trembling on his mothers arm.
i dance and i am collected.
i repose and i am disheveled. i am cluttered with words mostly. they collude like

grass fresh in springs nicest wetness on early mornings(they gleam and enamel
me). my stuff and my
artifice. they are the magic of person, of which i count myself amongst, and am

counted by. i squish their numbers and margins between my toes when i walk
on balmy summer nights
through soakness caking through my shirt. the dew of god's breath enamors.

and pleases the senses. such aromas(which waltz from buds opened in the silverset
moonlight)confuse
and collide me. i like how they smell. they are richest and fullest health. on the breeze

they mingle and bumble perfectly. they arrive and taunt me. i stand by lakes(wreathed in them)
and i would eat them
as soon as smell them. stem and berry. loch and grove. these things are innumerable(and terribly

few). how do i reckon them against me? but just bones and flesh i wonder on their bodies.
i note them and i bring
them into me and place them in my soul. they, like sleep, are posies and fancies gorgeous.

i ramble and i elicit. i trundle and i fathom. i look on people and i see them busy and
infinite. they progress
and urge. they collect and they divide. like oceans. each's a droplet and a whole.

they make me and i make them. i know me by them. and how shall i any other way?
and them by me
they know themselves. we are bound and seamless. i lilt and i think on them.

sometimes foolish i think. other times i'm so in wonder at each infinite self i nearly tumble
out myself.
and where does the truth lie? both of course. nothing was ever one thing. except for exactly

what it is. except for when it's not. then it is another thing. which is exactly what it is again.
i think and sing.
but i'm not knowing. i've never been. i just flit and prattle(i am the wind; i touching nothing

leave no trace).

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

                      destroys

what stands the sea on completely edge?

the roots of mountains very deeply into keen waters steaming. (like boysmen


at the shriveled inch
of girl *******



                                          )like
      ­                                        ,
        
                                            like      .l

      ­                                                    i

          ­                                                k    e the way intensely quivers
                                                         ­           grass to grow
                                                            ­        in plumes o' green and waxy

                                                           ­          the way smells
                                                          ­           the teeming
                                                         ­            of a city
                                                            ­         harshly
                                                         ­            into
                                                            ­         1
                                                              t­hgit
                                                            ­laturb
                                                          ­fist              
                                              ­        swelling
                                                ­                  to strike

                                                         ­   . A meadow where sleeps girls in the colours of Spring,



                
                                     ­                                                                 ­     '



                                                            ­                                                ,








       ­                                                                 ­                                    .

lucid light
you're
far
too bright

i'll slit
your
throat
and
drink the night

in whose body fits most easily Spring: youth adorns


(petals full; stem with thorns)

Either is the sun a bloodless folly trapped behind the mask of clouds? Only whispering its voice in errant brushes.

.                                                                        like stars

                                                                         first nubile pins against darkness

                                                                         subtly quavering against darkness

                                                                         i tread amongst your hair over

                                                                         mountains i quickly unsheathe

                                                                         my soul and touch, by lewd drunk

                                                                         fingers, just the canny ribbons

                                                                         of your spine and cambered

                                                                         in my palm it does exactly the

                                                                         very painful beauty thing

i
  by
      the perfunctory
             noose of sleep
             am a dream alive
             with a gallon of ladies
             languid ladies in nothing
             at all ladies who taste like
             cinnamon and sugar and
             stars they taste like stars yes
             they taste like like salt and just
             a little bit in their secretly folded
             lust they've got a sweet tiny dish
             of in their betweenhips they've got
             madness and howling and a darling
             pink as bubblegum far nicer to eat than
             but you don't chew it you just use your tongue

by what courtesy of some small voice does the city speak,

little and so much

it says, "by the way have you seen the old man in
his tired skin,

goodbye,

waiting next to the young drunks so loud underneath they are so loud and not a whisper can escape ,  "

the city, and it talks too much it

cannot be heard

over its own
voice
          .

from a long girl, drinks a glass
of some short chilled evenings
ringed in dapper night coming
purple, big, over everything her
fair lunging breath in flowers
sweetest smelling, dark, and
sleeping. pollen, laughter, ice
in a long girl, drinks a glass of
smoother softness in slow
light, dying, faster than a
short chilled evening (next to
a somewhere park, trees, and
a dog barks

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

there are so many me's
which shall
i
ware
today

(?)

so                                                                                                                       into
this flaking night           we   went                pl
                                                                                             u
                                                                                                          
                                                                                                      n
                                                                                                         g
                                                                                                           i
                                                                                                           gn
(of winters throat )
the sallow column
                                          ofwho,sneck
i'm a gently kissing

wind?(do you complete      
                                                
                                          the night strangely
                                                
     ylteews come sreferp  
                                                
                                          hairlipped blue eyes and satin
                                                                  
     gawking dellips hair          
                                                    
                                          with downy sable
                                                                  
                ruf  wired  dna          

                                           split
                                           eagerly
                                           thighs
                                            )

                                            A ****** parenthesis(waiting to be filled

.


















                                                              i would **** even stars































                                                                                                                                                                               .

petals tinier of spring silken wet
doused of pink innumerabley
minute death litter the banks
of a river where reeds bending
in wind laugh breath grow die

              by

the quick ankles of deer who
in downy copse eat the blood
of earth and startled by the
rustle of foot and twig straight
burst out bounding their skin
taught and lathered in spring
tiny minute dying spring by
petals silken and wet

the you the

      that

the

       totally

(which intensely does)                  Curve


upon curving
the twist of
some adamantine
hips collapsed
in one fatal crushing
of hushed nudeness                        Arrive

by mute girlness
of parting self

(where sleeps faultless
legions of boyness to kiss
with the waxing
of their paired moon
some wet keenness of bliss)

life: instantaneous impertinent eternalwhose tedious aroma i'm madto eat life of screaming mute intense fragilitya flower most able of petalsupple and vibrant liferugged rough svelte and lushlife in each singing morsel i exalt thee with every effort of my skill

Of her, the softening strength of hair her minute bowl of light is so majestic. Cleverly upon her shoulders and making little creases her lips break the flaccid cheeks and. Maybe I will kiss them

wh O o         Sh       ! ) the sun sprechen
a malleable droplet
of porous handles
meandering careless clumps o
               f
                                                                 a and the ghost
        of spectral
                                          mouths ephemerate
delightful femurs
                                   loaded sensual creamy morsels
some alabaster muscles singing sordid

            or a too short skirt
                                                          i can'

t              kept my skin
         burning cherry infatuating scald
i barely
              am
  real
                               at the
           pursed
                                                    eternity

          of
                                thy immense
     finite
                                                                                   coffin

what R,a;In doth make
                                       this hollow sOn


              quaking of

daughters(unflowered)                                  .     ­             buds open


           craving a tenuous meting  of flesh

you,ll find some agreeable. who shalt salt your petals.


    little whims

                                                         y  :



(your sugar is sour)

tonight


                 walking


     i see


in

                   the


passing

                 tightly

     gusseted


                      human things


a very small pretty

        which

is in their lips


      hiding till their


lover turns


        (whispering sweetly nothing)




       or laughs abruptly children



          causing one causeless


         unnecessary grin


    to perch instantly


     ) the wind against my coat


     presses coldly



               November and.

1SummersLastAgoI
                                  t
                                  snapped
                                               o
                                               pen
                                               o
                                               ut
                                               t
                                  deldnur         st o
                            the                   e          f
               vaulted          r                            beautifully
      eaves              o                                                        sallow
      o                f                                                                        throats
      f         a                                                                                   thatched
                                                                                                          with
                                                                                                              rushing
     s
       k
          e
              ins of ROSES neatly dull in piles of singing crimson almost small o
                                                                                                                                  r
                                                                                                                             o
                                                                                                                         ffseting
     asymmetrical stemless bulbs adorned with ruby petals
dew damped with shining shimmering goblets of the dawns ******
jewels crackling sternly perfect glitters on the robes of light the roses dumbly
wear on howling green silence. that is that it was most quiet (and greenly freckled reckless hours) those mornings when i would rise and sup upon the supple lash of freshly murdered night.
                                                                  ;
                                                                   ' ,
                                                                , '
                                                                    '
                                                                      ,
                                                            ,


                                                                   '

shall die who not
of Spring always?

not grass or leaves.

not the sea or
the tragically rapid
wings of
hottish wind.

not the rocks
or the
trimmly light locks
of crimson eve.

not the fit splendor
of the night
or (the who)
of, "why not?"

when shyly asks
of boys, girls ,
to part them

(in twain of pleasure's hutch
  

   )         (              where



      ,        like of Spring        ,


dying is not so

as vermillion becomes of touch     )

kiss fingers hotly each
march wise
silked in
the fair health of autumn dying

(dying autumn lives so
dying and it hotly
body decays in petals
of orange and brown) up

leans the quick back of
and a mountain suddenly

where thickly flits a doe

between trees dying
she.

the and

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

all things build slowly

slow building

into 1 slowly,

all build

all say 1

1 say all

into 1 say

all building

all slowly

all say

all 1

1

o to speak
o to speak and sing
o to speak and sing aloft
o to speak and sing aloft a moment
o to speak and sing aloft a moment hung
o to speak and sing aloft a moment hung in night
o to speak and sing aloft a moment hung in night and dreaming
o to speak and sing aloft a moment hung in night and dreaming (mysterious sublime evil)

and to kiss every flower's little fist

scent sweet
scent sour

completely of petals clefted and parting

clefted and parting emits
to wreaking dawn a babe

a babe of green and many
green and many and soft

soft and many and green (a babe)

a babe mysterious
a babe sublime
a babe evil

(SPRING)

make for me a glimmering speck
in the folds of scarlet chambers bruised beating
capillaries splitting puddles of purple
writ on its sleeves; i it seems (and strangely iam)
oddly are. more different is the cool love of sun
for earth. his wife. whom he does pleasure every day
a tongue of infinite light wrapping her every
curve and sin. s
                           o
to is this how i shall love your delicate mechanism, every cog
placed lovingly in balance to bound deftly upon my eyes inall
your correctness; you piece of lightening affront death with
the majesty of tremoring *******. hot tingling fuzz shocking
my fingers: you are neatly piled blooms of ancient fruit
who doth etherise my sanity with the pushings of your sinew

&


                                           laying
                                          in(justskin
                                                             you there
                                                                                  just are
                                            a lot
                                                 o
                                                  f
                                                               what i like to kiss

blood monthly baby
you're so copper

        (and tang) baby

you taste a little bit
like glitter baby
you taste like sugar
and pain
dear you taste like
a petite river of gold

(you climb down into
my mouth dear
and past your lips
clean digs straight
my probing practical
tongues invulnerable) your

hot scarlet drinking
bold **** baby
(i like it when your
tips barely nails
,almost cutting my
scalp nails,
pull me even tearing
deeper
             into
                    you
             )

o dear meeting you was o dear i can't say it wasn't hard to speak it wasn't so hard to i can promise you that it wasn't to hard to speak and because dear your muscles and because dear your skinny wrists and because dear it wasn't hard to talk it wasn't and dear at meeting you it wasn't because:


                                    "for all the pouring of my lips contain'd:
                                     (the words of my body) were
                                      ,by your lips,
                                      in defeat retain'd."

i d
on
't
want your
words

give me your
(sound/taste/touch)s

they say
so much more
than your
oral
vibrations
ever
could

wHat   I          love         most :

i s  the delicate dissection o
f my oppositions to the manifestations
o
        f her *** heaps. pleasantly under. and calmly.

the 1st blushing of the electric fuzz mound. (and flush)
stroke bashfully the grandest affront to death.
         and                                

beneath my fingers is your course love stroke fur
                                                                            guiding the
                                                                     quick machinations
meshed precisely.

                                  i         am            nothing
             without you. and hideously.

i have always wanted to write a poem that
thin wristed

smiling at stupid jokes

with hair tiny thousands dark

wanted to listen to French jazz on Saturday mornings

.



































                                                                                fly













                                                                                                                                                                          .

coldly biting beautifully night your neat painful skin when with my lip parted softest child meets makes a rapid tinly uncoiling crystal nimbus who catches in the amber poolsof your still naked body's streets

that came in a pale dress(blue)and without fingers
feeling every bud tightly closed
                                                          :
                                                            NIGHT
there's room enough
                                           just
in you for me
                              and your dress is sheer
and barely
                       i argue with it
practically because i want to
marry our skin
in2 1 body (yoursandmine)ours

                    i'll ask your ear how it likes my mouth

hot and
      
                             kissing

i'll hang it with my tongue and breath

                          i'll

with no clothing naked and vulnerable
let you have every inch
of every inch
(and i'll feed you a river of me)

that comes in no-thing
                               body bare and wanting
                               of rough hush
                               NIGHT
                               (and without feeling) fingers

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

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

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

love (notlove)

i think you cruelly

i think you distinctly perfumed of hair

lavendermint (jasmine) stars and night                       think

you smell like cheap, cigarettes, coffee                        think

and you taste like cardboard dust and                         think

(linger ultimately fatally clinging) smoke                   think

lovenot love you i                                                            thin­k

but so comely smooth olive (skin)                                think

unthink             ­                                                                 ­drink

come in to me, your heart
and mingle intensely
(the muss, my fragrance)
thy nostril flared

deepishly to inhale:

the pistil


(Love's rose bared)

heart, it's
by you the

     such does:

rainfingerskissingsunlight.     the

**** gentle,

and the winsome easy.


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

into the crisp tumult
of cringing heat

my hands to make
(in your nakedness

    ,trembling,

)a coo


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


**** baby

i want to
fill you, and

please       not

to hurt you when,

baby,


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

stave the eagerness
of rain

to


pour.

of you there is me just a fraction
which though a fraction just does
multiply wonderfully spilling you
full of a hard incessant easy thrill

(a pink headed girl whose perfectly
folded hips are suds completely of
my hips eager to feel their droll hammer
)
  
                                                                        behind a restaurant
                                                                        murdered of thought
                                                                        she divides uncanny
                                                                        thickness a nice ******
                                                                        impetuous tattoo on
                                                                        her neck tastes like
                                                                        the rude blithe mystery
                                                                        of life performed in
                                                                        rhythmic cadence
                                                                        with just a fraction
                                                                        of me which just
                                                                        though
                                                                                       only
                                                                        a
                                                                        fraction

                                                                                     multiplies

you

you are

you are a

you are a mess

y ou area mess

yo uaramess

y o u
a re a a messssssss
       you r mess
    ssem are you
me youss rae
e
    r   a
m   e
    s
y
    o
u       mess
    you
mess   are
  ss a r
e  e a me
e y
u      ar
me
you are me

"Unfortunately, in reality, it doesn't really matter how you feel on the inside; it's what you project outwardly that has meaning. No one can look inside you. They cannot see or hear what you do not divulge. You are entirely in control of the way people perceive you.

Speaking and giving off of yourself is the most powerful mechanism you have in your hands. You can get the things you want and control your life simply by adjusting what's on the edifice.

You can be a ****** up wreck on the inside, but as long as you do not let this out, as long as it is not perceivable in your character, no one can know.  

In fact, to the contrary, you can, despite these feelings, build an image of confidence and power. This is what others come to know, and this becomes the shared reality."