the world
(who shall by nothing easily break)
will eat the seed, my body
and of it forest make

where shall girls
in little nothing
wander

                  lithely


(a tiger amongst
                                )
and foals will
burst their mother's womb
and life will breath
from even dark-set tombs

the world fits most easily in rain between
the close thighs of light
eking just slenderly

one ephemeral rill of ****
penetrating
to eagerly spill
dawn.

                 (the though world
                   in rain fits just
                   in just the loose tenseness
                   of muscle unbounding
                   from bone, wide
                   )with
                    a sliver
                                of
                            neat

                     ssenlriG

but rivers(like children laugh and run
the whole earth over)they are a smarting
riots of purest fornicating waters
they with the land do
they push into the
dark rich earth
their awl
and
they sigh
at the nape of
my yard i hear
them back there
and they have so little
perfect whispers and secrets
they tell them to me and i get into
the smallest parts of them and they
make me more than the imperfect changing
spit and blood
                          those rivers
                                                are
                                                      beautiful

"I guess–I don't know–underneath it all I'm just a romantic. I've loved (I will always love), and I suppose when I'm dead someday that will only be what's left: some vague echo of a moment I shared with someone. But really, and truthfully, I loved them in that moment.

And I will live, who knows how long, but I will live and I will carry in my heart those moments. The tasting and touching of those moments. I will hold them in my heart, and in my own way, I will always love them. Each one. Each moment and tongue.

It is sad and it is wonderful–that I got to have any of them at all, and that I got to have none of them. But that's probably on me–I'm not always the best person.  

I don't know, I guess I'll just keep trying. But please know I loved them. All of them, in their own way.

I'm sorry for who I am. I'm sorry if I ****** up. I just wanted to be happy. I just wanted to taste someone's skin and live.

Maybe tomorrow I'll die. Who knows.

Anyway, I love you. Goodnight."

lay in me your heart and
i will lay in yours mine i
will take yours and part
the petite strain of your
song and put in it the
sound of my finite kiss
i will carry you in my
kiss and i will imp
its fluttering cure to
your slender back i'll
put under your wings
the hot breath of my
heart will lift with each
pulse it will raise you
up to my mouth and i
will coddle the blithe
splendor of your wan
tousled comely fragrance

(you are like forest in Spring
you are full of magic and
you are young new fragile
between a Saturday and a
Sunday you laid sleeping
and you laid in my heart

         yours

in dawn there's brightest whitely
drawn darkest from corners
it pulls tightly at one fat hard
point
and over mountains brinded
sleeping
                 it
                        explodes

i got so many beautiful

   (words and Dear
          hands, Baby)

they just want to breaking
leap across the chaste ugly
winter a sting of poppies
into her steep heart bury
their roots and climbing
them shout from clenched
colours warmth as you
have next to a sweating
Summer lake been curiously full of

O life, darling fatal life
gives of cloven earth
in vagrant summer
the pretty tempest of
because girls
rust centered, copper hewn
in sundresses
on a street corner
the lipping span
of deepest health

erupt gradually a forest
of my limp and eager throat
green ponders waifish

sun
i l o  v  e U pretty
         U golden sticky flare
    U stick up in the sky
lazy sun i, U, love
                                your neck and bones easy
so sleep and hideaway
     in my chest
your soft and amiable bobble
(i'll keep you in there
and you'll keep me warm)

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

L
     )
          



       e
         a


      f


        :


            U

                f
               l
                i
               ck
            e
              r


                 U(
                fl
         u
     t     t
er1f
       r
       oman

                 y2

                   on
                    ea
                   r
           t

              h


               )


                  (


         (
                     )
                       me

,only don't hurt   me)  
                                          
please cuz          you  
even still                  i
                                      
though for        ages            
                                        
and for         though    
                                            
cuz                 please        
a year and almostA
                                      
since felt you          i        
                                      
little and          small              
                                      
even                  many
black with   cropped      
thousands        softly
coiled in my  handss
you                       cuz
a year almost it  was
cold like        outside
novembering     Rain
now though cuz      a
year             ALMOST
octobering           and  
                                        
even                though
a year almost       still
lingers (though now)
small                 many
still                  lingers
your smell in       my
nostrils
                     instantly
recalling           when
(outside        juneing)
sun you me         and
Oregon  every  night
drank plum       wine
and                  ******
(I'm writing to    you

i wonder what death i'll wear when the soft scalpel of flaying darkness visits the veneer of my stocky bones. i maybe think i'll touch the vale and tear an onyx breath by cleverly decaying lungs, who by swift retracting fascia i'm a pulsing ***** of health. We'll all go there, lay in her soil bed, and unmotion unfinite..
                                            .

there will be a movie in it there will be you and me and a young house and laughter painted walls
and there will be ladybugs and kittens and children and board games
and long sleepless tedious nights when you and me can't

and there will be hot stupid moments when we feverishly devour the other
      and there will be perhaps Spring and winter won't care because she never did
            and your family sometimes will be there and they will
laugh with us
                          hard at how pretty we
                             are in our young house
                              in a pretty little neighborhood
                            ******* sometimes
                           in the kitchen
              or
                         the couch
                                               or the
                                       back porch beneath the sabled rush
                                           of infinitely cute little spangles
                                                like the cute little indents you got
                                                   over your ***
                                                     deep and shallow
                                 and
                   tiny
                           kissing
                                             them
                                       in our
                                    pretty shiny house
                                 new
                      young
                                 and
                             with kittens
                           and laughter
            

     there will be a movie in it there will be me and you and a young house and there we'll call it

                   life

i just like writing. i like it. i write and it comes flooding. it blows exploding breaths from my tips. my tips of fingers. it flies across them enormous and tiny cylinders. it comes out them and it gets stuck in my brows. tangled they spark ardently and they crowd heaven. they construct and they crowd it. and did you notice how i touch each one ably. i deftly kiss each letter and they flutter whole seas of wings. i don't know why
i should be in them. i'd not thought them pretty till i were already so loving their shapes and forms i'd not raise from sleeping if i couldn't feel them. but now i do. and they are never from me. they are always hot
and squirming in me. but i can't like what i make. it would unmake it. unmake their pretty and their deep.

little i who?(little eye you)

         of stem straight

unbroken

                   wreathed in dew

petal pretty    ,    come    ,          and new

the earth lean,

                                    the body true


                                                          ­         a colour virile

                                                         ­              wearing view
                                                            ­        
                                                        ­    (strange, dearly,
                                                              un­couth flower
                                                          ­     fleet of scent
                                                           ­     tumbles thine
                                                           ­      flesh with mine
                                                            ­      lip and lip
                                                             ­      crotch, with vine
                                                            ­        fresh barely Summer
                                                          ­           the produced heat
                                                            ­          of thy
                                                             ­          downy muss
                                                            ­            is wiry dark
                                                            ­             short hair and
                                                             ­             of tastes sweat
                                                           ­                salt, long nights, not sleeping, and between thighs: caffeine

city, i have not
for summer been in you,
as snared by
sleeping careful ivy

the surge
and hush of pairing
day emitted
from,

a long opaque
beauty
thats cough is a
dark blossom
holding dim
studs of barest neon

something more than infinitely lovelier

for though summer
i have not been in you

          city

as snared by ivy
sleeping carefully

that fragile instant dream
of when your body smallest
and supple pleasing nooks and
those 2 fierce shinning sharpest
spheres of green languid violent puddles
(of your eyes dear)
across from me spent into
the daft shaven molecule
of my stingingonyourbreasts head
a lean sensual evening
and you let me put my hand
up your skirt in that
stuffy cafe littlest cramped space
in the corner(in a secret tight space)
you let me purr wetness into
your softly cloven pile
andbut we just went on talking like i wasn't

without nearly mercy the strange brawn of sinuous boughs thickly forested thoughts. wreathing simple futile furious thoughts. wearing sluggish fatty
eyes prepondered coloured and uncoloured (right in their middles) disks
flinty gristle they're black right in the median outside inside upside downside
left and right and left. my heads wearing them and more flush with nose
and just below them it's there and just below it, lips are waiting slightly
parted waiting to guzzle sickly the ruby hard cords on your face your face
is there with lips and eyes and teeth are there on your head and hair to
is coming right out the top of your head where my fingers go amongst their
limber stocks and digging slightly digging into the pale soil of your scalp
AS YOUR TOUGH STIFF HARD FUTILE LIPS ROIL OVER MY
stupid ugly soft lazy lips, over my dumb wonderful bloodied lips

when such love as roses have been
in the feet mountains
does and stags went together

up the rain and sun lashed hills
to walk amongst the mile of bulbs

and pluck from them their stems
and make with them their bodies.

Therewasthesoundlike(
even though you just broke her)
stillsmiling(and your fingers            R

blud                               ugly

and smelling like                                       )


the sea;

bREaKin,G

on rocks

in the hot Summer

when the tide runs out

anditlaysflat

hot on its stomach

(with its *** in the air
                                       )

theslowlybeginstorot

seaweed and gurgling

butstillsmiles(a very meek


                            rill (one only)



runs down its thigh

Rightbehindtheknee)collectsinto
a shoal



                                     and



                                                 "morePlease"

laugh whole mountains                 ,

you got sinews deep as

rivers in you(they’re sle

eeping down there in y

ou and they fan out toA

narrow hairless delta)an

d that’s where i am

Spring, that whose every year is its last
and whose death always is the promise of its birth:

you pink between,

you softly to part,

you to come of flowers lathered,

you are a mystery.A cute curving mystery,
of slightly undeath.

a curt cutting mystery,
of increasing unhealth.

you're whose *** the mound of wreaking,
the confluence of hips,
and the pourn of roses, gardens.

do corpses ever(inboxesdeeply              )
long for smelling roses
or the wiggling light of
saturday afternoons
when their lover came
early a bit unexpectedly
fantastically finding them
nothing doing and took
their body in softly hands
shaking perfectly the morsels
of their flesh on top of the
kitchen counter gruffly
gentle
             ?

some weird lonely
you're all skinyy
except a blossom that is rough as red
and you stood right by the
refrigerator all night
and didn't say a thing

harder biging
flowing digging
a river is hardly
adept
with numerous
able tongues

the land through
,with slithering,
rumpus silver

gloats
or meanders
      unquickly a cordial slump of wet and wet
                                                                                                                   to comment
                                                                                               early lately
                                                                             bending
                                                            straights
                                          of lumpy
                            smooth
         orchestral
(
  )
   )
     (
        8

it's there. inside you. such beauty. find its handles. grasp.

this whole self
1 thing: i
so richly
in language
sinewed
will to say
a flower

a fully
uncoupling
hot bud
and i am a
season
(like Spring is)

i am a spit of
verdant boiling
fire(and i open

my chest

and out
ruptures

petals,

   .
       ,

   ,

muscles slung blonde strands
tawny straights snuggling
against your *******(like me
on the clump of your
unrigid stomach taught
over your creeping)

           I hast spake
           with thy timidest
           notion
           briefly
           small pouncing
           wrists
           on your hands
           supple so
           chambers
           flung wide
          
your bones
          are the words
of every poem
                         i have
                                     writ
                                                                                                                                 (not even the wind
                                                                                                                                   has such soft

I need the softness of some small moment to open me.

the more less you (than unsuddenly writhing
with magic)i write for is really not and too
bad 'cause(taking with neat blackest fingers: me)
if you were i would swear a poem of fast
intricate roses(who amongst coyly hidden
scythes take)that swell with scents as
nearly radiant and folded as thy own scent
of swelling(so please waiting too long don't to
finding) enchanted nothing: rolls and rolls

of stink

what are you?

are you as me?

areyouwhite?does your body sit easily

inchairs

knees skinny
not awkwardly parting
and fresh in grey light
spill young
out between your
thighs



                                   SPRING RAIN?

it all begins in a hand in a hand
loose
        ,
easy with

fingers and tipped

with jade, vermillion or,
black because.

                            in

a hand easy
a hand feels small soft
and it's comfortable to grip
being soft and small and tipped
with vermillion, jade or, black because.

smooth, pretty, and it feels really good
between two layers of cotton skin that's
got a coupling of scars, ink, and the nicest

****
sharp with pink
in hands
feels really good
and it always begins


                                                   like that

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

rain come


rain come so youare

wet rain so


so nice and
so pretty and
so. Rain,

would you
part your lips
entering me.                 And



rain, would you curl upon each smoothness kiss?

rain, you are so grey. rain, you are so wet. rain, you part your lips entering the sea and your chin wobbles hardly a bit swallowing the hard inch of the city rain your cheeks are a bit like trembling and when they are full of the city you look up and with your entering lips parted shining wet you cry




                                     Rain

I will not die.

My hands will go out from me
into dark waters becoming
two rays of piercing light;

They will dance electrically as
unbreakable columns of smoothness
sing saying,
“though love be a day, do not fear,
we will go amaying.”

gluttonous shadows devour
us
as we mess
aswe flesh
aswemesh
as we sweat
enraptured
by                 (your
touching       mouth
our                leaks
skins             sounds
                     beyond        
                     beauty)

listen to the night i do listen to it drench me in it's very softest fibers consume me
into the rough cuddle of it's violent toes treading up my spine electric it
snares my bones and hair and eyes and draw my lithe littles over
the laughing velvet of it's thigh and falling into
it's cute neon lips
i

hot some dust and spice lingers
in a pale winter's beam of sun
sharply through silence naked
in a little dark room
away from everything
sleeps tangled cushions
a cat stirring lanky and breaking

there's a new echo
a moon
sweetly grand
raising billowed sails
a bright ship
on deep nights lithe ocean
scudding graciously
to harbors
loose and hard
behind the suns little splash
on earth
    every
    and every today

oto
****
insideyo
uthe
hours
ofm
ybody
wouldbe
(ohpl
ease
won'tyo­u)
themost
dying
wonderfully
to
unbe

let me tell you some heat through the glowing waft of crisp stars hung with the sharp croak of a

                      here bird

                                                   and a



                             there starling

                                                       ­         on a filament invisibly


                                     cast

                                                and


     ­                                                         cast

  ­                                                                 ­       and


                                                    ­  
                                                               (by a pale spider titanically frail huge)


                                                         ­       from lewd ***** tall beauty

                                                         ­        muscles violent
                                                         ­        charge lathered in the murk
                                                            ­     of failing night
                                                           ­      rise and again rise
                                                            ­     thumping brazenly (feel dainty prim or)

there is a man in a small voice with a tight hallway

he is waiting

he is waiting, his boy like dolleyes watering
in his tight voice
is small hallway

he is waiting

activating the simple
motion of her hips
she divulges the
languid perspicuous rivulets
of her sensual
into the immaculate ocean
of this infinitely crisp
winter city

life, all you hint at is quietly secret 'neath
killing roses(freshly

deep )

                 and miles


                              and miles

of summer.
                     Life
                             you seem
                             slightly
                             rude nice
                             smiling
                             while you
                             place between
                             ribs short
                             pretty metal
                             gleaming like rivers gleam hot in your folds
                           shimmering steeply run frigidly quivering
                            through miles and miles of suddenly hills
                           invented thrilling sinuous bones of earth
                            wreathed in snow: grow more beautiful murdering



                                                  )b;yWinter's song(


                              through miles
                                                            and

                      
                                                   miles.
                                                           .

                                                              .


                                                          .



                                                                   .




                                                     .

                  


                                                                             ,

of your inconveniently perfect face
there 2 eyes utterly
big and effusive of laughter

almost larger
almost drunker
of beauty than the
rest of you nay never

there is of you a body
who is a divine rush
-ing river through my hands
is delightfully irridescent
with the heaped lather
of ***

it imagines all come new rise
girlsun precious absolute
just brightly ****** your hips
full and glowing intensely
they shall knees aching scraped
tumble wider infinitely than
echoing will from them by
knocking escape briefly sighs
that mingle in lace and velvet
wreathed in body young ready
wanting for destroyer creeping
to uncreep quicker into naked
blissful immediate rare ***

all my arms waking
(swimming 'bout
your minute sleeping)
tighten across meadows of dreaming flesh

incidentally it was night 2 lasts i
                                                   was
wearing the wriggling organism of your lips
                                            (
    and cradled in the dripping chasm of your slight grinning pocket
i nestled specifically in y
         our iron stallion
       in the eyelet of the small strangled heap of quiet
by the new carcass of
        the posthumous day
                                               and waited
         for the first gargle
                                               of gnashing pink
              to canter
                                           across
          the  prose
                                   of rocky protrusions stinking
on the horizon
                                    )?