The barking dog, disappearing, driving,
ashes, Eddie, Jake,
divorce, holes in souls, constellations,
I don't know, I am Arturo Bandini,
I am the sweatshirt that hugged her arms,
Stolen sweatshirt, smokey sweatshirt,
apologies, broken necklace,
whatever

being human is strange,
out of everything
I could have manifested as,
a sand grain, a water drop, a rock,
who would have guessed
I'd be projected into this brain,
which sometimes lets me fly,
but usually gets me stuck...

i love to die because
i love to kiss
in you where

(death sleeps)

wide and white and waiting

to kiss me

because but i
love to kiss you into
which sleeps summer and dying

(who autumn shall meet–dying)

cannot go but goes
anyway (the tacit
ripple of sublime time)

from whence the corded
bullet of your mouth
screams chocking with
poppies and crocuses

streams a dark and fathomless lips—

(i would like to part.i would like to enter)

darling
i
Love You

your mouth is nice.

it spills

(deepeasy)

over the evening

and feels as

moonjerked nightjabbed

with wide dust of

warm fingers.


its curt;
its cut

of sunspear

drinksleeping

and magic hurt

pulls over kiss

pushes through

starsabled and winged

dreaming of nightfist.


it does the moon thing
and curls with
bright rushes
of lip.

its splendor is cool mute
and filled with
lavender.

c'est;
c'est saison;
c'est saison du veux.

and where it sleeps,
my mouth sleeps too.

have you ever seen or felt
or pressed apart the lips
of dying girls who
23 years less of life
split tenderly–
wetly caving
into

         eyes
hair mouth
shoulders spine
a tiny breath
fluttering lids
tense cording of
sinew

dancing sharply
pulled sternly after
wrist
hands onto
scalp

the buzzing
of coarse
tightness
against lips(mylips)

and dies
one dying
final revolution
of ecstatic
breathing

(who
in her mounded purse

tastes of salt
sweet and

                              earths




?