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

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

these hands of mine

so much strength

these hands of mine

create?
destroy?

these hands of mine

school, you're gettn so young
so gettn so soft and firmly gettn
(with legs all in tightness clothing
them and skirts shortly) so i'll get
my hand down your stomach
into your fluff and
                                   oh
                                     !

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

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.”

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

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 shall live;
not the world
or my body,
but I

beyond dying
will leap freshness
and taste deeply the health of everything

?never was beauty so in what eyes
as in this pair of face just equally as
contained with fair immortal pretty
flowers somewhat are like it only
they're jealous at the immaculate
stem thorned pleasurable to pierce
on which aloft sits the head perfectly
of 2 unequally beautiful eyes always

colours

                                lurid skeehc era uoy
                                and you are gnillaf
                                of boughs bent
                                (in wind writhing)

you are lovely
little dead things
         littler perfect cluttered
                   dead things

                                                 suoroloc  R U
                              gnittor esool fo bits ni
                        sretnilps

you amble the earth
        calmly exploding
                     (and you crunch
                              so distinctly
                                   under my patient tread
                                               ing soles)
                            


i mark them
and i proceed
living and dying
(like you colours)
die like living
i live like dying

nigh the eve is drawing clumsy blue fingers on the tired hills
                          
                 and           the

sun frails as the large serious night propels suddenly
slowly over the horizion her hair
drowning the ember of light in

ardent inky                                                       blood

hey, it came about that i was
and it was thus that i am
          
                 or is

and will be was
but so of now i will be
if  only yet but not still a while
   and if so i'll do some thinking
and some thoughting
    or stand or eat (or sometimes both) or sometimes neither
and if by day
so too at night
                                      I'll come to these
                                      the dead length of
                                      heavy words
                                       which writ by men of learned haste
                                        i,ve chomped the morsel of
                                        their fat and narrow tidy
                                        skinny wide messes
                                     in chapters and verse
                                    
yet what will stodgily
revolve to fore is central
the chiefest realization
of my riggling dearth
is that all is simply unsimple
a great prfounding
a small and illustrious sound
                                                           ­              (everything is paradox
                                                         ­                so too are i as you
                                                             ­            and you or i
                                                               ­          a truths a lie
                                                                ­         or lying truth
                                                           ­              and if you listen hard enoughyoucanhearalmostnothingrattledeeplyfirmingorfirmlydeepening­ . . ,

cometogether
fal
la

p

a


r





t

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)

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

she,s a livid verB
of pure distilled
filthy l!ghtn!ng    and
                                               she makes me wanna

she makes me wanna

                   sh       e            m
                                       a
                                                                      kes
me


                      want to...
                                  (   !

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

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)

newly first pressing flesh
your firmly enamor
(thighs and cheeks)
you dangerous and
clean beveled dainty
stuff
        
         you're the very
eatage o' devils and
god

frail, are you so
pale neat and
thin

          wrists

curled wrists

with unsudden
invincible lust
crawls up each

                                                          

                                                    and




soft feels aquiver
stomach struck
by split folding

    (tonguelips)

into folding split

pink as nothing

i(doyou)love
             (lieve
      
      -me-  
  
    be) cuz

you

don't please

be cuz
(true please

    ) cuz

i love you
(do you
believe
            
             me?)Luv?

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?

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

WHI
te, ....       your waiting hands are so

     like shins gently bruised

         a pressure of lovely bedded ladies

what else? he's a war of nice arrogance. a boy like
          purple
and he's me. we, we're we,re i; i'm he and we sweat with a demon
in the spiraling helix of our
       dna
how can i **** this kind ******?my desire for some other fruit.

          it's esoteric

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
                              )

falling in love
every minute minute
          i crawl the streets
every corner turns to dust
and every pile
                          bursts some
feminine livery
                                and they alll        taste
                                                                                like honey

i love also
some golden light
pierceth and burning
the earth
who lays
in tremendous sighs o
                                                         Du
                   f                                      sT.

i believe in a story

               (it is my love)

the passing of my hands through light,
the coming of slight graces,
the bended stocks of mute flowers.

my love
you are without skin,
your eyes do not see,
your lips do not kiss.

my love
i love you–

         (and where

are you?

my love you
are the whole neatness
wishing within me

to feel the slight pressing
of heat beneath your skin;

the pulsed flexing of your vein
and hem. my love you are

the small darkness
and tiny quiet of my
heart to fill you kissing;

the crimped weakness of your knees,
the playing of your eyes after nightfall,
the winking fleetness of your cheeks.)

And, my love
are you

  where ?

(i can feel you)

even with space
between breathing
and heat between us;     my love

i can feel your someday lips
within my lips the
waxing of your palm
within my palm.

my love
(and i have always loved you)
will believe
in the story

of your hands and lips:

the passing of my hands through light,
the coming of slight graces,
the bended stocks of mute flowers.

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

"People love being weak. They are in love with with their weakness–flaws. This is due to the twisting of their own egoism: when they see someone strong and free of flaw or worry they must invent some way to justify their own value by contrast. They take those traits which define the capable, noble and powerful and redefine them; make them into hallmarks of stupidity and shallowness. They make claim that what is truly good is what is weak, flawed and incapable–what is like them.

What is most noble is what suffers the most. Who is the greatest victim is the greatest good, superior to all others. Thus you can see them in action: arguing for their victimhood, trying to be the weakest and most pathetic. Busily inventing with creative fervor new statuses of being to which to cling.

What is more profound, more deep and compelling than one in pain?

The irony could never be more clear in that the weak grow strong in their weakness to justify their secret longing to be superior to the strong. Are they not after all damaged, and yet still surviving? What is more brave than that? What is more laudable or commendable?"

with gentle flakes of summer's snow
a drowsy path does pinkly grow
A drowsy path i think i know
through dale and copse it lightly flows
littered slightly from stems and boughs
with the downy flakes of summer's snow

from off its blade i hear a crow
whose throat is telling through the boughs
and twilight's swelling deeply grows
and over mountain tops it flows
To fill the path with fading glow
this drowsy path i think i know

never originally I
borrow myself
from minds

             friendsor

notfriends even
I get me
                      from

                               not me

                               but from what they

                                                think

                                                   I

                                             only
                                                         i

                                                            am

some indefinite shape
some formless form
some quintessential essence
always urging
always yearning
always procreating
                                                                 some always

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

when into deepest rushing
a nightingale would sing
temporary blundering
into softest frailing
day

i feels it the
keenly reeling
offall to

                LEAP


completely mortalness
(and kiss by dashing

           w
         i
            n
         gs

the juice'd plumpness
day's killing
           )
                       fleet,

                          '

                                   ;


                            



                           .

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

today i listen farther to music almost nearer
at the sickled median
of fluff and ice
and
"shhh",

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 ***

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

inside this face the body soft
the whiteness almost of
rose crismon
nearly drunk
and swinging




           (i can see stars)




two lewd random lips
part on kiss of taste like,
"do I like an ashtray?"

"No."

(rushing like steep twinkling of sleeping light–

how many more nights

i wonder )

you are like ( how can i say  )

a sliver of warmth made skin
of blood and bone between
**** shoulders of night.

i do not
know too much
or how shall i say

you are beyond words to speak

of a more nicely arcuate
a more darling
hips.

i think
(will not)
more or less of this
moment than
of your cheeks
apart against
mine in a stupid old
park i'm too drunk to
make your
cleft
stinging
kiss impossible to

my face by little flecks of
embrace by
warm wetness.

and steeply wonder on the rush of
a nimbly
stumbling darkness
rife with
too many stumbles of
rushing lightness–

i want to love you that–

i am dying this earth the stars and every

breath between;

we shall make of this
not anything particular
a shining instant
of touch

(to touch within )

some lewd of unimportant
totally

               Is.

life is an improbable nothing
it is a muscle
it is *******

it makes hands with hands
and speaks not a word

nor is a number

nor is countable

it is a whole and it is a moment

beyond heat, it burns

and say i (life little; life improbable)

speak not a word
be uncountable

be not a number

o to breathe
how it is i love you:
your little quiet which
do not your lips betray
the slightest music.

o and quiet
how it is i love you:
the mute pressing of your body;
without words which
for saying nothing

is louder than all the world to speak.

the most common drive of human expression is arrogance

frail i, in moonlight shall, march
up wisp of spring
into gabled spilt
juice
of curving dawn

orange
whose rind
like the human also
drys

           withers

                            sloughs

goodbye themoon
into darkness suddenly
the shall whole world will

emitting
but one frail
fist of colour raging

(lifting the hollow chord; its throat
to pierce the wide blackness

and let of it such brightness
'twill drown all shadows into brilliance,

                                                    ­               '


                                                             ­               .





                                           ­                    ,

there's one long gun
girthed in boney stable palm
and finger flicking death rattled
sweetly copper children
a patient rind of health,                                    for thou and whence
                                                                             it girdles profusely
                                                                              a blatant death
                                                                             of vibrant pulsing colour

each within each
becoming thick
becoming flower

most petals
most aggressively
****** brutal

through smooth throbbing
of broken smoothness:

back little unsquare
hips fully
plush between
chipped fuzz
electrically quivers

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

river over
of scarlet
rill

steam drunkly
burst kiss
kissing
into musk musk musk;

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

if so ever is turned
the porcelain ardor
of your smile to
anothers. so shall i
know that if but
only a flicker you    were:

    mine
                my own

                                  my only

      my

                       lady