.
























                                       ­                                          t
                                                               ­                as
                                                              ­               t
                                                               ­                 EE
                                             ­                              a
                                                               ­                 C
                                              ­                         h
                                                               ­  feels as shape
                                                           ­    like shape does:
                                                           ­  as like winter fist;
                                                           a juniper wi' holly kisst
            
                                                                ­         Acurled
                                                         ­                w
                                                               ­               i
                                                ­                    th
                                          ­                                i
                               ­                                              n
                                                               ­ a    curl'd   sphere
                                                          ­                   t
                                                               ­          he
                                                              ­   locke o' love
                                                            ­            an'
                                                 ­                         f
                                      ­                                       u

                                                              ­           r
                                                               ­             l
                                                  ­                      e
                                         ­                                       d
                        ­                                                            fear
­                                  

                                                               ­                        et, un deux du pleure fus

                                                            ­ that hands should hurt
  
                                  where love is new














































.

feels of a whole roughness
a heart cloven
seeps from a pair of oncenoble
girl eyes,

                   "sometimes I just want to die"

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)

.





























































                                                  Let's dance.
  
                                                  (And **** everything else)

it's autumn i cannot believe how i am alive again
the trees are and the day
in bits of orange
recedes into dark
fathoms of unday,

i wish my hands held
your hands that like
god hold the making
of every little nice thing

and every little ugly thing
of making inside me though

               –i wish–

how suddenly fragile i was
when we were

even though
we never                        were

. It's autumn

and i cannot believe how


i am alive

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

body,


                                             do
                                           you
                                         know
                                       how the
                                     air by you
                                   (when)
                                  becomes
                                lighter does
                                                       ?
                                                       or
                                                          do
                                                             you
                                                          perhaps
                                                                 know
                                                                      how
                                                        severely wafts
                                                     the arcuate dribble
                                                                             of your girlness cuts?

what are you?do you
think?you are?doing?

to me.will you

doit?more?

Please?

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
(

"because those who worship weakness should never be surprised they serve those who do not."

my knees hurt-- praying in your church

issohard
for

25 minutes of writhing

i pray

my mouth runneth over
with your cup and

my knees hurt

pr
ayingi
n y
our church

Nobody cares.

the flesh you have been has always been the world beyond me to leap through all mudness such clarity of love i have soared upon the breadth of each timid stroke of it and slept furiously amongst its petals.

know me:
(i am myself amongst you)
i am the root of light;
i am the light where roots dare not tread to pass.

are we
unlike steel? (more like light
made supple leaves of grass in
sleeping mountains where lay we
our hands of fire shorn of appolo,s Breath
                                                                         tangling with the boughs of forests
                                                                         darkly
                                                                                   waiting
                                                                       deeply
                                                                                     softly)

her mouth was
(it did)
i heard it
--and a whole ocean
went pouring

who is more nothing
his hands in weakness(halfsmall grinning)
slightly

parting on a cigarette
brinded by
a tree shade

he skinny
his arms
toyish
mewling
to cup in
their crooks
a drop
of the sun

and
be

        warm


     againitisWINTER)

.                                                                        like stars

                                                                         first nubile pins against darkness

                                                                         subtly quavering against darkness

                                                                         i tread amongst your hair over

                                                                         mountains i quickly unsheathe

                                                                         my soul and touch, by lewd drunk

                                                                         fingers, just the canny ribbons

                                                                         of your spine and cambered

                                                                         in my palm it does exactly the

                                                                         very painful beauty thing

it feels precisely,

no,                  more

exactly pleasant:

SUN barely

'cause autumn
shoulders less light

Rain more

and unlight

earlier, day each day
marches deeper
into deeper

gilt in naked and dead
colours: gold brown

'pon crunch build
towers of ******

(trees)

silently after silence
flood infinitely into

SlEEp,

          ,

    .

           '

i will die and because of you (i won't)
if you should happen to find this
(because) then, if you would please
read it; dead i might though be (of you
alive more) distinctly breathing not
awhisper nor a wisp of breath from
un(reading)eyes

                                  (this)

the something you alive,
white naked
blue eyed
stranding
blonde
darkly
wheat gold

i run
,a finger,
through

while makes
gladness
sing saying
by voice
the mouth
of your
soul

i (Dear)
am not
without thy
chasteness
after chasing
the morning
on hills cloaked in
crocus and thyme

reach to hold
the crust of your
divine health

a cheek
pallid
struck through
(rouge)
and beating
little by

heart
this my
dear
let
this anthem
of thy breath

ring through
all stillness
a golden tone

exciting every
atom to
DANCE

gilt in foiled amber streetlight bluntly buckled on my coffer p-coated and trundling meticulously a drafty cinder of pretty little veins blueing clicked small headed teeth blasting blond scalp and hot pinked lips they' were asking shyly if i'd a minute heat to burst the cool heap of tobacco splitting pleasantly her plush rinds a tube 'i"m sorry i don't smoke'

sum wut werd 1 means
i dont think a single think
will mean.

And how should 1 know it?

By what name will you call this thing?

the nam'ed thing persists
resisting itself nothing
which unencumbers,

the still pistil
of a blade between
the toes.

Have your feet tasted much?

Have you been so proud to get at the meaning of poems?

(there are thousands of poems left).


                                                             .







                                                              .











                                                                 ,

it was milk again last night arms sweating teeth on edge and whole body steaming lathered in crocuses

how like stars, innumerably beautiful, do girls crowd her face(the earth)whose cheeks, like those infinite pretty sparks, swell with the nubile quavering light o' ladies perfumed in youth; which cling to my eyes and soul like those fierce twinklers to the deep quiver of night.

A pen is sometimes
(books)

the pages of which(between)



ink.

through what body of flowers does your kiss move,
its muscles softly more

where palm tightens against neck
titanically blossoms

your breath
in leaping heaps of strenuous hurt.

hurt that loves to.to
come against me
the forking of its river, its

wideness of thigh, and the plying
of my open fist

to splay the dirt

and plant amongst your dying earth
the heat of

                    infinite

     Spring,



                        .


          '


            ­                              ,
  





.




                   ­   
                                 '
                                 .

hello again tomorrow
i'll meet you grinning
when i rise from slump
& shadow i'll raise my
voice to peak it over
sternly the caps of
mountains fleeced in
witless glimmering those
noble skulls are full o' dreams and fancy

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

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

i am most alive

   (inside your)

where all
warmness resides
its cleaving
and pinched
moistness;

i believe,
AND
pink, which
pinkness with
cannot contend,

palely imitating
the body and hollow
color of your cheeks,

your makes
which body
does
(mine) when

inside all you
the completeness
of death
is most
undone.

ked



                                                    the ****



                                                                                                                            "***




irl."G



her **** the i

silently,
the tress
the marigold
the bumbling of
unkempt bees between
green and green

(a whole forest accidentally
in cool shadows etherize by
pools of mostly light darkness
the tall body of mouth        )

not a sound or not a little
hist wist
escapes(breaks)
the tulle

(and it can't be heard
or said how
deeply loose and warm
it is to be
inside the chilled vambrace
of this big forest everywhere)


                             somewhere


a


                 bird



      is,

without nearly mercy the strange brawn of sinuous boughs thickly forested thoughts. wreathing simple futile furious thoughts. wearing sluggish fatty
eyes prepondered coloured and uncoloured (right in their middles) disks
flinty gristle they're black right in the median outside inside upside downside
left and right and left. my heads wearing them and more flush with nose
and just below them it's there and just below it, lips are waiting slightly
parted waiting to guzzle sickly the ruby hard cords on your face your face
is there with lips and eyes and teeth are there on your head and hair to
is coming right out the top of your head where my fingers go amongst their
limber stocks and digging slightly digging into the pale soil of your scalp
AS YOUR TOUGH STIFF HARD FUTILE LIPS ROIL OVER MY
stupid ugly soft lazy lips, over my dumb wonderful bloodied lips

for do i remember far weight less colours

      reaming

the mute carcass of the earth
from whom perfumed life
is boosted splintering
and releases enveigling fingers nimblest shoots and toes

     who

by capricious arms smoothly
piercing slenders penetrate
hands and tongues o' demure lightness
which onto naked stillness pour
a rage of purring dawnlight

in autumn all light is
(more **** fragile drunken sleeping)
the earth
                         and leaner

                                               and leaner

rises uneasily in the morning stiff white
less

            and

                        and


                                       less


                                                    green(sproutsnone

                                           frost slightly

                                     instead

                             grows

                      just

                                   )climbing the death of night rib
                                     by
                                     rib
                                     by
                                     rib of sallow frigid air

                                     and in one enormous swallow:



                                        WHITE

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

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

at how does gleam the cherry **** of your cylindric pertness–lips–i beco
    me me in two folds of self on each one pressed the drooping brand of y
       our hands stings to cooly touch with the unhinging of cottoned hurt
           ing in when the sun suddenly of gradual imperceptible dying revo
              lves on the apex of youth its own immortal youth; such dreams a
                 s magic become the ethereal toyness of your wrists that fleetly
                    stagger of whiteness with substance wholly girl with two
                       ******* wine for a mouth and darkness for hair even
                          the night is jealous at their fibers and remarks with
                             disturbed violence a shower of stars to mark
                                its brunt, its curling of tight fingers into
                                  fists of foisted heating)
                                              (there
   ­                                         such
                   ­                     brightness
                                 ­      is a circle within
                                      A circle of
                                     tingling bruteness
                                     you have liked me
                                       to be between your
                                         smart ****** of cherry
                                            pertness–
    ­                                                LIPS

did you ever reading unbearably beautiful suddenly
fall out every letter or words even really tiny and
without sound stumble up into air cringing
with evening's unsharpest light

                                         i

lufrednow ylpsirc srettel ta yletinifni nageb i did
   snuon sbrev ecindoolb gnuls sdrow derettefnu
              gnixommulf meht revo thgir llef i ylevol
                detanhcne yllacigam yesorpnu yleritne

"I guess–I don't know–underneath it all I'm just a romantic. I've loved (I will always love), and I suppose when I'm dead someday that will only be what's left: some vague echo of a moment I shared with someone. But really, and truthfully, I loved them in that moment.

And I will live, who knows how long, but I will live and I will carry in my heart those moments. The tasting and touching of those moments. I will hold them in my heart, and in my own way, I will always love them. Each one. Each moment and tongue.

It is sad and it is wonderful–that I got to have any of them at all, and that I got to have none of them. But that's probably on me–I'm not always the best person.  

I don't know, I guess I'll just keep trying. But please know I loved them. All of them, in their own way.

I'm sorry for who I am. I'm sorry if I ****** up. I just wanted to be happy. I just wanted to taste someone's skin and live.

Maybe tomorrow I'll die. Who knows.

Anyway, I love you. Goodnight."

this thing has eyes.

its mouth does the wide thing
with flesh and teeth over its
voice which seems easily
keen and darts under its
breath;

it can't but hear to speak,
and says softly–somehow:

a dream which dreamily dreams
up the sun scarred air into
the summer sunlashed
,and comes through window
a little gossamer with pale
blankets of downy light.

(you are dreaming, my dear,
in our bed your hair makes
a dark coiling of itself over again
against itself, and the stark pillow
of your nape and breast;

–breath easy–

it is summer within and cooly
shrugs with the light patter
of seawind, gull throats,
and the stuttering jangle
of a somewhere bell-lined
noose.

how easy it is to be an orchid,
i think, leaning into my thoughts
and the words on a page
while you sleep
your lips
around
each
smooth
dallop of your
chest–breathing–and gently:

i kiss you in my mind.
                                         )   )   )    )      )

.































































­
                                                  who loves shall not die beyond there body.



























































­





                                                                                                                                                                              .

the world fits most easily in rain between
the close thighs of light
eking just slenderly

one ephemeral rill of ****
penetrating
to eagerly spill
dawn.

                 (the though world
                   in rain fits just
                   in just the loose tenseness
                   of muscle unbounding
                   from bone, wide
                   )with
                    a sliver
                                of
                            neat

                     ssenlriG

ap
oem
w
assu
mm(h)
e
rh
er
wa
sa
and
itwa
sjust
g
re
een
(h
erg
­ra
ss)          when it
s
pilt
that tenderest first hurting
o
fl
o
ve

who forgot a word their lips trying to
find stumble stiffly up into the mouth
of a gun's barrel saying,

"Someday you'll see it."

my whole life i
,to say 1 raw
perfect thing
,t' would trade

"It's like, I know you love god, but I
just want to bend you over a table and
*******–and I think you want it too.

I know you believe in all these things
and far be it from me to say they are
wrong, but under your skin I can
tell there is something else.

You pulse with something raw,
painful, and violent.

You seem to tremble with palpable aggression.

Give me the pain–give me the Valkyrie
I know you are.

I want you to hurt me, and I want to hurt you. Your neck is so pretty.
All I can think of is what it would
feel like in my hand.

We could be something so ugly and
beautiful. I can feel it within you.

It seems barely contained within you.

But maybe we shouldn't.

Maybe you shouldn't.

I don't want you to do something you don't want to.

But I want you. I want you to want it."

Rain)you enter me by the concise brutal slenderness
of your waist

you wet are thousands and mutely cringing on
my neck some

and scalp some

reeling into sleepier darkness
lark perched suddenly between

emits the frailest wings

and treads you into(nothing

dazzling glimmer you eat the hills pretty
inside your first hour                                                                          
a girl lays                                                                                      
stabbed by my young
arms dreaming 'bout her stillness nestled fastly

           'gainst me temporary and my ribs
          (she wiggles into deeper thrusting
           that face unugliest and cloaked
           in gentle smiling lips)she kisses
           me by those two cords o' electric
           pink stuff and i verily
                                                 do love her
                                                                             my "stop dreaming" girl

                                                                                                               kiss me