a lot of things i'm

      got

2eyes2hands2lips
and a mouth between
them and a voice between
that and a heart i've got a chest
where it's red and it moves a more
at you it goes like a deer wildly through
startled brilliant lances of light in a once was
placid, soft, and smooth copse of never trees

that wouldn't (for anything) yield, neither
would it want to but you're like sweating
in the dead of water (between autumn and spring)
frozen,
                 cool,

                                 warm,

thyme is a mint julep stirring
in my deep hand between
heat and laughter and the cool
                      
                                              
                 ­                             cool


                                              
               ­                                cool                                                          pen­umbra




of the enormous stiff
hot softly becoming
loose with Spring

C   I   T   Y,


carrying a warm shawl
a vapor like
breath of smoothly etherizing
evening coils around
limb and throat
neatly;

the alleys are alive with
old dirt
bent through
a thousand years of sifting
and grip thrifty of
bums

doused in becoming
night (they grouse
and grumble to
find some body
of shelter ,

stealing into the
weave of
can-liners
old breath and
stale coffee            );


life is drunk a little
me with remembering

remembering the
sudden coo of
the city to watch
it grow dark and
ribbed in shadows;

i am a splinter in the quick of the night.

burning with just the tonic
of vital nothing to be between
grass and dirt forever worm
pursued and forgotten of
lip and finger

(it makes me alive to know i will be dead ) someday.

my hands mix and jingle – i feel their blood and course with them.

And the City
is big
it
feels
like
so many daughters
apart and full of
my tongue:
i eat
and
become it;

my mouth is a silent crescent,
it eclipses sound
and does not say a thing.

i sip of the body of my hand

(who is thyme;

who is a mint julep;


deeply                        )


                 .

neatly performed life
between a girls thighs

             a boy

i knew last summer

                who

loved a fairy with
a piece of steel in her
nose
            got

caught in the cut
of her
downy sable
and

            gentle

sweep of eyes
where crispest jade
spent a rounded chip
of beautiful
                         pain

a colour and a day
the sea was open bending oral
muttering senseless beauty
i reflected:

                     so tooAMi

are what the heart? some
fresh vehicle of kissing?) i have

broached in sinuous deliberate
matchless chords of straining music
                               ,
to break the fragile muss of intrinsic Spring
                               ,

in twain of pressless spent thrilling flowers

(whose mute crushing sends hardboys to war


)and propels quiet girls to wares.

dance me into entering waters

           (the sea)

i might dive or very cold
it is too hard(to swim

is though even steely wild
shifting ever for

                                     )

grey and grey and

(the sea)
who is steely wild
and very cold entering waters

dance me into

(and even though)

you like cuts, bleeding,
don't you
                 ?
                   (aren't you)

scratches dear,
you like,
                 don't you? dear

claret
                 baby

you like fingernails,
dear, you like,
                          aren't you?

black painted
red wells
                   from drawn, dear, you

           're

                    like that

don't you
                  ?

to mix as mixing fingers do
that pleasant scape of cut and hue
could only be by perfect hand–
to spill the sky with food so grand;

for eyes to eat for ever more,
ere come the bleakness: acheron's shore,
where stood is there unlucky crowd
embrace'd of apple from knowledge boughed;

and the lark that fell for un-leaden branch
to stain from souls forever blanch
died to live–immortal make–
when each, our bodies, meet their break

eel(f em
the way–electric

              –you

leef like
(stern notched hard at the lips)
cursing drunk
slightly of
f
ff
kilterst

                ep

p i n

        g


the curb curb()
stumble-umble over oh-ver
y tight
in tights

(rose patterned)andmoist

between the heelzover
my shoulders.

looking real smart between flats
and a bob (in a sundress)
stands some fun

with cute red lips i
think would

be nice
             to get inside

my arm

it was

                it was trying

it was my arm was trying

it was trying to say

              my arms was trying to were trying to say my arms were

saying

                blood

dyin'

    

we call livin' we


all the

(you yes


         andi  the


              whole)

we're
ya know

but

we call
dyin'
livin'
cuz

it's prettier
to think

but
to think

is
dyin'

(i know

    and i know

       i know it i



                           you



                                      the





                                                      whole






                                                                                     and





                                                                                       it

that Falls(
which by   )perhaps
unviolently
foallike

                 demurness


creeps               it
(quickly)
up the spine; tickling
by inch by

and dies
berried in the sigh of Autumn wind

i'll tell you hurt beautiful freshly
skinned knee stinging
on the warm failure
of a Summer day
i'll tell you that it's all right

            ('cause i love you)

Rise
that within
you there titans
of summer invincibly
gold stuff form'd.

Sleep
from which
shall their tumult
sing unbridled colliding
of days in heat's fold.

how do you mouth so
between my legs
i cannot believe it
the way like
stars explode when
completely of unfalse self
you give me you

       r

rough little
with about fuzzz
of recently shaved hurting
,to fully press with pressing part
,of all life filled
with girls and girls
full of boys full of
mouths of girls
about wrung ringing
of pert pretty ****.

(i cannot believe
and love is this perhaps
not love not
nice or
completely of
soft kneading
to play)                                     but i love


and how can say

the exquisite throat mouth
you've got way down in your
gulp of tight  hair between
my fingers your self that
it is so nice

To give                                                      .

Summerwassohot
    (in you)
when
plum wine

,

in the tight heat of tiny Eugene

,

mudfuddly
drunkenly heaved
with ******* every night.


and sweat

wet softness
that by does

(
            arching

upon

             arching
(

lean into of

leaning,


suppose a wen.


that of hurried ugly millions lurch
on lurching bodies of tired always to be,
courses with new old obscureness of
brusque hideous hope. that hope
of to be not always tired of being–

to find some seed, some
new rind of dazzzling health
in unliving mounds of hurt asphalt.

doing just the body lips
girl full of sits
short skirt barely
inches into
smooth mile
becomes

hands neatly
collapsed in
perfect house of
curled beauty

from which
twitch

two spates
of fragile wrist
twist upon

eery limb
of excellent
arm

metting
just clasp
of shoulder

under
which fits

over
cleat of
marble neck

holding hover
of heaven's
strand:

a face like
she so
April
drunk inside with
flowers Spring

and everywhere

  (constantly)


    MUSiC

hurts with a sugar,mouth,and moon
under who
a little creeps
girls with fire like skin
and bodies (oh and what)
girls with
                    electric

felt in their shook full
hips

            where lays

                        everyboy

lightening I, baby, struck deeply
cleaving thy smile

thigh sticky
                       and to the lip

brimming, teeters, dear, you
on me

crests up thy body, arched
totally and splits the quiet

seething
                   aches

                                a
                                         yowl

such hands as amongst
what drowsy bolts
of Summer
--i can recall

them hands
as brittle soft
as tough easy drunk
uncoiling so firmly
their thighs a flower between broke.

(a bright naked flower a dull wilting flower)

it snapped 19 at the little lake of its;
there was a gorgeous sound

and you and i
and all the ******
nights, dayless
splangling hung
furiously through
that tiny filament
of your hips the very small death of clean.

some thing pretty
Ugly("man,

                            )tiny



and scurrying enormously
in some big glass(you got)

whizzing to and fro
one less than before

-- minutes each

                        (a light?")

the big old quiet of the electric house is somewhere around me humming incessantly with a heater .   a cat is which becomes smoothness neatly into
my lap folding upon whisker self of darting blackness the night outside
which compares with complains with rain through wind and trees my
window against and there is between it all the tiny miracle of a chime


                slowly    .

go white all the treetops.

in wet winter where,
there are there
such things in unskin bare.

(little tips tops tree'd little
hard in pink with a just slit
of a bit right under
the electric stroke furring
riot of terse tightness . )

how about in two tongues of wide
mouths of gagging on a four armed
two backed beast of short ripe and
long withered gushing at the heaves
of glitter and sweat summer?

(I have wanted to be a whole forest of roots so deep in you I can feel your soil in each rich wreathe of slightly sublime sometimes).

how about we go down to the water
i'll write you some ******* poem
about ******* poems i wrote about
******* you next to the water not
wetter than you

my love, i give you my life
the eyes

   (unerringly)

the lips totally which
are for only your lips;

my love, my hands are
your hands, my mouth
is your mouth, my love

my fingers are the brushing
of sunlight, against which
your skin folds effulgent;

my love, my fingers are
the blithe petals of Spring
damp within your roots:

(you are the cool and dark
soil of Summer, my love,
you are within each curling
of my breast, each turning
of my blood through stem
and shoot)

my love, i love thee,
the burnished gold
of your scalp, the
mute laughter of
your eyes; my love,

i am made and unmade
within your hands

      (our hands)


               .

i (flower) who god

                 blundering


staggered light full

bursting 'tween ribs

blossom quickly faster immortal wilting

                       (petal from stem from petal)


                                                           slough




                                                                            lilt







                                                                                             REst

what waits beyond the edge of a light(idontknow)
there is not a sound but
there is a very fine forest
where a crow is gently
a river is sleeping
and silver through all the trees is dancing

one beyond perfect
who through
neat newness
of skin is pressed

prying between
pages of same
glued by glueless
hands of everyday

her waist
her hips

                     (:thickyoung)
                            wai
                   ­       sthips
                            pry

ing between new old pages of glued by
       glueless hands(
       of everyday.     )




her face




her              cheeks

this lily new,
bright with white petals :

seems to sink
seems to speak,

bobbing and
whitely with petal

the wind over its
hair; the sound and

      (sometimes)

of its hollow full
of pistil and rind .

.























































                     "You're in love with love.

                                        You don't love anyone."













































.

i am your body,


my hands the

dark hour between

shook cords of blinding day
                                                  ;

cursed
     /
coursing

of curved
hours distilled
          .distinctly

***** heaving
of

tight aroma .  Atoms,

hither thither
bump pumping

white into white hips

fissured

at the breach of

          .

(to you my love to feel
wishing within throat
to fold my most unfolding

into you
the hands
my body (yourbody)

tween shook cords

of blinding day

what death is this tha' comes so gay?
where cloven cut
by hill cleft
and tree split                               splay

the rouge and copper splendor
o' hulking an' bended                   day.

to crisp in shafts of molted light
a dying which eclipses sight;

and pushes press to pollen build
where night is crept and flower filled.

such dark is bright and wants for sleep,
and calls my mouth to want to keep
all noise of lip in coiled flower
and root my soul in soils deep.

e

l          a

                 (p freshness

                      over every sense of lightness

                         you heave about yourself

                           and sleep so deeply

                           even dead was

                       never  so still

                   as you slumbering

                steeped in cotton

             i pull from you

          and met with

       your flesh

mine

i've some blade in me lightly
awe full it

shard

glows

              wafting

a hot star drips from

and out my fingers


          EXPLODES

always
,if the like moon(smoothly as waters),
threads the onyx plate
of night:

            
               i will love you.



As the rain loves the dry air.

As the dry air loves the sea.


will love you even though
eaten by the glad mouth of death, i.

will love across
the stark span of nothing.

by untense memories
of my softest hands.

will caress the curving hull
of thy body's eyes, and muted soul.

the earth is a moment. a surly moment. a collected harmonious moment. it
is the blood of my blood.
and i am in it. the thick and sticky blood. it is in me. and we are

i wish i could talk to you

です　
　　　　　　　　　

　　　　　　　　あなたです


　　　　　おいしい、か？僕、




　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　­　　　　　思う



                                       。

"In most people all I find is as sense of vacancy–a vapid emptiness. To call them stupid would a be gross exaggeration. Many of the most intelligent people I've ever met display this same quality. Simple would be a better term–they lack substance, complexity.

I feel like I've been waiting my whole life to meet a person of real substance."

(body)O(body)
            in
whose white house
all churches are born,

      you leap completely

freshness you

fly on such youth

(rendered instantly sublime
                  )in
the daftest cloak
of livedying.

you elate,
and you shuttle erectly
the motesome of boystuff,

to war inwardly; shouting:

.. .   .    .    .      .       .        .           .            . "o body please,
                                                                      in whose white house all churches are born, body

                                                                      o

                                                                      and
      
                                                                      please?"

am an
youth
he less
frothed in
sits
by
not farly
chair away

his eye
a twinkling
his Gabriel
name
he wears
his chest
a sticker
on

him
he grins
he talks
trying to

(a roomful )
of sitting other
people
to convince

he's trying
and they
I suppose they
maybe they

will?

.





                                                                                bruise,

                                                                              the pressing of your skin
                                                                              is hurting to want
                                                                              to want hurting
                                              
                                                                                       in you to hurt

                                                                                to want

                                                                                 to hurt you

                                                                                  (  the pressing of your skin,


                                                                                       bruise          )

fist needs little openness
sprawls completely fingers
akimbo
                receiving

another also little open

                       hand

glory is to suddenly
hands drunk with
sunlight mingle
moted through
errant beams of
almost spring light

(the steering wheel tears laughing and enormously

    into


                the infinitely splayed
                thighs of flower



                a Pale hand waits
                to ***** the flourishing stem


                and drink through
                near darkness
                the excellent body of Spring,

                                      
                                                           '



                                                             ­         ,


  
                                        '





                 ­                                                  ,


.) Chaste–
doe ears leaf cotton
the twill of starlight
rough kissing between
forced lips of stiff youth:




                                                      ­   i
                                                    rid
       ­                                     iculous
                    ­                      ly that a
                                      m of freck
                                  led shoulde
                              rs lead through
                              by the parting
                               of naked health
                                 bright forests of
                                   dark trees
                                 whose black
                                wood hides in
                             who the always
                           sinking cur of
                      dumbest youth) let me speak and i will tell you a day:

such things as my own body i have been:

                 (the grass

                   the sun

                   the moon

                   the sea        )

and felt the big violent urge up
of the whole world's thigh
each stupid flens of men:

their hands that go out from them
and come back into them–making and destroying;

(who have i been my own hands amongst such things?

making much

destroying much?



                                                                  they
                                                             go
                                                     out

                                                             come

                                                                        back

                                                                                    IN

and they are so heavy
with nothing
even the grass
that will become them
cannot grow in such
a dark place                                                                                                       )

eating you out in the back seat of my car
your strum stinging
from where your voice
is quickly singing

i pluck and seem
– i reach and touch
– i, still and clean,

finger the itch stitching
of your corded and
dasmer throat .

i hurt with
knees to
garble an' streak;

to make in mouth
(where all sound i' meek)

my fingers
(as deep
in your throat)

as you can keep        .

have you ever seen or felt
or pressed apart the lips
of dying girls who
23 years less of life
split tenderly–
wetly caving
into

         eyes
hair mouth
shoulders spine
a tiny breath
fluttering lids
tense cording of
sinew

dancing sharply
pulled sternly after
wrist
hands onto
scalp

the buzzing
of coarse
tightness
against lips(mylips)

and dies
one dying
final revolution
of ecstatic
breathing

(who
in her mounded purse

tastes of salt
sweet and

                              earths




?

"That I shall not be loved: I shall love no one."

'is cheeks er
rosey
stupid

(stump stupid)
rosey
an' 'es's

"What are you doing?" dooing. 'es

fat little.                    is


e a
boy
in

A
man suit

wearing a face like

A boy.