when admits into me the splendor

           ;(your heart)

by quick immutable prancing cloven love
a shall star

                        (within dumb lips contained)




                         revolt against darkness




                                  A brightness



                              more sweet than
                              bitter less
                              and without limit

                              (honey;salt)


                              Dissolving completely
                              the whole of your breast
                              into livid Spring
                              a bruise


                               and become

                               again whole

                               again young



                                again,

                                    .



                                       ,






                           .

i am
(after all)
alive in you

                       this day .

the soft brushing,
the course fiber,
the flaxen hair.

i kiss you smally.

you do not stir
more than a pale breath
around your nostrils.

my son is inside you.

i will always love you.


(...sleep)

i love you and i'm sorry because.
i do not love you the way
you are perfect(andyouare),
i love you the way you are not perfect. i love

you

the way

you are. i love you

the way you have felt sharpness
(between certain dark things).

And i love you the way
you are uncertain darkness
(between sharp things).

and i love you the way your strength is pain.

(and i love you the way i am sorry because).



And i'm sorry.

and i love you.

every tinyenormous
partial whole
explored
the dawns tide
as night's
fornication(with day)
made a crimson
babe
screaming a vermilion
puddle on
my perception
of
this

so

lovely

a

4of1
8 speaking
in gluey resin
sweaty spits all
in every rouge drowning
supple cheeks between writhing
pinkheat
carelessly incredible
screaming sourly
some
cali((for
            nia)
            i
            c
           a
           t
           i
           o        n)

t
e
a
r

t
ea
r

sad eye
do not d-
well

though deeply
wet

thoughts
on this:

you are beautiful

for though burning

turn face

wide open

into

             LIGHT

                             slip

                          

                      thy



                                      falling


                      voice


               'bout

                        flicker


               eyes

                         rapidly


                  lids half

             mouth full


                   juice


              runneth


                          over



              clear sticky



                  more sweeter



              and


                              immolate

Leaves of grass, my chest, is to your chest, as; gently soft and pressed of light. And though a thousand tiny green, one root only beats at their center. One root red. One root pushing of difficult life stuff, out, out. Pushing and pushing. To lip and finger equally difficult.

(I watch the streetlights as they pass over my hand while driving in the dark Bellingham feels beneath me big and sleeping in almost spring I put my fingers through its mouth and I cough a star)

that last who goodbye says too quickly is your demure petal in the wind amongst the trees at night
there is sound like living and beetles rustling there is a doe in speckled whiteness comely mounting
the no sound of darkness with a chirp of starlings in the eaves shake a branch from leaves flutter
and magic as thick as girl thighs suddenly.

                                                      ­                   ,

                                                            

                                                        .


   ­                       
      
                                                                ­      '

(I this very am a contradiction to itself)
this which is
the very thing i am
is not at all a multitude of singularities
but a single multitude of multiple singulars
i am large
                and small
                                and enormously
                                                           a colour daft as starry days
                                                                                                         and brightly nights
and with pale meter
my hards are soft
and softs are hard
                                         (and i am like an onion
                                          in petals of purple skin
                                          an acrid flavour imps
                                          my beam of darkly
                                          steeply cooler hotter
                                          breaths that buzz
                                          like wondrous flies
                                          in ample valleys or
                                          cotton pasted flesh
                                          in denim
                                          )your jeans were on my floorIfoundthemthismorning
and i woke up to call you just so i could touch your voice with my ears
and kiss the treble of its throat with my gangling soul waxing profusely
with sparks of verdant poems blossoming in the uncommon pit of the stomach of my gross futile blithe brain because you made them with the
errant tattoo of your slight and tremendous music bustling its enormous
yawn over the roof of (my) rainbow hard heart that would like to comment in Your plunk of navel ringing tiny glittering barely hairs my smooth and
pinkish crumpled crumbs of love and sprinkle you with careless *** sometime maybe SWOON.

fingers(deeply)
who amongst dirt
suddenly moments
point

steeply through drunk summer

rain upon lips
(fluttering dismissively):

memory to imp
(by blind words)

such wings, heart
leaves(roots)body

grassAndgrassAndgrass

become. (my dear that i have loved beyond poems to say)

this thing is very pretty.
it does not say much,
its cheeks are pale over
and beneath blossomed with crimson.

it has 2 light eyes
of greeness which
move softly over the nose
and lips–2 florid strips of pinking.

its hair is spun of evening sunlight,
red hushed and riven with ray.

this thing is rare
and beautiful
and lovely beyond lovely.

this thing is a girl,
she says
her name.

her eyes move softly,
and her cheeks shine as blood with snow.

few things have ever been so perfect,
few things have ever been so girl.

vexes sharp looks intriguing blond of hair
tightly of thighs mutters a pair
that i think might sound nice like
a nighttime sounds
pretty pushing a pin

between them

i am sitting hot

gladly sweating i see

a centillion

of shimmering

dash off the bodies

of cars marching distantly further i am

(hear) the muzzled snort of
some angry guys
who are wont to go but i am

smelling the disgruntled curiosity
of heads

               out

their windows downup looking at i
taste the blush of blundering eve vastly
squatting slowly

its haunches on the hunched roar of a
"shitload" of yelping aluminum throats (iam)

tasting the shavings of eyes

that peer looking up the long line laying
shimmering with a centillianth
of summer  

they gawk hard up the
road to where there is neat lights blinking lights (neatly

up the road there is the hot blab of summer and the ***** of a

                suicide
                            )

there is not

                        )i have tread(where hours in you have died

flowers

                 and rushing fields of them




                 where cotton and thorn



                 )gushing


twitched a cat's eye
behind the town(



caught between hips)quickly sleeping in fur(and the tousle of its catching)

and silver moonlight grumbled stirring

(ran crimson in its thread

                                                  )


as leaping the city came to my cheeks coldly stinging with March(and remembering our body



                                                          i recall thinking:


                                                          is there more a perfect thing?

you(')r(e) every lips totally are perfumed
in aggressive love making fullness
they (so sweet sickly) cavort lovely
enveloping quickly cushions of saliva
wracked envelopes (right between them
snarling serpents pinkly) writhing upon
forests of **** youth stupidly wings
open ascending an hour of bliss

                      )a heart so full of hands
                       clutching each others
                       our bodies align
                       to driven into fairy snow
                       a lazy distinct smell
                       of your voice filled with
                       shuddering muscles
                       kissed over by me
                       again
                                  again
                   ­                        again
                                                   again
                                                           and

unclench
the hot marvel of winter
and lay summer in thy bed
twiddling between her wetness
a sharp steam of pleasant filthy snow;

the day came raining
(            ever love kissed
son;
       wander caving fluids
hollow stems ascenting)
glimmer specked leaden
******* heavy freckles
wager wet 'gainst dry
peace
          -ful


   gray"

in your body(nexttomine)is a small electricity
tingling directly against my skin freshly glued
so bones velvetly lavished in groping cuddles
of perhaps hands. a sort of like the sky is puddles
of kissing faces excellently. and the world in
flowers snugly fits between womb and soil. where
i will say life briefly in your tiniest mouth,
                                                                          .

                                                                          '



                                                                           .










                                                                               ,

nearly you when i have felt pulsing
my heart(yourheart)has become
one smooth toto
red and hotter and tiny
fluttering stupidly
smiling under
your *******
my hands cup it
and to my dumb finally mouth
i draw,carefully,your fierce noble blood
and drink drink drink drink drink drink

of me is constituted some muscles and some. Nerves tingle coolly and
about my waist is her arms and the coffee is ready and vivaldi won't shut
up and

her breathe is a dangerous serpent and my nape is she touches it. a grooming my skin and "ouch" this coffee is too hot

      and

she,s kissing my and the mug is cold (i love its skin with) and my fingers
hold a lock of steaming minutes or she is her hands are a carnival of laughing gypsies(in my jeans) and...

what was i doing?

to count you amongst numberless heavings
(smally colliding) of human voice thousands
screaming all dimly numb voices into dumb
voices numbly dimming(stars like innumerably
dying flicker less fast into darkness but still do)

would be a lie more truthful than living is truth

for though dying flicker: you burn

(and i whisper into you a very tiny spark;love
which ekes through your cheeks black wine
freshly distilled instantly drunken beautiful;flesh)

hanging on a petal of deeply sepaled night
(pearling dew) a sigh escapes across fields
of mute flowers up tumbling mountains reaches
stupid immortal silence and fear nothing hands
for falling though stars, silence, mountains, muted flowers, human voices:


YOU

this thing
it did:
hid
in that
penumbra
pooling
'round
cognitive
conjugations
of
postulatio­ns
peaking
above m(i)
unconscious

i tried to lift
its heavy
concept
but
synaptic
sinew
frayed
on its serrated
flavor
severing realities
from
actualities

it is funny





                        Livingdying



because                                       ,


(careful and new Spring
) is

autumn, thing. well

almost maybe

do you suppose, Dust

for ****** old maid

that passes quicker into nothing

it is funny


that because, lady

your fruit is nice and ripe
though for second
and forever won't

livingDying

do you suppose?

have you ever been aware
                                                  gniyd are uoy  quickly woh





       ?

the deep easy mountains are a supple apparatus
in indigo talking rain, they plead for small quiet
sounds who have no bones but skin that wears
the day. a fleeting gilded crest it rolls and chocolate
muttering trunks in the forest standing against
the callous lily supremely piercing the azure
lock of sky. and the amorphous gray gullet smeared
upon it's cobalt heat is gently vomiting wetness

no know:
not know
yet,
know naught
and
know not
but
no naught
for
no knot

binds

i you the world


               tread

'pon the wind


      lightly we


dash across deeply curving hushness
our lips to kiss

every blade o' grass sweating
somewhat demurely to ****
by the flutter of breath
and the sting of hulking Summer

to liven slumber
and stir darkness into light

(we should go to Paris where i will
with my not always hands
pierce your youth
and wear you on my fingers singing


singing i

wi

         llwe'll

go to the neck of everything
and die so hotly crushing
our bodies on bodies

we'll die in the rain

we'll die


we'll die



we'll die(kiss

let let let
me be
be
b
e(perfectly)
abstract:

if you understand
thinking thusly
you
shall never
do
sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo­oooo

eye's
dripping
i's
pale skin
over
blue snakes
writhing
with perspicuity
beneath translucence

beat
beat
beat
heart

i only
imagine
it
beat
beat
beat-

ing
in my
head
(her)
in my bed

prancing ludicrous slick skinny muscles, the america opened small, gobbling bubbly musical. they were satiating in another room. and i was a wanting to burst up foetid partially digestion. this housed party **** is gross

we stand athe brittle brink.
a plummet waits just over
the
     edge
rupture the breeze and
flutter in my arms like the
love birds cluttered wings
             (we could be)
a union perfected with sweat
mixing salty pools on our nakedness.
give into the drop of rationality and be
the instrument of my heart and i will
play

                                 you

guggle buggle
the skirts and muggles
meager or muddle
                                         like 2 tones
a twilight
       almost sweetly
a sweating majesty(it broke trebleing uncorked femurs
briskly pattering the swilling silt
the siltish swill
                                 )by a massive
the very sea was outward and upward and forever and ever and ever & E,V'eR;
            !
             '
            "
              .
                '
               "
            .
              ,
                   '
                        .
                  ,          
                             .  
                                        '
                                                    ,
                                                               .

At a quarter past eleven AM Charles took the stairs down to the lobby. Spare, yet stridently attired, he moved with the august vigor of a man only a third of his sixty-two years. Smart shoes, brimming smile and shoulders laden in the heavy weave of his sharp overcoat, Charles exchanged a quick wink with the precisely groomed lobby girl.

"Always a pleasure." He quipped.

"Always." She replied.

Drawing a deep breath of the frigid air, Charles paused as he pressed his shining wingtips into the undisturbed palate of that previous night's latest snowfall. Looking around excitedly, admiring the deep shimmer of that brisk morning:

Charles was struck down immediately by a large volume public transport–moving at an unusually high velocity.

us clambering)
                                                     ­                                o(     throats
                                                         ­                             i     pillars of salt
                           upward                                              c   looking back
                     ing              voices                                  a    a flower
                l,l                                sprung ­                  r       in the barren
             a                                              almost     of          soil
when f                                                       clean              shouted
                                      ­                                                             a most
                                                            ­                                           a violet
                                                          ­                                                  a violent
                                                         ­                                 staccato colour
                                                   from
                                                            ­     its
                                                             ­         sepulcher
                                                                ­                    of primless
                                                                ­                                  error
                         ­                                                                 ­             smashing
            groomed
                         unhard
                                  petals
and

open yawning chasm
theearth said night and the sky said beauty
pinpricked photon punching absolute uncertainty
certainly a most green and sharply thorn
upon your stem
i grasp
blood

there is, after all,
one thing
(after my breath)

–a star–

hung loose
and into the night
(which is my soul)

dreaming through
moist lips
and the cup of flower

a kissing of pale light;
the rough newness of rain;
and the smell softly afterward.

sa
yn
ota
wor
dor
)don


           'ts

a




                       ya




                 words
                     m
                   o
                    u
                   t
                    h(h
                        o
                           W)about
                          how
                            in
                        winter

                           slep
th
ard
ly a
letter
ofy
ourbody.but

(with a verb i
                    you
                    the aching
                    and all the birds
                    of a forest
                    
                    leapt

                       from





                          SLUMBEr



                          and rose






                          upon







                            the crimp

                            of darling youth





                             a flower,



                                 ,


                                          .



                               ,



                   ,



                                          .

what glory anon doth hither trace its arced pleasant cord
upon the cool dimpled cheeks of night    ?    so graceful doth it
punt and glitter supple light from faithful milky shore
its is is the moon.

     LUnA! my pallored damsel

my trembling seed of luminosity
           i gratefully take thee in my heart and heavenly lush
upon thy scalp, dripping sweaty glow, my
                          very blood and tears
for thou art

                                 ARTbeyond any man's

i am was
as we're not

but not

as could

having
you

but
noing
shall

i

why            ?         not
        in the glaze
hot subtle petals cravings
blue the read chin pageless verbs
nouning!
                wilt a bit  ,
                                 like the winter flake
failing warmth.

           (i knew too well the autumn .)

welcome me in your fluttering breast beautifully butterfly dUst
key my hole and unlock the secret girders barring beating
      muscle incessant tock ticking;

          can it be ever said?
                                           howmuch            i love thee.

who is alive thinks:

-sunlight

-dull air

          riven with

                     rose smell;


perchance which
the rain with
mingles.


(autumn is near
her dress is fine
her hair is long
and serious,

it throws over
the mountains
and is alive

with crips dampness)


the bed is smooth and deep.
it pulls deeply,
and arms wonder for dreams.

to be dreaming
in the fine arms of autumn;

whose dress is nice
and whose dull serious hair
is
  riven
      with
         rose
          smell.

big, pale, spider wrist a
with an old man onit
who in its legs lays
a notlikeoldmen
young girl (5maybe6or) 's

hand, which he tells, "dear,"
about how, "when I was a
younger man, and the world
a bit slower, pirouetted, a fraction
of youth whitely
with me                            and dear
someday
                  you'll

be someone's wife. who'll love you
and dear, you will be beautiful
when I, like now, your hand in my hand,

shall                       walk

you to him down between the real
prettiest fountain of petals
from your family cast
by hands that bore you
to this moment and pass you
into his
                 .dear, I on that day, will cry

                     and laugh."

supping from
cups filled
with ill
darkness
the demon
on my
back
lacerates my
fleshy
shell
as he shifts
his horror

summer candy fast

                   on the back of a motorcycle in a sun dress

ignites a pale shaft
between divinity

                                  draws deeply

opaque unlife

                           into pinkness

                                    (smiles
                                     like sugar
                                     sprinkled on a razor)

                                                                            Exh
                                                                                    a


                                                                                         l


                                                                                                   e




                                                                                                                   s

shimmershimmerglimmer
at the edge of darkness
flickers little flecks
of gold

i try to r  e  a  c  h
my hand to touch the
impossibility possibly
just there
on the other side
of they*

these elusive
little
golden
flakes

just

at

darkness

e

d

g

e

stickysummer i remember fingers in you
were (golden brown too warm almost
slick with shade and trees where
curling youths (uncurled) pulled
out smelling like the ocean when the
tide has gone way out and) your grip
went around my wrist to your mouth
and without a thinking
drank from them

       blood

dear i came 1 hour north
you were waiting in blond
skin you had pale eyes
caramel and you tasted like

         sugar *** magic

the lithe dish of your face
caught my face drank my
lips in your soft and tiny
supple waist, from where
lust is sloping eagerly
shaven pink and paired
by 1 (hour north you wait
eyes hips waist hands caramel
                                                      )

a never girl sits
thigh wide pretty
to the hilt
slit skirt
inveigles up
her
      and

by the skinny
breach of her
is a quick boy hungry
with
          a
             mouth

spit
       and gelatinous
               reams ofit

gets all over
a never girl
                       who
                               slits,
                               pretty
                               with a hilt,
                               hungry boy's
                               throats

these things are my house, the
house of my body and my flesh
swing singing
singed and swaying
over grass cut freshly short

the knots and roots
of who trees blister
through the soil and meet
with feet
their rough and earthen body.

there is a light piercing the dull
night crisply hurt with twinging
of star song shaking and excellent
inside the smooth nearness
of its dark skin;

my hands make quick fingers
into nice fists of daylight
catching the strummed humming
of its string sound–borne over
the mouth of a mountain–
vibrates and intense.

i walk and the chilled asphalt
is the tiny sound of my feet,,
these halls of night
a rembrancer
and so newly full of nothing
stink with rose and thyme.

i am alive–
i hurt to love and to love
is hurting; my dear i love you
i told you a thousand times
(and a ****)

i'm sorry because both.

i will live
–i guess maybe–
or i will die becoming
worm pursued eating
the earth as eating becomes
me

the            new          grass

which
(freshly cut)
grows under
the house

of your body.