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                                                      .

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

.                                                                                            i
                                                                                               have stood in right fields
                                                                                                 looking thickly dark up
                                                                                                   at sky blue sun cloud and
                                                                                                      ***** steeply careening night
                                                                                                        digging little graves
                                                                                                           a 1000 1000 little graves
                                                                                                          burning tiny tombstones
                                                                                                         and keen with every hair
                                                                                                        on end lifting up my eyes
                                                                                                       to fornicate with the dainty
                                                                                                      fraction of frailing day's
                                                                                                     curving head
                                                                                                   i
                                                                                        drank
                                                                            of its corpse
                                                                         and was like
                                                            living and unliving
                                                flesh bone *** and magic
                                                  of dust and salt tasting
                                                     wind by the elbows
                                                     of incessantly skin
                                                   ocean stars spring
                                                    (and winter was
                                                   there but barely
                                             and it was almost
                                         warm and i pulled
                                       the loose leather of
                                         my jacket a little
                                        and
                                              





                                            )

the dawn by who many the earth shall feel
in waking uneasily morning
they(the who)

men will go
boys

rising into the fleet darkness

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.

waiting for listens to hear,
for her quick feet–a doe
in white skin

thinks it's
pretty to be
choked and

loves
t   o
sw al l o w

come ever falling summer's moon
astounded of my skull
a timid knuckle espousing glimmering
able digested muck
so shorn of lucky timber; a swelling soul
tingle hard cancer
some dna i cleft and palate gently naked
fornicating dancer
a **** clever imperfect blemish postulating
feminine crank
turn in angles unimaginable
and growl a sun placated ephemeral ***** light
i cup in oral extremal
a cur vy violet lung ;  you are beyond every other blush.

"I don't know how much longer I can do this."

a short america is gruffly and shouting with the britain who's is owns the metal caffeine *** dull and shiny they suckle about and like to rambling  about the weather and the whethers and they clump to safely dryness by the wall at the little under of the eave plunking out the serious angle of its chin walloping the rain and makes a pleasant patch. they 2, the america and the britain, spitting at each others ears their voices they like to hear

does up what seems a little clumsily down snow?

White and
White and
White and

everywhere, perhaps?seems snow

seems no

edge or fay

where might Spring's lewd fingers fit?
lewd fingers fit fat
lewd fingers find fickle fair frayed a bit fay
where its fingers can fit?

(the sun)
whose thick fingers
between the quick thighs of night

       can. fit in)just Spring

blue inside feels:
rough from the
groove up shaven
closely to fresh
air stings over cool

–skull and neck;

where i wish
my hand could become

a certain smoke
of tense opaqueness

unfolding a flower
in sharp city nights

the enormous groan
of my soul;

and sleep in your dark forest
a tactile brace of slender light  .

(   i               love                  you              will           never                know      )

i love you
being the leg beneath mine
,my wife
who is
beautiful
and feels warmly
something softness which
i love to feel
.



.




.









,

your hands in sunlight have often been god. And

i

have often been in love with them the way
they coilsome the body of a cup
in summer when or
(in your lap)
outside a café

neatly

you laugh

and your hands
(in sunlight)

i love sUMMEr oh i love it like like i do
i think because i love magic and i do
the darling suicide of its breast's between
i laid a crown of poppies and thistles
i laid a forest of ivy and of jasmine
i laid a hand between them and its hips
i laid (at least) 2fingers (3please)

                     SummeR

always tight and wet wants more fingers
between hips (and i laid a girl between them)
she rolls around when you stick her with a
thorn(andwhenyoucomeoutthere'scratches
all over your neck and you bleed a little
but it's ok SUMmer says coyly)


she's a **** and i love her

where is my body
i will lie in it
the world

from which
my flesh
trees the heart
and my breath
will come

into the stars
hanging
gossamer and
flung neatly
the pate over

and my mouth
will be the sea
issuing
verb
root
and foam

it will vibrate
from my own
valved throat

a single
straining
word

bursting

through all darkness

a fulgent
burning
FLOWER

shape that cuts
(girllike)
closely
shaven

with sweetness pressed
alone a little empty

needswants

filling to be

–inside–so mouth;;;

skin love,

hands dreaming on
pert curving of tiny
white white white

she she

"Can


             I


go down on you?"

in body whose white lectern
turns
fragrantly to
dust

, i will carve

a notch deep
into your *******
snow fingers and
dove hands of
love cruelly which
i cannot unmake
my lips for                              .

i my lips have been

    (to fling across impossible darkness)



A kiss


a curling
a soft
a mouth
a such achingly
a stupid and.


Across feeble immortal night
a blade of light
might that it would
its cut to part
that inken hood


to sleeps where curl'd
in girlish winking pearl'd
your heart's body
to cup it in my pinken furl

and a bit of sting
by Spring of pollen
your comely wisp
deepishly to imbibe


lifting thy swollen stupor

(press back the leaden lid
  )

.                          



                                                                                    fuckable






                 the





                                          haireyes





                                          morning roll



                                          her pinched





                                         cleft

                                        wafts hard
                                        smelling of seagirls; i splitting
                                        wet
                                        crack
                                        stiffly her the


                                        fingers

                                        ENTeringleAVE
                                        dewed
                                        in
                                        A
                                        Shout "yes"
                                        (ok again
                                          i will)

                                         push her up
                                         me to
                                        
                                         sighing wider
                                         apart
                                         yawing
                                         thighs
                                         extremely
                                         taste


                                         li(ke
                                         brine tastes sweetly sour
                                         )marching through
                                         mouth across
                                         tongue

                                         throat and hand
                                         "please"
                                          tightly
                                          "hert me"
                                           and
                                           "ok" i'll

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.

"i'd yeah"
I'd yeah i'd kick him in the teethi'dkickhiminthe"teeth"

closedness
the
tighly
opening of
your
fist is


                   SPRINGwarm

                            wetwarmSPRING

                             cloaked in flowers
                             and reeling
                             with tough ***** tinder
                             to splay as girl lips

                              and




                               r       l
                                  e          ea       s       e

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

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:

let me tell you what i love
i love the firmest new heat
of Spring's body leaping
totally March with the gushed
remnant of Winter's nowless
snowed figure. i love taking
the rough cherry of life between
my lips and i shove my tongue
forking the swollen damsel
of its prime juice until bustles
the marvelous uncouth sticky
sweetness over my lips coils
her lips and every sense of
mine cooly explodes in the
dapper shade of apple trees
.

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.
                                       ,


                                       .

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

think: what muscles
(the heart's
are stronger) often

they coil in distinct
perfume of girlness; soften

(fiber upon)

and weakness easily
becomes:


think

um um um um

    (wut wut)

the *** yer
mouth

    (impaled

on slender tragedy
of girl lips breaths)

sum uhv ****
,way down    ,
yer throat

(please
)    that    (

i of

nerves exactly
body more

dither with
precise warness
of boy fingers

into tingling *****
coyness of unshy

–thigh and bone–                                                                                              )

yer
yer
yer

swallow-allow teethteeth

sc

    ****

                ing

('gainst
hollow
and
tight
instants
of instant

                     SPRING  ,  )

.





































                                                       Your body is a word that I am mad to say.










































.

wut

   wut've u beeen?weight, wait


waitin 4 u been(the mouth

(the hair the

    fingers)(inside the


)tuchin the touching
inside you the
way quick quivers
jostle in your wet wet?)

U been waiting for hands(4hands
)on your neck in your mouth

in your mouth's been waiting
4 sum fingers

4 sum lick spit fingers
(your mouth:

sum wut's

been

weighting

4 sum.    Wut?

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.

be being being
–gold sometimes
,Spring never
in winter always:
Summer and summer
go entering

every sunset
their frail whoop
and last gasp
as shoulders unneat;

as boys and girls in garlands
whose hands they fail to keep

and make their mouths as gardens
)with death they hope to beat
(

my wife,

you are my flesh,
within your flesh:


            (my son)

who sleeps within you.

i love you that you are me,
and i am you;
inside your body
which sleeps beside me.

a miracle is the smoothest purr
of night's frail wrists
producing hands
pronouncing digits
adeptly who flutter
with pale and sharp
colours
              coiled in
                               a
warm limpsey
wind
          that shakes the boughs
          of a long tree
          straight
          and titanic

Rigid, unlike, softly, more like, she's coming a rough god riding the stocks of
bobbing withers robed in music. she's quick static spark sore tips of fingers
  just meeting with my tips of fingers just with grooves barely braying over
  one or the others me we sweetly are tumults of sparks raking ***** nails
   over backs pinions extend fully kissing free air and up into shaking
    clouds her minute jiggling abdomen i'm home there in between the beads
     of startling clarity and rush of sudden acute blissful angles (more like
      delightful swirling clutter, her hips are like) turning back and forward
       back and forward writhing sails of pleasure billowed skin her
        ultimate final tongue that staggers magnificently like a doe in the striped
         coat of furious tigers she has fanged jaws gently stabbing young
          blades my neck (a short column of stuttering electrons flickering
           against her blazing article of so unpure purely purring muscles
            slick and sinuously bound limbs an angelic fist's arm on my
             teeth suddenly flush with blood.
              
                         she is many
                     she is one
                   she is a multitude
                   she is a slight twist
                    to the hairs on the
                     the back neck   (of my)           .                  A
                                                                            neck meekly
                                                                           scratched with
                                                                              nails abruptly
                                                                        slaughtering quiet
                                                                       disheveled minutes
                                                                      in her merry cavern
                                                                                               wails

say numbers the little white toothed
sliver of a grin
hair breathlessly tousled
about fingers stairs
(winding)
upwards constantly
tall moments of absolute singleness

into 4 hands
2 fingers inside
lips strictly around
to eat 2 lips
30 minutes of
ultra caressed
hyper scrupulous
tense heaving                      ;


say numbers
7,205 seconds
until reaches
the startling pinnacle
of über sensuous
gangling drugged
with blonde milk
suddenly supple
between, "my dear,"

count as to count
by more than 20
digits to feverishly
blunder through
hurried wanting
to crush,

( say numbers and speak not numbly
  of the nimble bumbling of thy pale
  fracas an earth will be born from
  within wishing will to will unworried
  a fraction cut beneath the navel by
  a tremendously incalculable urging
  to rush              

                                            )

remember, ,Dear
my always
fingers

through tousled
coils of sunhair
rainlight and
damp moonmusic

fold foiling
with heart
to imbue
each crisp
limit of your
breast with
darkness–caving

(in even hollow stress
wear my ardorous dress
though my neat closings near
as like even's purpl'd tress;

moves mouth:
A song through silence peer
immutable sound by guide
to ship of cloaken choler steer
toward harbors safe an' placid tides )

–i shall that lives though but only an instant of bright health
live by light that speaks
sing saying

a chord struck
by divinest stroke

resonating through all your earthly sphere

that and though
i shall die
in your chest
my immortal pulse

will ever lie

you ever nothinged with the **** graceful wind of blue? hue rightly void, the impervious shunt of caking dramatic trees. grip havoc dangerously and collide

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

a leaf
who
shall
speak
Fall

    is
d
r
i ft
e          du

p


         on



the breeze;




                   l
                  

                        i

       l



                            t



        ing,



it pauses for a briefly infinite minuteness
only to lurch
suddenly
into
no
t
h
ing.

cool this
finger over
scalp(

             the world)

and beneath
the hair the
slick stuff
of love:


F L O W E R S  .    

Where
between
the quick cloth
of trees a stag

(twining tine)

‘tween root and sea

. And the taste of everything

perhaps is
the last
breath of (almost) Spring

when neck and kissing
each smoothness of skin arrives.

Opening all doors—
fills all hallways:

the laughing of children
and the whispers of mothers

bruise
i like
to press you. your

body and


the skin beneath me please

i would like to

                            ,
                                   press you.

which are you? Thou who art mostly scaled in fears
Of little rotten skulls)
        & the blundering mystery
of the big dark deepest deeply reaping darkness.thefingerofgod
    the thumb of god
                                   '
               between them our souls are writhing as he PLUCKs
them from our carnival
our    really big uncouth faces
. that he tickles in our sleep with dry
          and wet puffs of languid
fire He drizzles from the right heart
          in the wrong chest of men
Who like to act all nice and sweet
          but aren,t probably either
at all or maybe just a wee little itybity (a lot);
                                                                                                  the We
                                                                                         we were weren't well
                                                                                      we're we which is glee
                                                                                      a fantasy of garbled
                                                                                       annotated cells
                                                                                        at morts nice mouth
                                                                                         at morts pert mouth
                                                                                          at morts gnashing maw
                                                                                            in it
                                                                                             we're crunched
                                                                                              by shapely spears
                                                                                               of white
                                                                                                with blatant sharp
                                                                                                  edgesinourorgans
                                                                                                   sleeping in our
                                                                                                    thresh of hours
                                                                                                     the silver merry
                                                                                                      scythe man
                                                                                                       puts us in a box
                                                                                                        and we lay real
                                                                                                         still and moving
                                                                                                          not even the
                                                                                                           most little bit
                                                                                                            we stay like
                                                                                                             that we stay
                                                                  &n

when feels driven by some impulsed curing
of day into swift clumsy night i

am flung by silence

into the only mystery of love a spangle
tinly which ekes from splendor
slowly tumbling over end over
between the ******* of thing girls


           A finger of light

(cooing)i


                      a breath shake



                                       from



lips hotly tight in coiled something
furstroked and lurid with my lips
part (destroying)


and bruise into white

a fist of painful.      

                                    Uncurling

i can remember your mouth across from me i was late it was 11:17 i said i was sorry you said your mouth was across from in a mexican restaurant 2 years later your mouth was in my mouth in Eugene in Eugene it was very hot in the middle of the summer the van was broken down and i loved you so much there wasn't anything to do but climb into each other's mouth the thick heatness of sweating palms and you are sitting across from me in a mexican restaurant your eyes your mouth your hair was short 1 year later i thought you should cut it shorter 1 year later in a hot pocket of some thick freakness your hands mouth eyes spit and got open so wide i climbed into your whole body was so beautiful tasting better and fighting all night than death i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry


(i loved you)

Skin, the
girl you're
in. sleepsso

furiously amongst
the roots of chaste flowers

i twould
(to loose by touches febrile)
the flock; your gabled arch

unroost so mightily
tempests even would swoon

(and sodden every desert parched)

.













































         "I don't like you very much."



































.

you, who arrive out of nothing,
sleeked of rain
drown by fingers all the pud-muddley world

and comes thy hair so soft

and comes thy blithe so bonny

as feet of snow
(where love can't grow)
and eats all beams a tawny

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)


               .