?
this dawn was a
laughing she
s
p
i
ll
in
-
g
staccato chromatic cacophony on
blind tissue

(erasure of inky displacement
speaks of erroneous discrimination)

happy her make crimson vibrations

casting off her melancholic  i

this day it felt

     it felt

         i
t
     fe
                lt like AUTUMN?a

    sprig of decay in every cell of

       rusty leaves. the murmur of.
streetlights likeit. the damp friscalation of mangled chromatism

   eve meekly plastering my skin. are we? i am. your me



                                                              






                                                                          MY LIFE SAID: hello?

This)
dream,
  this dreaming
   sleep, this sleep
    of dreams, this
     sleeping Dream
, Your edge is soft and hard and keen
                                                            ­   A
                                                              r­eaping
                                                          ­   reaping
                                                         ­   reaping
                                                      ­     thing,
                                                          ­A sweeping thing
                                                         a silken keen
                                                        shar­p and cruel
                                                       and kind and clean
                                                       A crumb of eyes
                                                        long­ and lean
                                                         leaning cream
                                                          d­ripping surly
                                                           ­ steam
                                                          ­   Steam, you who cling
                                                           ­   to hours short
                                                           ­    and large and green
your beginning mouth
between whose agile slippery lips
  a furious creeping mouth,
   a fresh and nimble mouth,
    leaps, slinging tumbling
     a city of thoughts
      chuckles fast
       slow laughter
        on the hours i slay
         in nooks of cotton palms
          ( where Sleep is dreaming
              a sleeping Dream
                 dreams of sleep
                              )

"i've examined the threads of reality and come to a different understanding of things"

(it was like that That i came to this me that i am currently;

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

this was how
i
liked her best:

pallid roots
spread
some soft wet
in their twain
drawing
an oral sepulcher
to dine
on hertenderleaves

(i bent my lips
in grinning countenance
at
that infliction
i did
visit upon              a
lovely sundrenched
tree)

this whole self
1 thing: i
so richly
in language
sinewed
will to say
a flower

a fully
uncoupling
hot bud
and i am a
season
(like Spring is)

i am a spit of
verdant boiling
fire(and i open

my chest

and out
ruptures

petals,

   .
       ,

   ,

not in that
those ways
never were
but could
if
wanted

;


however
when asked:
they only bled


(silent)

how deeply flowers
in spring's warm fist
(between whose fingers)
, , , , ,mumble lithe plumes
of cherry cotton
and sugar virile
(the candy of sweaty days
waters in the clamor of
my mouth) monumentally
perfusing rills
(trickling out Morpheus' ear
                                                  (
and into thy own))

through
               )running forests
                i am galloped leaping
                (step before step after
                climbing the air swiftly
                to the moon creeping
                over every wind quaking
                bough) spontaneous
                twinkling tinsel enamors
                completely the smooth
                satin cheeks of darkness
                upon lightness
                quivering
                absolute small unfamiliar
                newly cheeks embossed
                with sparkles furiously
                                                           where
                                                                       i set myself totally
                                                                       fornicating
                                                                       with every drab miraculous
                                                                       muscle
                                                                                    of a night
                                                                                    wholly
                                                                                    drunk
                                                                                    with flesh(

today the sun was in everything
shimmering without cease
with seamless jointless fingers.
the massive ginger
of his unfleshed hands
prickles (barely) necks.

so heart tightly unopen
in packed a whooping
collared beast niggles
sharply by fingers mostly
hands' unfurled in
a star of dreaming wars

the lightest and body
feeblest is strongest
nearly firmer than
softest barely weaker

and flowers
(a big spit of petals)
burning thigh deep
into waded Edward
after him i'm
leaping freshness
of my complete mystery
ripens against darkness

dashing(withclosedeyes)
on the mouth of the sun
where is set my teeth
the silver and her moon


                                                          ­                                               ,

tonight was an exact corpse
of beautiful slushy soap
foaming against the jowls of undeath
and life was roaming hitherwither
in slated motes of burning blood
turning sweaty beads of laughter
in the swollen wind of unday
peaking bravely over the many
glowing rictus wearing gutted
orbs
precarious on the porches child
heaving
and sugar vomited doorsteps
strewning the mellow
darkness
young

toothick
a( song of roses bustled from her throat
                                                                     )
       sort of dangerous song
the sort of thickly dangerous music
that accompanies pianos
(and thighS
                  and *******) on saturDays
when you don't expect at all to find at all that sort of skinny innocent danger
thickly burnished sheets of heaven
in your b     e      d
               (H     A)!

t
rickletri
ckletric
kletrick
letrickl
etricklet
r i
c
  k
l
e
very cognitive
s
  t
    r
   e
a
   m
runs in rivulets
into her
moist
crevices from
the extracting of
my sanity
in splintered whole
partiality

l                   a                         y
your
hands on that
stiff minute
full with (brimming sensuality
a void of reason
opens in me my i
i beg her)

voiceless current: moan a gossamer delicate

i
try to
speak
even though
my voice
shakes

luna lolled a tongue of light through the cottony
bifurcation of fluttering draperies
licking her window with shimmering
spittle
refracted by the pallid idea of her flesh
she seemed a glowing angel of bone
wreathed in this incandescence
i took her sharp words and sewed
her love in the fabric of my being
oh god how i love her virginal
vessel
please won't you give me that gift
let me make your clean all grimy
with my ***** fingers

alas how can such an ugly thing as this me
ever lay in the proximity of a her so achingly right?

i am a nothing and she an everything

please don't leave my sheets this morning
i want to sing your song
bending my tongue about its fragile melody

in the distance a chime murmurs

unbearable ink
shallow needled skin
always commands
my groping eye's ardour
  purpleredblueblack procession
passive pleasuring tea drinker

          gilded she:
if not my hand so promised
      to another's i would
make thee a screaming puddle
          coiling ardent fever
scratch fervently at all my humors

so sipping sensual lady
      sat in a
coffee house
        metal nodes glisten
serene siren calling

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

Unlike wind. tall and walking leaf's
curling in bushy locks of. the very,
naked and servile, moon she's
street bounding rills of semisweet
chatter. the togetherness too much
,in,of comely arms a fawn thing, in
the forest of metal's. just leapt vanishing
smoke, into, the carnival of neon
large singing signs. post day well,
in gloom unanimously, slunk with
girl's skinny. they brushed fair and wane
as light's face creeping furtive


                                                ,        "weLL­
                                                         i was said
                                                       in those walls
                                                     sterile and seething
                                                   manic lewd gracefully
                                                  stum­bling,
                                                          ­             i
                                                               ­        was mounted with
                                                            ­           paint of sinning luscious
                                                        ­               lips who carefully
                                                       ­                rampaged, blithe node
                                                            ­           ,a noggin, mine.
                                                          cavort­ing straight narrow
                                                        un­bent sharp green eye's slip.
                                                   s
                                                  l
           ­                                      i
                                                p
             ­                                   r
                            ­                     i
                                                  g
           ­                                        h
                                                     t
                                                       i
                                                        n
     ­                                                    t
                                                         o
                                                        M
     ­                                                   y
            ­                                       f
                                              a
               ­                         s
                                  t
  ­                      D
                            r
           ­                     i
                                      n
  ­                                           k
                                                Down my throat" (ouch!)

silently,
the tress
the marigold
the bumbling of
unkempt bees between
green and green

(a whole forest accidentally
in cool shadows etherize by
pools of mostly light darkness
the tall body of mouth        )

not a sound or not a little
hist wist
escapes(breaks)
the tulle

(and it can't be heard
or said how
deeply loose and warm
it is to be
inside the chilled vambrace
of this big forest everywhere)


                             somewhere


a


                 bird



      is,

Big,
i cannot believe how so
incredibly
you are hot and orange
with
Summer i can remember

wandering through
the vestige
of your hot flesh

(cool exactly alone)

one lonely hand
making
the making

of a girl face
cupped by curling laughter

hair

that

i cupped with
laughing joy of lonely love

(i wonder
i remember

and dream of deeply loose muscles
in that quiet city
of constant noise

when i spill smiling lips i cluster them on yours lady you lady you, like pearls and wine, you are bones deepest and i like you and i play you. i play such tunes as on your hips i tap them lightly with my finger tips i tap a little orchestra on that hard pretty straight blade of bones you have stucking so elegantly out that pale and warm pool of flesh. you creature are a moment exploding and you lady are a star; fallen roughly in my eyes you sparkle blinding me before steps i stumble up them to you Heaven.


            (and U don't kno it(but i do)    )

.






























"What have you been doing these days?"



"Trying to become myself."






























.

I've never written a good poem.

i have caught on the edge of shadows

               my hands

halfly splayed by quarters and 1/3s
darkness and lightness

(in my hands splayed, caught)

and folded it neatly into my soul

its heatness and its coolness

adroitly cupped in sudden gold:

SUMMERFALLAUTUMNSPRING

you climbed
                        in the very abscess of my chest
              and in my empty

      unfurled
                         your grandest burning luscious dilating SCARLET

not to live is normal
more normal than to live is
to eat and sleep too late
on saturday mornings
or to meet with cloven
skin the bare rawness
of your chest .




more normal than to is,
is to is not wasn't never was and
won't be ever more than
the gesture of your thighs
threaded with moonlight
on sweaten summer eves.

and to because
i assert it is more normal
than to kiss to with lips
,the dirt, i

my hands and body
would like to unusually be

in your breath and body's lee.

what if i destroy you
what if i put you between heaven
and hurting
what if i love you
what if you find me dreaming
some morning and lushly
fold me in your crispest singe

                ?

i love you there is
something undark

more

unseemingly possible
to speak which
makes your soul–

it the
noose which
hangs by all the nights and days

to be rough
to be wholly of
hard and unhard made;

it want it to touch
(as inside touches)

each small and trembling
****** of me;

and i want it to feel
(as valkyries feel)

hurt beautiful ugly and strong.

dying's like
(hot between swift thighs)

a gush
of wires cloven

minglin'
(wit' fingers cloaked in)

the *** of youth's wet sublime

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.

it's so bright in you
i think seeing is hard to

          (too hard too)


                            in you is



               seeing




                    .

newly first pressing flesh
your firmly enamor
(thighs and cheeks)
you dangerous and
clean beveled dainty
stuff
        
         you're the very
eatage o' devils and
god

closedness
the
tighly
opening of
your
fist is


                   SPRINGwarm

                            wetwarmSPRING

                             cloaked in flowers
                             and reeling
                             with tough ***** tinder
                             to splay as girl lips

                              and




                               r       l
                                  e          ea       s       e

frail, are you so
pale neat and
thin

          wrists

curled wrists

with unsudden
invincible lust
crawls up each

                                                          

                                                    and




soft feels aquiver
stomach struck
by split folding

    (tonguelips)

into folding split

pink as nothing

the something you alive,
white naked
blue eyed
stranding
blonde
darkly
wheat gold

i run
,a finger,
through

while makes
gladness
sing saying
by voice
the mouth
of your
soul

i (Dear)
am not
without thy
chasteness
after chasing
the morning
on hills cloaked in
crocus and thyme

reach to hold
the crust of your
divine health

a cheek
pallid
struck through
(rouge)
and beating
little by

heart
this my
dear
let
this anthem
of thy breath

ring through
all stillness
a golden tone

exciting every
atom to
DANCE

Of how i am being
beginned
by the whorled blood
and the expressed chamber

i sit, kneel and walk
supposing upon earth
the each of my feet;

my hands kneed and fold--
i collect in them bodies of my children:
sleeping, awake, crying, laughing;

i collect in them bodies of things
unminded and minded alike;

i collect in them the sheaf
of spent grasses:
the hull of them
containing the celled
phantasm of God's breath.

i linger and i am not myself;
i stand before wall
and my gaze becomes fuzzed,
unfocused--and i wonder.

i touch and am known by my hands.

the things touched,
too,
are known
(perhaps)
by me,

in the quiet between
my buzzed flesh
and the smooth rudeness
of the thing.

i handle and am handled
by my loverwife,

(the coarse cutting
of her fine hip
hair is a needle

split

over the nerves
of my caress--

it electrifies--

and i am stolen
between the fibers.)

i am alive,
and how should I know it?

imaketherainwalksoverthebackofmyearsandIsigh:

"Good Bye"

i(it seems)am like your skin. or also i like it. the way
y
  o
     u wear it. clever sugar hills giggle richly. in my mouth
soft candy. melting exactly on my tongue. and ravage
my pink. daft heart petals split your cotton wrapper,
      a        
                                                                                               n
                                                                                                  d
grace your tubercles in my hands with fingers splayed about
your quakes. cupping your electric pond blossom shudder queen.
  dance your sighs in the tremendous cavern of my lips; slay apprehensions
                              filigree scriptured on my soul.

you are my only; and beyond all others; are the sun; you; perfect; and horrible; yet; a dream; i would never wake

the house is quiet the light is bedside
warm outside the sound is barely of
chimes (i can hear) i can feel the hot
coil of your leg snaring the almost not
groan of the big room is dusty with the
whisker of a cat shifts your hips (into
my hips) inching slumber deeply into
heat of closeness to body white and
shoulders cut curved of alabaster
grooving into the pale basin of your
chest at the base end of your neat neck
almost like talcum like light powder of
dusting the immense club of sleep is
your wrists are a tiny potion of
thousands of years of silence only to
live through 23 years a girl sleeping
enormously the room doesn't change
doesn't move barely a bit or budge
even more than slightly than a mote at
a time (4:00am) i kiss i cull i cup your
shoulders drinking the burning wine
of your heaped hips into mine
knowing someday you will be dead.

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)

"The greatest weakness of my own character is the inability to bear the suffering of others for the furtherment of my own interests–my inability to inflict suffering."

Therewasthesoundlike(
even though you just broke her)
stillsmiling(and your fingers            R

blud                               ugly

and smelling like                                       )


the sea;

bREaKin,G

on rocks

in the hot Summer

when the tide runs out

anditlaysflat

hot on its stomach

(with its *** in the air
                                       )

theslowlybeginstorot

seaweed and gurgling

butstillsmiles(a very meek


                            rill (one only)



runs down its thigh

Rightbehindtheknee)collectsinto
a shoal



                                     and



                                                 "morePlease"

i am a lot like sleeping laughter
in faintly room warmer windows
bound tightly with light's loosest
fingers mingling with the atomized
aroma of a basket of flowers dusted

                  just

with barely afternoon's short rumpled
heat glaring in through the slight
abrasion of sight I call my window
peeling with fresh strums of Summer's
fair cords singing me softly into the
palm of night's tiny hands

.





























































                                                  Let's dance.
  
                                                  (And **** everything else)

"I'm so tired of being alone. It's like a weight; just heavy on me. And sometimes I almost want it to crush me. Just to get it over with. Just to be done with it."

i will be dead someday i wonder are you
reading this and who are you and where
is it that you have come and been and
have your eyes collected between them
each word of myself and this is the only
thing i suppose being but dirt and a little
scant ash (maybe atree) grows above me
and did you ever think the same hands
that held your son would be worm food
mud and birds meal (a robin maybe) R
there still robins i hope you kissed a
pretty girl last night I love you more
than anything .
                          .
                          .

i, night, hung about thy cheeks more splendored
beams crisper and wholly brisk with wind
than even winter could. i stroked about the
penultimate hour of your face the little and
stranger carelessly perfect lips of my face
and drinking so stilly the sky is abrupt
with normally clothed stars; **** and playfully
abundant. i lay my heart with thee and i am
increased. i lay hands with thee and i am
between the velour of your not-covered thighs
making, with you, an errant child like Demeter
and Poseidon (who hangs his restless skin upon
the nape of the coiled neon streets. hinted
at his edges just; the circlet of the bay, i wander
in thee night.)

at how does gleam the cherry **** of your cylindric pertness–lips–i beco
    me me in two folds of self on each one pressed the drooping brand of y
       our hands stings to cooly touch with the unhinging of cottoned hurt
           ing in when the sun suddenly of gradual imperceptible dying revo
              lves on the apex of youth its own immortal youth; such dreams a
                 s magic become the ethereal toyness of your wrists that fleetly
                    stagger of whiteness with substance wholly girl with two
                       ******* wine for a mouth and darkness for hair even
                          the night is jealous at their fibers and remarks with
                             disturbed violence a shower of stars to mark
                                its brunt, its curling of tight fingers into
                                  fists of foisted heating)
                                              (there
   ­                                         such
                   ­                     brightness
                                 ­      is a circle within
                                      A circle of
                                     tingling bruteness
                                     you have liked me
                                       to be between your
                                         smart ****** of cherry
                                            pertness–
    ­                                                LIPS

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