some field full of grass
grass leaping
and spits from the
soil

          (or)

which hurts to least
to see and fold
within sight

the curt splinter
of girl hips and
wider than death

they eat the spring
into which becomes
Summer by

the scrape and spark
of their tuff
tinder.

i don't like love i love like i like
like splitting pink fondness    li;k
    e            spun and groaning fabric of repugnant feathers
i love like ***** nails biting particularly your effortless muscles
       your tingling personage
your sweat manacled arbitrary husk
                                                                    your heaving unconscious love
like pale questions
                                  i'm quibbling
with my lips bursting graciously slippery verbs
        all over the concave majesty of your cream y elated blood
like love; like i like
              like i like to love
like ilike2Lov3yOu

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    








                                                                                                                                 !

whose own body have i been
beyond myself to live?

some grey some black
tiny little box of tick
tock, little snap
little whir
and crank

over the engorged aperture
of girlflesh parted on spits
of young wanting-to-be beautiful;

snap snap
whir tick
tock film,

film over light
over film
over electric
sensor hot
at mouths

gush twaining
snip
snap

(1.8 60)
too bright
too light
not enough
chiaroscuro
when you're

"lick(ing) her ****"

who writes a poem death that the world calls life God
in inimitable shades of city laughter rain and smelling
with the bulge of incessant betweens where clothed
in the clutched clefted pinch of love all boys are telling

hang me a poem through the mouth of night the slender smolder of cold
imprecise light that it might build into a thin strip of almost bursting
  intense colour(purpleandred). it might suddenly stagger up the
   common heap of sky--through the cheeks of white neatness--
    the blithe cursor of brutal dawn, spilling with such brinding
     creepness of light the thighs of earth full of lancing steepness
      all the wriggling of life shall commence with body lathered
       of youth in stupid love of dumb *** there will a coronet
        of hot dew wreath the pistils of flowers and the dirt
         will speak the rich secret of life in colours innumerable;
          the bending of words upon always quiet paper
           cannot meet with them the fullness of their
            drooping incantation(and lips cannot
             say with always talking mouths
              how deftly the primness
               of their serene
                majesty
                 is,

                  '

                        ,


             '

                                ,




    '





                                                           ,

thyme is a mint julep stirring
in my deep hand between
heat and laughter and the cool
                      
                                              
                 ­                             cool


                                              
               ­                                cool                                                          pen­umbra




of the enormous stiff
hot softly becoming
loose with Spring

C   I   T   Y,


carrying a warm shawl
a vapor like
breath of smoothly etherizing
evening coils around
limb and throat
neatly;

the alleys are alive with
old dirt
bent through
a thousand years of sifting
and grip thrifty of
bums

doused in becoming
night (they grouse
and grumble to
find some body
of shelter ,

stealing into the
weave of
can-liners
old breath and
stale coffee            );


life is drunk a little
me with remembering

remembering the
sudden coo of
the city to watch
it grow dark and
ribbed in shadows;

i am a splinter in the quick of the night.

burning with just the tonic
of vital nothing to be between
grass and dirt forever worm
pursued and forgotten of
lip and finger

(it makes me alive to know i will be dead ) someday.

my hands mix and jingle – i feel their blood and course with them.

And the City
is big
it
feels
like
so many daughters
apart and full of
my tongue:
i eat
and
become it;

my mouth is a silent crescent,
it eclipses sound
and does not say a thing.

i sip of the body of my hand

(who is thyme;

who is a mint julep;


deeply                        )


                 .

T'what

death do i owe this living:
hot kissed sweating backs of knees the lick of tired grass drab waves of summer moonlight laughing outside a bar hands full of mouth eyes ******* and constantly the droll hammer of absurd youth


                             ?



(Portland was like that)


hung flesh
with the hot flush
of freshly ******
girllips

;

because i don't know why, the stars.
purred furiously with sky
deep with purple and ambrosia

came the licked in dawn
of orange and white husk
split at the collar–
leaking black wine
rain and occasionally


love

it is very soft down here,

the way and

i can barely hear


              (are you talking?

            


                 i love you

i've some power fingers terribly monstrous
knuckle deep in

hair too,thickhair

in bunched fist

strung tighter

pulling
pullling tighter(and from where parts

monsters powerfully

                                        

                                          )


wait instantly unsleeping
at a little slick with spit
lips between lips barely
teeth press and press and

monsters (unsleeping instantly)



                  ReleaseD

.































































­














                                                  ­                         Tell me I'm a ****.



























































­














.

white dappled easy
O intensely fragrant autumn,
you are the sun who
enormously tilts its brazen

shoulders 'pon the neat
and drowsy mountains. A Titan,
that toppled o'er of bronze,
gild the mute band o' e'r pleasant span;

with pulsed nonsense
of hulking brinded hide,
that wreak'd of tress,
fit where all souls seek to bide:

that wherein all sleeping's never done
(and Virgil comes to lead,
t' whence health's for ever spun           )


                        .

hot

the

big                                                                                                          chattering




hulking



brute




                                                            OF





brutal                                                                                                          autumn


                                                        Death



                                                         with






leaning                                                                            into







pockets                       of





                                                              cold  cold    cold     cold       cold      cold






teeming with
suddenly sky cutting
***** life,



                                                                                                                         hurry


                                                                                                                         hurry



                                                                                                                        The



scared
scurrying
endless mound
of always needing



                                                                  TO


always                                                                                                                  be



                          

                                                                   .





                                                                   ,








                                                                   ;

icanfeelsome cold
(hard birds between)
in Portland
there is a red brick building
building between
the hard cold
and some birds

(      i  can  feel   )

kiss fingers hotly each
march wise
silked in
the fair health of autumn dying

(dying autumn lives so
dying and it hotly
body decays in petals
of orange and brown) up

leans the quick back of
and a mountain suddenly

where thickly flits a doe

between trees dying
she.

the and

.

























































                  "What is truth?"

how i came by
this lush trickle of vocabular erupting passion
   i electrically shovel

  in
          digital grunts
i
   kno

                ,w
not
                                only
    

                   i           :T,s

HA'b,i:Tu
                       a
l l
          y

violent You are like a biggest sound
cloyingly honeyed on my mound of massed
and singing chords
                                         (you are a rose most thorned and beautiful
    i clutch idiosyncratically
strangled scarlet petals bursting
                     a foal i;ve nursed with tremoring pits of bold
gangling and accurate stench

             violent you're a tedium
a lush and decaying growth
         so lightly cancering my cell
and I breath your daily blood                and i whimper first glowering fist

      my hand to take that penitent shape
                                                                            

                and i"ll whisper it



to their chins:
                                   they who art most a mortal folly
as to wade in my
                                        quaking presence


         andi


'              
           ;ll



     sleeep               them                           quickly rushing rushing



               oBliviOn)

what do dreams meet flowers  ?
whose
             fair

hands seriously complain with

graves straight upright grey
in tight rows    ,

some effulgent rill of daisy
suddenly the earth breaking

the stiff silence of
FALL

i laugh:

i am sleeping somewhere,
the sound is halfway between
nothing, and something
is quickly some sharp breaths.

i pull over the night is
coolwarm wet inside the lips;
autumn is full and rotting
with the terse hush of moon light.

(i don't know what i am doing here)

           my muscles coil and wax
i tug the covers sharply
          my flesh washes in roiling heat

i wish for something soft
something neatly apart and needs me;
my lips fumble with a dry kiss:

"I love you. I want you. Please."

.                                                     I
                                                     at
                                                    The
                                                   sharpest
                                                  new
                                                     clean
                                                 blade
                                                of
                                                    dawn
                                               which performs
                                              the colour
                                             of life
                                                        in
                                           A curving sheet
                                          of condensed
                                         flowers
                                                      am lifted
                                        impractically
                                       petal
                                      upon petal
                                                to
                                    the breathless coronet
                                                     of
                                  unspeakable
                                 love

this makes sleeping,
inside your slender,
the beginning song of life:

my lip;
the shoving of sudden fur;
your own quaking;
and the collapsed nerve.

and the each new little thing of it
(ever day)
makes life in smooth jolts.

love as a woman,
who wears within,
our love in something

very alive,
quickly with 10 fingers
10 toes and grows
inside that hive
where my love as flesh
has lingers.

crimson little lake break
where there

          (sigh)

"again"

emits

           twixt


thigh and thigh

           apart

suddenly when

17 "please  ?      "

deepest length, a truncated obesity, abruptly gradual: a stem pops gently to present colors damp. a pavilion of ugly columns, the streets a budding promise; akimboing in gross pleasure. and the jostling laughter of serious music says to languor apathy a locomotive steeply belching roses.
. .
               ?

christian has her hair long
her face plain without
lip of makeup, and her
brief mouth is without rose;

  (i know)

i'm unsure why
the lips nothing
and hair plainly
with longness

seems feverishly something to have.

(wants i wonder which
within your hips are softly sleeping;
it needs to fill the itch–
their strictness always keeping)      .

some hot ugly between nothing
and nothing goes life
its arms perspiring longways
and shortways
its blab
and
meter

smoking with a short
jeer between its legs
hurt in the dark grass of Spring
is all around it(and

Something is large

and

Something is small

inside it
there are many insides
)and there is a wet
girl around a dry glass
long fingers apart the nape
of its sloping droop
the earth comes undone

and there is a girl
and there is a hot blab
and there is the great red reeling rictus

of a far drop from a near pier(

   )it can see and can you see

The how longshort of the hot blab ugly
between the red reeling jeer of the some
ugly life there is a goes

the sheafmen come in night as day
and lay the stock of grain in hay;
they pull the scythe to the reap the lot
and bear the yoke in cool as hot.

never at ease, never at stay:
they toil a hand fer heft and weigh;
faster and faster they tie wuts brot
laying in bundle accorded knot.

never to sleep, always to lay,
baring the dirt at shafts' away;
tug at haft ere comes the rot,
that's all the life a sheafman's got.

sits some thick blushed fitting thighs
around softly become
of mouth and lips

bump
bump
lips
bump

sits
bump
bump
sitting

***** curled
Summer
salt summer
fitting

petals in
doused
quickness
of aching
to part

on stem
on pistil

groans
groaning

the little house
of your hips

(where my mouth lives

awe in sometimes stillness is
the connotation of infinity
whose splendored temporal verses
snugly fold my mind
into the breathless divinity
of each careful line

who R you the god
i've been
inside several
times tonight

         ?

a beach rose
where one time
i wished i was
seeing the ocean
split itself again
over a man.

did you ever
wonderlingly
upward which
a star upon
pitch stairs
climbs casually?

who knows not me i've never even seen.

there was how shall i say green the city consumed the meek and tender brilliant
all rose in slenderest gardening blossoms root 'pon root in earth univocal (it's
shoulders, feel fresh, smoothly revolt into unchaste Autumn)


                                                                      whose lipless grotesque

                                                                      smiling parts

                                                                      between all

                                                                      ivory leans

                                                                      October

                                                                      her
                                                                     smell
                                                                    is wet
                                                                   curious
                                                                  Cinnamon
                                                                 chamomile
                                                                  citrus tingles
                                                                 against
                                                                the wide
                                                               plate of unhairing
                                                                  FALL(s
                                                              from a broad leaf
                                                              russet tranquil
                                                             blue
                                                        ,        flat and cool        ,
                                                                peels with tenderest
                                                     coming


                                                                         eve


                                                               flickers




                                                                                                big




                                                                   with



                                                                                      frailing




                                                                             sun


                                                                       collapses

                                                                         intooneenormity:

                                                                         ORAnge

sleepgirl don't

                               the world
               waits

                        for
                  your
                           hands to
                     find it
                   kindly nestled unfisted gracefully held
                   A round word of unspeaking lips
                  berried in love of colours inumerable
                  cupped in the stomach of the ocean complains
                  against the night

                                                          ­       A LIGHT

                   which in your carefullest heart eternally
                   quakes for letting
                   so uncarefully more divide thy palms
                   admitting a fragile infinity of kissing)andsleepinggirldon't

"Did I forget dying?"

asked who

hung with livery
of silver youth spun
by rouge turning
of night into day                                    ". Perhaps
                                                                                    "

or because suddenly
remembered summer
was sluiced in body

of hot water around
slim ankles–the opening

of every small vein–
rushing to mix with
motes of dying laughter

the very petite and
fragile model of thy self                        " one day when
                                                                     the incorrigible
                                                                     rough noose of
                                                                     Spring has tightened
                                                                     about every gold
                                                                     trimmed loose laden
                                                                     goosenecked whiskey
                                                                     minute of kiss *******
                                                                     between wide thighs
                                                                     tear tumbling and
                                                                     blubber wonderful
                                                                     life shall with death
                                                                     's vacant fingers make
                                                                      a flower of thy body
                                                                      renewed at the lips
                                                                      of thy grave every
                                                                      morning pearled
                                                                      in dew
                                                                                                         "

a confused or starry night:
It sweats
                with burning
Jewels Jousting Just
as lovely as my lady's eyes which sparkle quick as diamond's
   F                    .                                                           ­                                             !
  i             , '             '  ,                                                             ­                              '
n g e r s.'   ;   '              '.                                                          ­                       ,
                   .     '  . ,   ;                                                            ­               ;
                      ,                         ­                                                         '
      ­                   ' , ,  , ,     ,    ,   .    . . ..........................................   '

(Alive)

and again
i am here


dreaming

of somewhere
(withyou)–

alive         –

and

d
  r
e    a
m i n

    g.

let's be pretty
inpurple
(your eyes)i'll

your throat(and
)how

           about it?

with the nuzzling
of my love fist, baby?ican

make you pretty



                                 ,baby?and i

can kiss you,

                       dear.doyou

want it













          ?

.
















































"You can hurt me if you want."



"You're not into it–

I can't do it if you're not into it."







































.

i was driving the other day there was a short stop and a face was quickly past in an instant face
Was young blithe pastoral
imped with with the pleasant razor
of a grin face
was girl
With tiny darkly cropped few her
cheeks
had twin splotches of
fat rouge her
was lips
RED
glimmering

this little gilt feels into darkness more
everyday Pink
emblazoned
on its *** emblazoned
every day
Pink
into
darkness
f
e
els.

to live which what life beyond being

   (is there some I

stagger up with moonlight
the cool instant breath
of standing hot between
nothing and nothing                            )



vast and vast and vast



that enormous when of feeling the wind
around drunk drinking of the texture of a breath:

collapsing the condescended body of the moon stars laughter just inside the house outside which dreams the world of rain darkness and the impossible languor of health–


the need

the urge

the rush

to quietly pursue books of open girlness;

pages terribly comfortable to grasp and fill within letters of self.







how which we desire what to be perfectly exact of easy being:

the frond which stands strong without tending of hand–

the garden filled with the immense flower of youth.




And never to die,
never to grow old
or weak inside.



(what an impossible thing it is to know; to love; to live                    )

what an impossible thing it is to laugh

a little silently the wind comes

and the earth comes

and the stars come

and the moon comes between them
a soft as curvingly round like *******

stands a wide and flat unmoving
except for a cow or 3 field
below the diminutive inch
of a hill wearing me like a ******

rests laden in frost soil
doesn't say a thing and my
hand passes through the
distilled utterance of my

lungs a drooping crystal ******

mind ,
doing
     the    flesh
        thing ,
  sits
occasionally
    standing
(sometimes)
    when
and if
   the undull
sudden
   happening
of body
  arrives
through all
quiet darkness
a vibrous
  and
luminent ,

     "Hello."

"where were you?" i was the cooly over of mouth–the wind–
that beneath which chants of ***
incessantly

the world

in pink creases of easy Spring.

makes me to lay down
in waters of thistle
and hollyhock

the crude and sinuous
vehicle of sing.

christ you hang tinsel on a wooden cross
(drooping) your unsmiling figure
by the christmas tree tinseled too
silver clever ringlets wreathing
hung by hands delicate
ornaments dote 'pon
the boughs swinging
swaying

in

some unfelt
breeze they jounce
those
lovely sparkle sprinkled
spheres

mingle in the arms
of pine and soft
cinnamon
smells

cru
mbl
i
ng

wafts increase
from
the hot busy
pocket
of
the kitchen

into soon sleeping hands
my body enters
to the sound
of small
laughter

oh death do me,
when i'm
become
just

A

pale jet
(in the night)flowers
between the nimble
lips of darkness

a careening bolt of hot remembrance
all the bodies that my hands have been:
the ease and tremors of their *******.

death, this catch, rest, carry
(the hollow of my stem)
the love each new as old
nor less than any other

that lived within me tightness
that go with me in end.

and my body knows
when it's with yours
a pleasure more
and pain less

it knows just how
delightfully draws
the better curves
of your sting heavy
*******

how is immaculate the
darling prism of thy
stomach               and
how pleasantly scrunches
it up in ecstatic pink
rimmed diminutive folds

and how the taste of
your sweat is like
honey more than
honey even is

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

sitting pale breasted
lipped in certain
opaque girlness
hangs by mortal
froth hair darkly
a thousand thick
and brutal firm

(a table usually
hangs over) thighs
brushed gently
akimbo lengths
of drooling ***
unmeet slowly
(while you
pretend to eat)
and laughing
divides rapidly
your cheeks
blundering with
crimson by wetly
fingers consumed

i love
you've are
been:

           (alive) and i,

kissing within
the sleeping dawn:

wide white awake.

our small shoulders;
who's naked makes
our heart perspire
1 leaf of grass.

you are gold.
your hair is.
your mouth does.
i sometimes.
and have always.

love kiss laughter sleep argue sweat dream kiss kissing inside laughter

felt, have you ever,
a world without fingers
,grooves,
or
edges of roughness?

it does not feel of anything
expect feeling more deeply
than hands ever have been.

Coming at the backs of your
eyes with peculiar easy intense
banding of unbroken shades
of light, it does not emit
a single colour instead
it fills with brief singular
tingling of being

a texture more wordless
in words uneasy to say
a poem of trite inevitable singing.

.































                                ­                     O
                                                      yOur
    ­                                                    mOuth
       ­                                                   issO
         ­                                                      hOt

               (inside it feels)

                                                sometimes­tight

                                                          ­and
                                                             ­                      O
                                                               ­                 it dOes

                             when

                                                  Springtim­e
                          
                                    ­                           draws 'er

                                                            ­               pretty 'ittle
                                                          ­                                
                                ­                                                                 ­    nOOSe

                                                          ­                                                    acrOss

                        
                           ­                             yer neck
                                                               (jerks)
        
                                                ­                                                             and parts
                                                           ­                                                  (wetly)
                                                         ­                                                     light

     ­                                                                 ­                                        and
                     ­                                                                 ­                        (life)
                                  ­                                                                 ­                                        intO darkness

                                                       ­                                                                 ­                            strays.