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PK Wakefield Dec 2010
stand tall stupid arbor meats
peacefully deadened pursuit
of apathy grandly posited
a smooth unmarking
the soil goes
plunk",
PK Wakefield Sep 2014
.


























"I want something real.

You know what's real?

Pain; anger; misery; suffering: ugliness–


I want to see you in a moment of complete ugliness."


























.
PK Wakefield Nov 2012
your mouth is a pale crescendo
about which mutters beauty
(lipscheecks;eyes;hairandbody)
easy with crass eager nobility
and just a bit of intense fingers
culling fleetly every atom of
girl fleece into a singular punch
of lush dangerous silence

that caves when rushes your
neck into my mouth its crisp
foal (on awkward skinniness
suddenly) blisters engorged
with scarlet and strenuous rapid
sound

            BURST
PK Wakefield May 2011
what burst from limbs
in naked fire
?the sprout of love
A supple pyre
PK Wakefield Feb 2011
to marry
the divine habitat
you!re lovely careless ******
the doltish armor of my candor
would be surly erratic blissssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
PK Wakefield Dec 2011
Fall
       U
           1 somnambulant princess
              from
              heaven dearly
              creaking
              hushed
              tumults
                                  U
                                    leaking flashes
                                    in Paris
                                    U have a wry lipless smile
                                    struck leaning
                                    against a church playground
                                    smothered
                                                        in you child dying
                                                        Ur a playful
                                                        hair seriously
                                                        sets the dirt on edge
                                                        and all trees
                                                                             inU
                                                                                   are nudest
                                                                                         by bell ringing
                                                                                                                  in a church yard
                                                                                                                                             leans the fair
                                                                                                                                                                  mushy
                                                                                                                                                           uglywonderful
                                                                                                                                                         body of
                                                                                                                                                         U
                                                                                                                                                          Fall
PK Wakefield Nov 2011
i just like writing. i like it. i write and it comes flooding. it blows exploding breaths from my tips. my tips of fingers. it flies across them enormous and tiny cylinders. it comes out them and it gets stuck in my brows. tangled they spark ardently and they crowd heaven. they construct and they crowd it. and did you notice how i touch each one ably. i deftly kiss each letter and they flutter whole seas of wings. i don't know why
i should be in them. i'd not thought them pretty till i were already so loving their shapes and forms i'd not raise from sleeping if i couldn't feel them. but now i do. and they are never from me. they are always hot
and squirming in me. but i can't like what i make. it would unmake it. unmake their pretty and their deep.
PK Wakefield Dec 2010
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
PK Wakefield Sep 2012
walking briskly
clutched purse
brown slick
leather gold
dangles chain
boot to hip
(*** in jeans)
tighter pliantly
addresses earth
beautifully crushed
rouge brunette
hair lips
ivory between
flashes parting
eden A
serpent and,
"excuse me"
PK Wakefield Oct 2011
です 
         

        あなたです


     おいしい、か?僕、




               ­     思う



                                       。
PK Wakefield Sep 2011
like behind mountains
summer slowly Falls
one colour of its face
runs with original
gorgeous irrelevant
and too becomes
cooler slowly ( each new whim of cheeks brinded
                           crisply utters leaves about the rust
                           failing light which gathers 'bout
                           the nape of columns against the
                           moon they grumble with the fresh
                           dithering stammers of Autumn, "you
                           little death i think you look so much
                           better in your cadaver" to which i
                           climb the air to stars a filigree of
                           nubile clinging darkness
PK Wakefield Apr 2013
i do not know a word
having only written i
can only say i do not know
how to read or a poem
perhaps in a book
where i thought i did
was a dream of
words and poems
amongst men
who know words
but only i can say
i do not know a word
PK Wakefield Aug 2010
there is only one and still there is only one. it beats and stutters and
there is only one and in the open breathing pasture of my palm infinite
and only one. it smiles it is. it is clever and warm and gentle or. it
is the only pulse strong pumping trembling tremendous heart blooming
staggering incredibly exploding scarlet. it's it is... the one. the only
one. it is mine
PK Wakefield Sep 2015
"I'm so tired of being alone. It's like a weight; just heavy on me. And sometimes I almost want it to crush me. Just to get it over with. Just to be done with it."
PK Wakefield Nov 2012
i have the (deliberate) comely legion of summer marched through
in the lather of poppies;i fell sleeping with flowers from my skin
pulsing to reach the sun

                                               by stems fragile aching

                       LAVENDer

and



                marigolds 2

                                           were

                                                        there

                                                                   they
                                                                    had
                                                                     *****
                                                                       small
                                                                        voices
                                                                         but smelled like
                                                                          H
                                                                          O
                                                                        N
                                                                         E
                                                                        Y
PK Wakefield Apr 2012
i
  by
      the perfunctory
             noose of sleep
             am a dream alive
             with a gallon of ladies
             languid ladies in nothing
             at all ladies who taste like
             cinnamon and sugar and
             stars they taste like stars yes
             they taste like like salt and just
             a little bit in their secretly folded
             lust they've got a sweet tiny dish
             of in their betweenhips they've got
             madness and howling and a darling
             pink as bubblegum far nicer to eat than
             but you don't chew it you just use your tongue
PK Wakefield Mar 2012
something leafs (inforestsdarker
                   ) quietly of     nosnow
but even                                 paler
       with ...
moon light and              between
columns waxy with    beginning
night there accurately          i am
doused wonderful human arms
in youth gorgeous of health and
wishing playfully for hair body
naked                  giddy feminine
PK Wakefield Oct 2012
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 ***
PK Wakefield Nov 2012
"goodnight" (oh and by the way
love though you) i

(walking briefly away) by your door
wilting

streetlight stands awkwardly half

(wilting and half awkwardly splits)

dusky silent ruby

lips and body

(then)"goodnight"

turns
PK Wakefield Nov 2011
.
.
  .
    .
      .
     ,
       .
         .
        ,
          .
         .
                     .


         '            
            
                                    .  




                 ,









                                                      ­     .
                                                            '
 ­                                                             ,
PK Wakefield Jul 2013
.






















































         ­                                                           this is not a poem




























































­

































                               ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­             /
PK Wakefield Mar 2012
petals tinier of spring silken wet
doused of pink innumerabley
minute death litter the banks
of a river where reeds bending
in wind laugh breath grow die

              by

the quick ankles of deer who
in downy copse eat the blood
of earth and startled by the
rustle of foot and twig straight
burst out bounding their skin
taught and lathered in spring
tiny minute dying spring by
petals silken and wet
PK Wakefield Nov 2013
.























































                                                                                                                                                                        lust.






















































­





















































.
PK Wakefield Mar 2012
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)
PK Wakefield Jul 2013
the very ugly beautiful you
AMERICA i

we the
(people)you
and me
are
PK Wakefield Mar 2012
.
















                                                                          





















                                                                                 alone
PK Wakefield Nov 2012
i have caught on the edge of shadows

               my hands

halfly splayed by quarters and 1/3s
darkness and lightness

(in my hands splayed, caught)

and folded it neatly into my soul

its heatness and its coolness

adroitly cupped in sudden gold:

SUMMERFALLAUTUMNSPRING
PK Wakefield Feb 2011
we are effortless(
a pale and limbic house
)we hold in each others
our hearts
or music
                      the tone of marble calves
or your skinny hips                                            where
                                        i strum between they
the chord
                     which          rises
(from your pelvis )
                                        to a throat bubbling howl
PK Wakefield Apr 2011
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
PK Wakefield Nov 2012
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
PK Wakefield Nov 2012
by things O new less understood than more carefully studied

                                  (life)

easy come easy


                                  as rain come






                                                      ­         warmly though November

                                                       ­                                                    from.


(life, your name is the hot curl
of my lover's wrist in the discreet
wander of lust's homely fracas , life


                                                          ­            )hang by
                                                              ­         straightening
                                                   ­                    heat the
                                                             ­          smart scowl
                                                           ­            of your
                                                            ­           veritable strum
                                                           ­            (snow) and
                                                                ­        unsnow
                                                  ­                      in dirt and music
                                                           ­             as a flower through,
                                                        ­                pushing brisk starlight
                                                       ­                 on each petal softer
                                                          ­              than each petal pushing
                                                         ­               softer and
                                                                ­        softer and

                                                            ­            starlight




                          life



     ­                                 know





                  less­
                         me
                                i
                            ­       less
                                    y
                      ­            o
                                u
                 ­                      and understood
                                                      ­             clearly nothing
                                                         ­                       (the rinse of your
                                                            ­                      though November
                                                        ­                          warmly rain
                                                            ­                       defies
                                                          ­                         beyond logic
                                                           ­                         )
                                      ­                                              beauty
PK Wakefield Mar 2011
i probably don't care
unless
           ido
PK Wakefield Dec 2011
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)
PK Wakefield Apr 2011
when never i'd gone to nook in hiding the sun in their puffy titanic pale
the clouds of spring are not unlike the lips of my lover; whose splendor
grates in every and every her lazy exact muscles flush hunk of slippery
rough pink; she who art wholly more a softly thing than the big tangy
roof of spreading up over all the earth their guts of rumpled kissing
flesh the skin of my soul. which is not unlike a crust of furious dainty
cells basically cloistered knots of dna and a and nut in which is the
glorious **** of lovely symmetry that composes the entirety of her most
unfat blood corpulent sock of engorged radiating ***
PK Wakefield Feb 2011
never be impressed
PK Wakefield Jan 2011
prancing ludicrous slick skinny muscles, the america opened small, gobbling bubbly musical. they were satiating in another room. and i was a wanting to burst up foetid partially digestion. this housed party **** is gross
PK Wakefield Sep 2010
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
PK Wakefield Jan 2011
break all the rules
PK Wakefield Nov 2012
on the ***** of pin rests the whole breathing and dying finite ugly world

cast in minute wearing

)she is fair and frail and far and far

Ffall, she shrugs shoulders and from
there stumbles gold in delicate smash
in aching sigh, in verdant crash
                                                                                      (the sun small i see through my window out there

somewhere a girl is probably sitting who almost)
PK Wakefield Aug 2013
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,




                        .




                                     ,
PK Wakefield Feb 2014
I.

do you know?

have you been?

have you been by the slant ways behind the hills there is store and have you
wandered much in it?

have you gone down the little rows and counted them?

have you looked into the tired eyes of weary mothers and fathers?

have you seen in them your mother and your father?

have you kissed with them your thoughts and wondered on the small
mystery of their being?

have you wondered at them looking at you(and what do they see)?

have you thought to reach out and touch them and ask them how they are doing?

have you wanted to look in their eyes and tell them that you know they are tired but there isn't much left to go and you know how hard it is and that you are sorry and that they are as soft and as infinite as your own self?

have you dreamt much?

have you gone out from the store, into the nice mouth of the city, and have you seen the same tired look in the same weary bodies?



II.

where have you been in the Summer?

have you been by the bank of a river?

did you let your toes in it, and did it feel so cool as to rush across them you suddenly want to pull them out?

and how did it feel, the first time you were kissed, and sweaty between the arms, you pushed in even tighter?

have you laughed much?

when was the last time you laughed?

did it feel as if it was the last time?

did you watch your laughter curl away into nothing like a vine of fume from a smoker's mouth?

did you watch it curl away and wonder if you might be lucky enough to laugh tomorrow(and did you wonder how many more days and nights you might be lucky enough to not laugh)?

did you cry after you laughed?

did you look down at your hands and marvel at the intricacies of your bone and flesh?

did you ever hold them up against the night sky and marvel at the tinniness of their work? (have you held them up before your face in a dark room and wondered what it would be like to not see?)




III.

have you struggled much?

do you ache, and are you sore?

do your muscles hurt?

do you feel heavy with obligation?

do you feel tired from living, and with life?

from where does your pain begin, and where does it end?

did it begin in the hands of someone you thought you loved? did it end in the empty stare of someone you thought loved you?

have you hurt anyone?

how did you feel?

did you tell yourself it was ok?

what did you tell yourself?

who were they?

why did you hurt them?


IV.

are you awake?

are you reading this?

will you wake up tomorrow (and every tomorrow until you don't), and will you remember this moment?

will it fade into nothing?

will you recall it suddenly in some still moment?

will you look out the window of your car on your way to work and catch the sliver of some stranger's face in the quick of your mind?

will you wonder on their life, and the sliver of your own face, caught in their mind?

and will you remember?

will you remember?
PK Wakefield Feb 2011
precocious                                                                                                                  ,
a hippolyte was tugging
the cleft of night and day
she sweated finely
a colour
slowly
nigh
PK Wakefield Jun 2011
did i a human thing completely graze your cheeks and of them
eating did i lush with shoots and stocks and because wind
snarling in their delicate snuggle of **** drunk flesh
just the very juice of your berries did wine from them
throng into my throat a terrible and army lovely
? I have been under you when caved out your billowing ******* indispensably
and growled from your lips a shout of candy and burrowed into my
slippery vibrations the nuzzle distinctly your just shorn and delicious
cradle.
             yes
PK Wakefield Feb 2011
a green was talking
behind my house
on all the earth is
sprayed its lips
with whom
it says
hello
PK Wakefield Sep 2012
breath: there is nothing like you
a flower, the river next to it, a
strain of summer and



                                                      breath
­












                                                    ­                                     there
































       is






























































­
                                                                ­                                                                 ­      nothing
PK Wakefield Dec 2010
a colour and a day
the sea was open bending oral
muttering senseless beauty
i reflected:

                     so tooAMi
PK Wakefield Jan 2011
what                     thou                                                                      art ?
thou art
                           c
                            
                                o
                            i
                      l
                                     ed                       flowers
PK Wakefield Oct 2013
**** what it's so you're

you're so


                        ****


and pretty
in shoulders

around a chest
where
(so nicely flutters)

youth

(and over it
are
your
****                     )
PK Wakefield Dec 2010
spouted
                                  of the                                 cruel
                                                                             SOIL

       a dandy         lion          is:

          

                           P!OOf)
PK Wakefield Nov 2015
"I don't know how much longer I can do this."
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