the wind is something
alive in my hand
and i look
thinking:
whose?

me,maybe?

after all i am occasionally myself.

hello.

you are there
you are something
i think that you are easily dreamless.

you are the white
turning over of pale morning
into your neck and the pooled freshness of your *******.

you are these two things:
my hands–which make within
themselves bloodsong and wine.

finely twined with pale wire,
your eyes rest below your scalp:
they are chips of ice–limpid; ****.

(you stir you pull your hand into my
hand i kiss over the sleeping of your
white cheeks i stroke your golden hair
i slip my leg under your leg:

I can never touch enough of you.)

i were left to impress upon myself the medium of hips
where in was yours, the aptest sliver of
feminine hotting spark
                                                 and after
in rigid slumbers mortar
she was more astonishing
than gods first light
he said
once
(and it was
) so?

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        .

this makes sleeping,
inside your slender,
the beginning song of life:

my lip;
the shoving of sudden fur;
your own quaking;
and the collapsed nerve.

and the each new little thing of it
(ever day)
makes life in smooth jolts.

love as a woman,
who wears within,
our love in something

very alive,
quickly with 10 fingers
10 toes and grows
inside that hive
where my love as flesh
has lingers.

A
                                                               ­        heart is where its
                                                             ­          gaggle of appropriate nerves
                                                          ­             tingle singing nerves
                                                          ­             single teeming nerves
                                                          ­             a tumult of aching skin
                                                            ­           towers correctly sublime
                                                         ­              a balmy twinge of evenings
                                                        ­               who curl with clearest scent
                                                           ­            about the firmer freshly body
                                                            ­           of the thighs quaking totally
                                                         ­              (a face that twists heroically
                                                      ­                  churns adroitly
                                                        ­                in adoring pleasure
                                                                ­        wreaking fragile sturdy
                                                          ­              crescents
                                         ­                               limping on the hotting
                                                         ­               chalice of her febrile
                                                         ­               brink. she totters just almost
                                                          ­              at it. right at it fiercely.
                                                       ­                 her flush groaning
                                                        ­                her garden parting
                                                         ­               ),i flay the difficult ugly
                                                            ­           that wears on her this
                                                            ­           common uncanny second
                                                          ­             i turn her sorely into naked
                                                           ­            flavored robes writhing
                                                        ­               between her thrashing together
                                                        ­               i stab her forever giddy
                                                           ­            my placid crashing”

it was so unbright yesternight in the closed nook of a pale painted swinging
swung tight, tightly swinging, quickly singing, breath of fast hair
from the timid article of light uncorking from thy precious bowl:
your remarkably hips. i quipped a sonnet on the marble jelly of your
cresting gluttonous *******; with my hands between the stocky virulent
oaks of your frail gently thighs. and your eyes were scorching, and the
breadth of hours tumbled open and wee

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

fists curled gently
i unfurl thee
i splay thee
and on your spans
i blow a cool color
from whence is
produced a whole
cuddling aroma
and about the
freckled *****
of thy noblest
raiment (the sun
and moon) i
coil it upon
and bless it with
the smarting dress
of my cheerful kiss

i lay here in bed
and my wife’s
beside me her
breathbody is
rhythmically and
i can hear sleepness
which the curved
blades of her back
:(risingandfalling)
commit each after
each of breathing
which her ribs
contain and her nose
vents between cartilage
and membrane making
the finest whistle
only finer than the
thinnest fineness of
her hair which also
is and beside me which
catches the lamp light:::

      SHIMMERING

.




















































" your poetry *****.

it's like you're trying not to make sense on purpose."














































.

each noon sleeps through drowsy
and sharp autumn with its hair
in manifolds bright steaming with
chirps of tiny color

cup sudden winter and flakes crinkle sweetly the earth or by cold hand of unday the freezing is gently in all the moisture and she lavishes their molecules and unslowly disseminates her breath in varnished perfection of frost saying "now is coming the season of lovely unheat and blessit with thy loaf of burning lips and kiss kiss kiss every noun

              "

"It hurts."





            "Do you want me to stop?"









                             "No."

when i spill smiling lips i cluster them on yours lady you lady you, like pearls and wine, you are bones deepest and i like you and i play you. i play such tunes as on your hips i tap them lightly with my finger tips i tap a little orchestra on that hard pretty straight blade of bones you have stucking so elegantly out that pale and warm pool of flesh. you creature are a moment exploding and you lady are a star; fallen roughly in my eyes you sparkle blinding me before steps i stumble up them to you Heaven.


            (and U don't kno it(but i do)    )

my daughter moves
there is something
shakes moving
rattles a bit
falling she
does
into sleep
something
small(smaller)
than all smallness
her tiny aspect is
warm and i think
Very perfectly small
and smaller than all
warmness. i fold the
several things of my
arms around her smallness

and


she


s

    L



    e



                      p




                                     s.
                                       ,


                                       .

i nearly do think

               and dream upon

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

       i neatly do collect my

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

                each trembling

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

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

in 1
whole
pale moment
,rouged,

your LIFE dreams

of you holding
a square against
the sun.

looked back
onto the happening
of your mindbody

that breathing
instantly
took the light

from the porch
sleeping a
cat where
sitting

purrrs

indistinctly
under the
tiniest crush
of a breeze

--

A CHIME IS RINGING

--

and all stillness
waits to seize
the atom of your
hand in A square
against the sun
the collection of
its splitting into
thinnest sheets of
brilliance

the splint to mountains trollop
and ecstasy of luminous death
a sunging light is hurdy gurdy
and
            to behind
their rocky stiffened pose
it's a plunging ***** of deeply laughing violet

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

to love
it is
the me to care for lips seriously fragile. the

for me

to leap strenuously knowing
and dance amongst unknowing
the towering cadence, my heart. to

the for me (love) the

sturdily upheave the slowly clamoring of soil,
and march widely the span, my kiss, through closing

and meet with your kiss, the legion, my soul;
(a parting of silence. a fiercely innocent foal)

that kind of "*******

i ' m

goingtosmoke

a cigee                       "is



(to me)          so




so body
andso

it's

dying stupid wonderfully
to taste like

when lips are our(andtongueplease

by what star
(or the shining of some invariably self)
shall guide the making of thy hands?

the excellent health or the
girding of some winsome wealth?

on what plinth of ethic, moral stands?

the body kept;
the jewel grand?

made or unmade a like
(a rule followed
is only valuable for).

i will be A Poem someday,
(or will i)?
being some earth
maYbe or (whynot)
a worm, and who
will remember nothing
of being what
i WAS NOT being
(apoem?)
someday when i
was, and will U
be there 2? i
wonder laying next to my wife.

as if to seems by (hung the little world

          the eyes noose

                                   ). Perhaps or

the soul more?

the could be hands loose
,the pinkset ear, whorl'd?

(between who where is who
makes or unmakes the rain)?

hands and unhands alike
tremble to fill:
the crooked barrel
o' flower's stemm'd pain.

(the ridiculous i.

                                the absurd you.)

like i,d like to be
i'D like to be like Thee
Like theE mostly
in The wee
and Glee
                 (your silver and your morning

life is strange i'm dying(youare)and the world is
out my window are little boats
dots
boats
dots

toandfro dots
boat
dots

little and to and fro
dots
go whizzing very slowly
outside my window

i can
a glass perspiring
at my hip
does
the wind
cooly blusters
feel

and a flower
very like is
a girl cut dribble

which grasps the air climbing
into the heat of july

a star

i(by 2or3)simple fingers untighten

                 SNoW

quickly into rills of gushing and
lips slickly shine grinning violently

                                                and

a­lso by ribbon of quaking genially
oral fumbling deftly shiver)bring

lewd SPRING into chaste WINTER
between hairless trees making flowers

darling(you don't know it)but i got a mouth
a mouth that you'd like, like it would like you
O, how it(you) would like it would make you

                          my mouth

like an Ocean, darling,
                                                an Ocean, darling,

scalloped in muscles alight, darling, tightening
and untightening, darling, my mouth would
make a Sea of you, darling, it would make you
gilt in writhing wafts of sweat, darling, it would
fleck you in the thickest lather of pleasure it would
('tween your coyest thighs)whip thee into a fervent
tumult, darling, you don't know it(but I got a mouth)

of what is there,
the making of dreams?

                     some ***** perhapsness
                                           ?or

                                              the maybe of seem?

nearly you when i have felt pulsing
my heart(yourheart)has become
one smooth toto
red and hotter and tiny
fluttering stupidly
smiling under
your *******
my hands cup it
and to my dumb finally mouth
i draw,carefully,your fierce noble blood
and drink drink drink drink drink drink

let's get differently. Electric let's

(you)sometimes get

,differently your

face let's
get red
hurting

(cuz you want it(




                   me to


ya want me too


let's





                        get,




                        .




                                     ,

who are we that we have been?

(I do not know.)

Nor have i or been,
or when and if,
and where?

perhaps if,
And I do not Know,
had i been
then i might,
being but little and a small nothing
(far from everything)
and walked.

but,
Not Knowing,
i wonder.

(i see you)
this old
unawkward
lady of
sagging *******

who , "you'd think"

i

"would" know "better."

i am mostly i and i am mostly fascinated with women and their forms and bodies and the elegant fulcrum of their waists and the very softness of their skin and how the sun mingles them in the summer air they are the very ample petal of the earth and they blossom from the rough soil of it and they sing upon wind and i sing them. they are more beautiful than nothing else is more beautiful than they littlest and firmest flesh i would kiss upon them flowers and in mountains of them i lay at their very feet and i would tell each one how fathomless and perfect are their eyes (and they don't know it)

                                                                                      (but i do)

cut that face pretty
stealing
                 between
aisles glossy thick
with starkest sharper
lighting catching on
the edges of heaped
organized rows and
rows
and rows of
cans(quickly splinters
a fairy pale smile)just
pink and little and
painful pretty smile
by the frozen goods
(i think i'll say

                       "hello"

there will die in me nothing that has been you (though if even instantaneously you pressed against my eyes your face in some passing razor of a hot second flensed the air and flung across all silence your perfect stare back into me and it felt like SUMMER when you did and baby i'll never feel nor never kiss thy damson and crisp mirth lined lips)

                                                                                              buttherewilldieinmenothingthathasbeenyou

i love
you've are
been:

           (alive) and i,

kissing within
the sleeping dawn:

wide white awake.

our small shoulders;
who's naked makes
our heart perspire
1 leaf of grass.

you are gold.
your hair is.
your mouth does.
i sometimes.
and have always.

love kiss laughter sleep argue sweat dream kiss kissing inside laughter

i probably don't care
unless
           ido

open yawning chasm
theearth said night and the sky said beauty
pinpricked photon punching absolute uncertainty
certainly a most green and sharply thorn
upon your stem
i grasp
blood

some first naked stars
they bunch right up
to the lip o' nite
                             (and before)
                                      but afterth
                                                       e
                                                 y
                                                        
                                                      j
        
    


                                                          u


                                        s



                                                t

                                                         p



                                        ou









                                                                            R

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

i love you constantly
that you are my Wife
(and my Children also)

,and both my body and my lips

(i want to kiss you constantly)

your sweetness and your smile
and the smell off of your hair
and light sparkle of your eyes
and the very correct angle of your nose.

i love you always, that you are.

And that is no little thing
i think because
i love also the Spring,
our children,
the direct sheen of moonlight
on pale snow,
and always your constant hips.

i love them,
and not least,
but most;

for you are my wife:
always something,
easily eternal.

and I love you,

as nothing which is eternal
is not you;
nor the gate of your walk,
or the folding inwardness
warmth of your
creaseless thighs.

i want only to love you
for all my days and nights—
and when they are done;
spent of laughter and tears,
i will rest easily in the ceaseless
crook of your sea.   .    .

.














































                          "I'm sorry. I love you."








































.

"who knows?" by body what
eglantine,
silver curving
upon heaps of
curving flesh:

upholds some girl hips
on two sturdy beams
of nicely wide
so easy to dash against
folding pink cruelty?

(i wonder) and how
you fit archingly
on your back
the gaudy sinew
of faultless youth–

(your ******* *** feels so good inside)

the rumpled fool
of boy stings
to fill with heat
every crumb of
slattern'd SPRING.

magic surly blood dank
gold flecked and musty
shimmer set alight burning
you're some copper and some
dark brown sugar

                 like you taste like rust

against night dear a skull
sockets brimming with ladybugs

          behind a knoll

in forest deep and green sleeping
magic forests

  (         where fairies are still really

       nice fairies with

            great hair
    
   and they play diminutive

   harps
             strung
                         with light
                         and dancing)

magic stirring from firmest and
unyielding repose

             rise

and meet me in Summer in
forests sleeping greenly and
festering with holly crimson
Magic
you're some
thing i don't know
but i'll try to say you
anyway and i know you
love me 'cause i felt you in
between the sweltering balm
of girls thighs pliant and annihilators

(Magic surly blood dank
and glittering a bit of rough
you are like baking cake just
for yourself and a friend arrives
unexpectedly and you sit down
delighted and instead of alone
you eat and talk all afternoon
about nothing at all)                      


                                                Magic
                                                           you are
                                                           like that

i, night, hung about thy cheeks more splendored
beams crisper and wholly brisk with wind
than even winter could. i stroked about the
penultimate hour of your face the little and
stranger carelessly perfect lips of my face
and drinking so stilly the sky is abrupt
with normally clothed stars; **** and playfully
abundant. i lay my heart with thee and i am
increased. i lay hands with thee and i am
between the velour of your not-covered thighs
making, with you, an errant child like Demeter
and Poseidon (who hangs his restless skin upon
the nape of the coiled neon streets. hinted
at his edges just; the circlet of the bay, i wander
in thee night.)

to ***** on the finger of my body

youthere

is a small blood

a drooping bead

           of(hangs



in fracturing silence)

twixt rigidly supple youth
collects(



                    A



                                Bruise




                                                  Slowly



                                                                     Larger



                                                                                                   )





                                                                                  a
                                                                                 nd
                                                                                the
                                                                              moon
                                                                              playf
                                                                             ully is


                                                                   slender




                                                                                            crescented


                                                                 wiggles



                                                                                           hard


                                                                     with


                                                                                           my


                                                                           fingers



                                                                                    tightly

                                                                               in
                                                                                         it

                                                                               SCREAMS

the deep easy mountains are a supple apparatus
in indigo talking rain, they plead for small quiet
sounds who have no bones but skin that wears
the day. a fleeting gilded crest it rolls and chocolate
muttering trunks in the forest standing against
the callous lily supremely piercing the azure
lock of sky. and the amorphous gray gullet smeared
upon it's cobalt heat is gently vomiting wetness

whatayou whatayou whatayou
come on,

Babe

let me

put a finger in ya
in ya lips
in ya, honey

let me dip you
wanna
taste

?


(   "  Taste it.  "   )