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PK Wakefield
Poems
Feb 2015
Untitled
my almost body does
through nearly hands which
deep reeds–the naked bottoms of rivers;
wide spans eagerly of ***
wist twisting
the curv'd blade
of their
hot in June mouth's
(legs arms)
occaissionly
sweating
swept in
the resin
of warm rain;
(a universe is here between
the hairless bulb of every fertile's
crescent )
a dangerous slenderly perhaps
of open lips
reeling furiously
with starlight
(outside summer is a hot blab
on the pavement can be heard
the clip-clap of a horse goes
lathered in tremendous dew)
a crocus riding
the small spring hour
of a lady
in tooo many clothes
Written by
PK Wakefield
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jeremy wyatt
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