break all the rules

a rose, a rose, this morning grows
'tween hollyhocks and ***** boughs
a tightest bud whence crimson flows
a rose, a rose, this morning grows
the body of the earth
the eatage of crows
a rose, a rose, this morning goes

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

i want you to have com--

                   e

easily slowest faster
a tightly groomed lips

pleasantl--


                        y


of colossal tiny groaning
into deepening thighs
wanders deeper a
wand and dies (petitel--


                      y)





la mort

falling in love
every minute minute
          i crawl the streets
every corner turns to dust
and every pile
                          bursts some
feminine livery
                                and they alll        taste
                                                                                like honey

so just sitting in my room softly light, the marvelous comely feeling of your warmer fingers elates me sitting in a narrow beam breaking beam by tree's boughs breaking beam in my silent room you fracture and dance dappling your warming narrow comely face

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 ***

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)

risky are you little summerspring

          ?wetbetween and eager for


(legs and fingers)

ivory, littlesummerspring, are you

and soft as

smooooooth as

long little summerspring spread

cherry and pink

cherryandpink little summerspring




                                                                                                                                                          




                                                                                                                                                              (and wet)

hurt: he's
a boy

waiting. A boy waiting and
he's
hurt
between

rib and lung(wilting). He's
a boy sometimes

and(sometimes))he's
a boy)

between rib and lung(



hurting,

         .

            '

         ;


               .



      ,




                      .




            '

"oh hello"whose shoulders are easy darling *****
sloping"hey"
                      down
                                "what are you doing Saturday?"

way into ******* neatish comely pristine

"I'm"deftlywonderfulslender"going"bycalvessupple

"to a show. you?"


"probably nothing."

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

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

i have always loved the summer who
walks through white splendor the hot
looseness of rough *** in a cheap motel
somewhere in Oregon.

somewhere i am sleeping i can hear
the wind across
the span of my ear a flower
is bending in it is bent
bending in the wind
it is white
its petals are
its body is
thin it's green
it's yielding very
nicely

somewhere i am sleeping i can hear

it seems the sun is a flare of golden skin dangerously skinny light transposed elegantly on a tidy forest floor spreading aching breaths o

   f

how who

                    through


new what

          (crisp)******

of uncouth
****** glass:

                           BUILDINGS!                                                     (awholecity


suddenly of unerupting stillness
leaps by
slick courage of burning liquor
a slightly old

               )a slightly stupid(

boyness of incorrigible grinning
arms of hands by body youth sick

a girlnesss about


entwining into steep darkness of hard love:

      some mouth open.


      some mouth eager.

he seems a man particularly a man
particularly of a fat acne face splattered
erratic blemishes. to about the grunt
of his flaring nostrils long haired spouting
mouths
              , he's splunking waddlinglittlesteps
hithe r wi th e r (the bookstore's a most
quiet almost quiet almost noisy noisy quiet
steps fading rushing
aboutaboutabout
the isles the aisles the offwhite ravished pages
noiselessly disheveled bang

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

i love also
some golden light
pierceth and burning
the earth
who lays
in tremendous sighs o
                                                         Du
                   f                                      sT.

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.   .    .

.






















































         ­                                                           this is not a poem




























































­

































                               ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­             /

i love you(bytheway)who
comes out darkest winter
brightly hands

your cheeks feel beyond feeling--minute

,soft,

and clothed in Summer:


dance

i've some blade in me lightly
awe full it

shard

glows

              wafting

a hot star drips from

and out my fingers


          EXPLODES

I find my pen in whate'er words encompass I
when i lay it to the page. stark and stretching
'neath my pen, writhing 'neath my pen
The words i find my pen
to encompass it: The page
beneath my pen

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

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

o dear meeting you was o dear i can't say it wasn't hard to speak it wasn't so hard to i can promise you that it wasn't to hard to speak and because dear your muscles and because dear your skinny wrists and because dear it wasn't hard to talk it wasn't and dear at meeting you it wasn't because:


                                    "for all the pouring of my lips contain'd:
                                     (the words of my body) were
                                      ,by your lips,
                                      in defeat retain'd."

thinking often finding myself
in music mostly writhing
a distinct sound of children
in the abrupt open nook
of night timidly splayed
i am mostly myself
when i have been me
finding thinking often myself

It is still here now, I think.
Perhaps.

The land is still.
The grass is still.
The water is still.

(the rain faintly against the glass is still.).



The earth is private in the smallness of its breathing.

It is the smallness of my son’s breathing.

I stand over him and I listen and I watch.

He breathes and the smallness of the world sleeps with him.


(my wife snores.
my daughter rustles in her crib.)


It is still here now, I think, perhaps.

the most common drive of human expression is arrogance

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

"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

.






































           "Seems a little ***** to me."

















































.

little pools completely of ink
your shoulders are laughing
trembles of over my desk
eating the grain your
miraculously pale splinter
divided divides
body from mind

                        to add sin the former
          removing the latter

i climb your mostly fragile
completely of sweat
arching spine's cute minute
valley cut softly from skin
and imbued most ardently
by hands insatiably to eat
the webbed writhing of neatly
bunching muscles

i don't think you
and without
should
            and just
do it

pass me through this
(the lung)
an embolist--

not making a passage,
but constrict instead
all moving of hart;
all ******* of blud.

a minute will be your hands
around the neck of girl,
pale spent, lurid
in the cheeck--
a stain breathing,

below the eye
not clover
nor neither dye
but the curved hinge
from where all seathing flys.

.





































                                                           Your dreams will not come true.



























































­


                     .

"You did this little thing, when I kissed
you after I had gone down on you,
where you ****** your juices off the
tip of my nose. It was one of the most
****** things I've ever experienced."

some girls taste like all girls taste like
every girl, differently, the same;

each smells the least exactly like the last,
smells swelling with a pinch of brine
between hot breaths of a Summer ocean;

and how good the ocean feels running
faster than curved orangeness of pinched
pinking hotness down your chin while it
rustles jook quivers and sighs heaping
one exquisite leap of its spine into each;

(let's say basically i've been a lot myself
on my knees at the edges of beds eating.)

all the streets in girl things comely
arms a bit are haired in

               (tan and tan)


the golden crush of whose mute fingers
make blithe the spring
and against
find the night homely

piercingly the mooon against
into slivers thousand make
their drooping slender of cotton haste
as cherry petals,

                             a branch from shake


in the wind to uncurlsome
neatly wan ankles
and fists o' skin girlsome

crease and crease alike(andunlike)

gossamer



                          faintly





                                                          of




pinkest aching to part


To enter loving


To exit heart

.                                                     I
                                                     at
                                                    The
                                                   sharpest
                                                  new
                                                     clean
                                                 blade
                                                of
                                                    dawn
                                               which performs
                                              the colour
                                             of life
                                                        in
                                           A curving sheet
                                          of condensed
                                         flowers
                                                      am lifted
                                        impractically
                                       petal
                                      upon petal
                                                to
                                    the breathless coronet
                                                     of
                                  unspeakable
                                 love

came thee by thee came
a posthumous day
(the fold most grand and eloquent
the lancing fragrance)
i,m uncareful lucid cadaver
of sensible powder    
crimped finely
so in the clarity of feverish dawn i drew and bent the notch
a shady dappled riot
       where i wait for some madly gabbing burst
of wet unkempt






                                  S
                                    P
                                  R
                                 I
                                   n
                                         g .

w

          w



                         wh



                                             what loves


                                                     this
                                                        I?i
                                                      loves the
                                                      rushing of in girls
                                                      Summer when heat
                                                      does its lips in forked
                                                      seething.

                                                       I loves
                                                       the hush
                                                       of almost winter nights
                                                       and the concise
                                                       melancholy
                                                       of empty rooms.


                                                        I loves
                                                        the by
                                                        cherriest of wristness
                                                        to loosely
                                                        in vagrant slumber
                                                        stir whitely.


                                                        I loves
                                                        the brother of my brother, and
                                                        the little timid
                                                        of barely unviolence boys
                                                        (in fists very tightly which).

                                                         But.

                                                          w w   ww what loves
                                                           Iis
                                                           the most
                                                           of life
                                                           and lessing
                                                           too
                                                           of it
                                                           into
                                                           primest daftness of sleep.

by this the world i mean the flesh:
the lip eye
bone sinew
ear mouth
and nose;

i mean the nerve
over buzzed
by impingement;

the shocking
and profuse
frock of the
skin,

tingling at
the rush of breath;

i mean the cold
and cadaverous
welching of
the lips not formed
about spent gas,

in rutted exersion
of its yearning atom.

(the bone and hand
are at once in play
with the muscles,
which form and
gesticulate the self;

they make as unmake
and the world lists between
their span--

gripped tightly
in the 1 moment
and let idly
in the neckst)

i have formed
myself
my hands
around the
shafts of roses

and i have never been
myself less or more
than in those moments
neither being absorbed
nor voided of presence

but only being
the hand
around which
the within
holding
the presence of a rose:

i lift
to my nose
and eat
the exsellent
PoLLEn,

            .


                   ,




        .














                                   ­     !

did it ever seem like life was sifting gradually swift in lumps and sighs,andforks bolting sorely muscles tingle and baritone is plumply in this jazz hard cafe i'm eating eagerly your stomach with darting hollow orbs it's so cleanly a caked muck that's draped splendidly in ******* a girl i lick and tender verbally a slick sentence skirt lifting rapture

some barely rosebud
tenderly just
open
slenderly

bobbling
aloft
skinny skinny skinny
stem and

a pink
sliver of
petals
bunch easily
at

the lips
of its,

(hands go around
and: Pluck            )

"*******," this if not alive if not dying of each buzzed ripple
of breath which tensely erupts
into uncoiling fold of morning
over the silent chord of sunrise

seems if not speaking seems
to eternally youth, breaching
the seamless cording of
a short girl's throat–says,

"alright,"

and
        "i
wish you
l o v  e   d

    me."

in what sureness holds wife hands?

My most mundane love,
fresh in a moment
i felt your shoulders
between my fingers
the fascia binding
my soul to yours.

when took me
yours beneath
a smallest gable
of artificial flowering:

(in a peach dress
very pregnant;
i kissed the
last person).

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.
                                       ,


                                       .