some last night clutched the sorry sorely sack of clean rigid muscles
that tomorrow contemplates in wearing under ***** flaccid skin
that everybody wears more commonly on the brushing wane
of their frailing dying bodies that they wear on the short
folds of hours that everyday wears between sleeping
and starting cupping sunlight's wriggling adept
worm that in the corpse of night in through
its sallow ginger skin the hard creeping
the cool creeping; the slender cylinder
of its fornicating colors slips right
through it the basic plain extra
ordinarily placid death of
of strong brutish approp
riate night, "i wonder
why the wind with
legs as hard as
silk opens
never
right at
the seam
it's got at the
back of its small
its tiny, its fast white
hair lip, but who would
care how ugly its face got
because the way its hands got
all sharp and soft on my meandyou
" that's probably like how it was the
window's summer's open closing falling
clots of creamless clouds that nuzzled under
heaven onto armor, spears, and lovely amber
sunsets all over the back of my car when you
candy(like the lithe arguable sugar men did with
ruby apples and made them even sweeter with the
hot supple red shells they rubbed all over the pert negligee
of autumn's hard little luscious)ied the nape of my neck with
the lunging elegance of your saintly slightly painted painting my
nape lips those rushing throngs of sturdy cords that made me. Barely