i like a sweetness
and but
       a savoryness
                too
and sometimes the other

   more than the one

do i suppose to know a thing?
(i don't know it)

                            but
    supposing
                           i
                    
                                  do

     what

                     then?

in your bright house is whiteness
in your pert immaculate body
is
        stately ivory wings

who tread the air to heaven
(upon whose breath
trembles the serious
anger of your blonde
hair)with which is days drunken
and marvelous with thy
prim bulbous laughter

shade in spring, shakes,
dance, quivers
shivers a little bit
between your shoulder
blades touches
real light
its lips
where
draws a nice
beautiful ecstasy
and an
apple
red
eaten lays
destroyed
at the pretty
pastel flakes
of your toenails

hot some dust and spice lingers
in a pale winter's beam of sun
sharply through silence naked
in a little dark room
away from everything
sleeps tangled cushions
a cat stirring lanky and breaking

of a new more nothing perfectly fragile:
wings aching to lift

downy

and feather broken

young with sunlight and raw

amber skinned candy come look
and with me
                        a kiss perhaps
                        ?

say terribly walks thighnicely shaped through immutable seconds into a hard tepid bar
and there i am because why not and she sounds a bit like a star sounds from her throat
coughs a few spangles onto the counter and she's sharp shortly cut dark and on her
face is deeply thick a scarlet splinter of love for which my mouth wants to pluck out
and push into my face till it hurts so lovely with noblood and splayed over hours
of laughing and outside to a car stumbles mirth in tight skin and against the side of
it at the nape of a soft street puddles every drop of her neck and explodes

do like rain severely
smaller lips smaller
kissing lips kissing
tinly divided mouths
kisser mouths kisser
like rain do severely

&


                                           laying
                                          in(justskin
                                                             you there
                                                                                  just are
                                            a lot
                                                 o
                                                  f
                                                               what i like to kiss

dreams don't dying
never live, born
though, of stillness
or moving liquid
silver perhaps or
red
         blue

                     yellow

louder and louder
one or the other or
none(orallofthem)

dreams cold, hot
, febrile
                haughty

distinguished

                          naked

(in)vulnerable

                              dreams

there's something big dreaming colorful
sleeping inside you i'll put keys in it
slipping turning keys
and it will suddenly

                                         !

did i ever mounds of roses sweetly dew the air and petals of the sun

which eased upon my flesh in minute crimson gasps flitting from

his tousled brow?

the moon did. with unerring prim lips (puckering kissed sore muscles

) flocked and nuzzled up the thighs of night; marching straight up into

weightless heaving moments(whenIfumbledwiththelatchingcleatofyour

barely holding bra and between your ******* i laid one complete self

) my hands, which cuddle every furious cell of

a lot of things i'm

      got

2eyes2hands2lips
and a mouth between
them and a voice between
that and a heart i've got a chest
where it's red and it moves a more
at you it goes like a deer wildly through
startled brilliant lances of light in a once was
placid, soft, and smooth copse of never trees

that wouldn't (for anything) yield, neither
would it want to but you're like sweating
in the dead of water (between autumn and spring)
frozen,
                 cool,

                                 warm,

inside me live, raw new beautifully, Summer
swear doll like fancy girl things pretty of lips
sweat glimmer deeply a fraction of *** in
comely sweetness, sickly for need of hands
touching, and fathoms of finite sleeping
kisses: a thousand downy who press somewhat
like raindrops(only warm, not cold, never cold)
hotprobably kisses thousands impart deftly Summer
and live inside me: raw

                                          
                             new

                                        
                              

                                  beautifully


                      SUMMER,

                                   '

                              ,


                     .

at a turn down slopes into
slender night
                          a path

i know through a forest
where, lovely, though
and dark and deep

but for promises to keep
i shall not sleep

everything                                             :

. comes , together ;    '       "  and   '   falls  ;     apart       ,        

                                                                                                       .
                                                                                                    ,      ,
                                                                                                        '

Waiting For Oblivion
in a frock of wrinkles sits
wearing through silently
minutes
toward
forever

i have tasted the earth
who was a girl
whose body tasted of apple and spice
whose hair was the sea
whose lips smelled of frankincense and thyme
whose hips were a bay
flush with the wisp of spring
which are a tonic
that i am habitually to eat

her sitting through such drunk din poked quietly from between the pages of a book (a little in hand which)"what's it about?"not shyly"post-war France."

"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)

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)

i can hear the old body of a cat creaking between my ears the rushing of the wind outside is enormously pale breasted i cup myself into a fist of warm andream of almost you nearly more than farther are i put my leg over a pillow the tension in my hips release remembering a pillow used to be your hips my hips tension



Releasing

love, that what are thee:
i am trying to find,

having come to a dark wood
–i went astray.

there that such of self i found
and gave each hand to be

was not but bough of fleshy bind
(where nought but skin could see.)

.
























































        "Why are you crying?"


         "Because you're so beatiful–
           and someday I will never be
           be able to touch you again."

























































­



.

.








































"All I've ever wanted is to be loved."


































.

.































































­




















                                      "Did you ever really love me?"



                                      "I don't know."


























































­





.

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

venez à moi, mon frère.

love is a girl with black hair last Saturday night
i said, "you have something in you i see, which
is a little vulnerability and beautiful is so"
and tattoos(milesofand)
that were a heart pierced by a blade
anda gain pierced

   A heart

with dark red lips
said, "you're really sweet, but i have a boyfriend"

oh don't dream

lift my mouth to kiss
every various coiled fantasy
in you sleeping

i have or will you

whisper a single immortal thought of nothing

fair skinned with a slight corona to each iris

drooping clothed in slumber

and i will( if you should let me)bring
more nice than dreams
into your head
each night, but oh don't dream

what do dreams meet flowers  ?
whose
             fair

hands seriously complain with

graves straight upright grey
in tight rows    ,

some effulgent rill of daisy
suddenly the earth breaking

the stiff silence of
FALL

.






























              "You turn me on in a different way that I'm not used to."































.

what are you?

are you as me?

areyouwhite?does your body sit easily

inchairs

knees skinny
not awkwardly parting
and fresh in grey light
spill young
out between your
thighs



                                   SPRING RAIN?

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

"What's it about?"
"It's a metaphor."

"For what?"


"*******."



"*******?"




"Yeah."





"What's that a metaphor for?"






"Life."

"I want you to know: I never forgot."






                                               "I know."
                                                            ,
                                                            .

                                                            '







                                                            .

there is laughter a girl fills the naked silence with her shoulders through
the angled tress of her white flower (a rose that) whose mouth speak
saying to live through careless moments of hurt sunlight: SUMMER the
curling sigh of ******* **** fingers between where sleeps her sonnet and
her hair.

Dying: that's life–who is a boy

sitting alone; and knows,

but writes a poem anyway.

.













































         "I don't like you very much."



































.

this little gilt feels into darkness more
everyday Pink
emblazoned
on its *** emblazoned
every day
Pink
into
darkness
f
e
els.

o open me quiet

         –in–

more completely my
very closed.

that such
,of tightest whiteness,
spreads cooly

parts ethereally

the quirky mystery
of empty rooms
behind nice doors

(where every sleeping is awake
amongst such nothing so big
eats totally the quick figment of
a thought faster

than breath                                   )





.So let's small?

only it is that
in every vibrant stitch
or cream and leaves of flame
a craven volatile smoothness
the soil unbuckled
unto this day it swelled
a very giddy wart                  (it glowing on her hips )

swearing with repugnant beauty
it's scarlet freckles grumble with the moss

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

what am I I don't know I think I'm a boy I grew up one time reading a book with a gun in my hand with a pellet gun in my hand I grew up a boy

Oh this were if only it were if
it might
be more possibly

to wantingly be.


                                    (but only)
                                          it's
                                        were

not if
or could.

Or if
it were
is

                       it might


(would)

     be.



an'
pleasantly so.