The city and the buildings
determine
being in love.
Drag her by the hair,
cut flowers in the desert

Without books about love
you wouldn't know how to do it
or make it, or feel it
The funny
Sad-funny thing is
Poets only pretend to be in love.

I puke love blood
ha
ha
on the off-white rug
I carve your face only in mirrors

I set dolls of
you on fire
watch the pink dust
of your lips make
patterns of impossible density

You have to be well-versed in
insanity
to know you're insane.

Drinking vials of your
pitch black
I turn it red to decorate
my squirming

I've read the rules
I know how to be in love
I’ve seen the healthy city
The building of love.

Big Blue empires of love,
A king and a half to every throne.

Some of them full of
bones like the old day
(Who's gonna sort you out?)

Strand up straight
as to not fall over
every time I see an eye
that could match your left one

I shrink in my shirt
and climb out the
head hole
and look for my brain in
broken jars
wadding around in anyone's soul.

The tale of common things,
my savage tooth on your rich arm
Whoever showed us the methods of in love
(you taste like cracked glass
to coat my stomach)

Whoever showed us the methods
of in love
like accidental ****.

Come out, come out
I'm ****** lands
and a naked flag

And the straight lines, sticking up
Soul-sick too...
Read it in the windows
and hanging signs
"You Are To Be In Love"

Come out, come out
I'm ****** lands
Smooth flat
an almost naked flag

and
the lizard-landscape
of you
here
in the
flat
anti-city
lands
here
we
keep quiet
on sins

(crawl into my mouth, the sun
isn't out anymore)

Big blue queens
are out
reigning around me

and you don't think I'm lonely
(?)