a flower can't be black
but a prophet can be concrete
its disciple might be your back

or your ***

death is coming for all of us
but life is not
so touch all the right woman
in all the right places

for me,
that is how it seems

deeper draughts,
deeper goes some dream

reeling, spinning out from my hands and eyes
farther than i can throw some rock i picked up
and yet watching me from the bushes
in between the leaves

and under my fingernails

breathe into the open womb
really feel that breath leaving you
and glow, bead, along that musical string
concentrate. style yourself well

or let style leave you wild

i am not inside with you
i am apart, another thing
you are your only friend
with fingers inside other lives

that is like death, isn't it? forever,
being apart...