o to breathe
how it is i love you:
your little quiet which
do not your lips betray
the slightest music.

o and quiet
how it is i love you:
the mute pressing of your body;
without words which
for saying nothing

is louder than all the world to speak.

it completely staged was your throat
1/2 broken perhaps yowling by a
long mouth inching rapidly

in eager please to
tell a boy how much he did
your cherry knees to wobble
(the anger of his hands
and the thrusting of his bobble)

for 6months wearing
a back into his sheets
only your inch mouth long
saying to darling I
for  a 1/2 year didn't

really ever come

to open is such a sweet thing, and dear it's so a nice and easy thing to please and unfold maybe the petals of your heat


(where might boys play to eat)

my daughter moves
there is something
shakes moving
rattles a bit
falling she
does
into sleep
something
small(smaller)
than all smallness
her tiny aspect is
warm and i think
Very perfectly small
and smaller than all
warmness. i fold the
several things of my
arms around her smallness

and


she


s

    L



    e



                      p




                                     s.
                                       ,


                                       .

who forgot a word their lips trying to
find stumble stiffly up into the mouth
of a gun's barrel saying,

"Someday you'll see it."

.                                                                                     1heart
                                                                                          by
                                                                                      2chests
                                                                                         twained
                                                                                              fold
                                                                                          ing
                                                                                                 in2
                                                                                                1another
                                                                                             by
                                                                                          feverish
                                                                                              unkempt
                                                                                            ardor
                                                                                          ungently
                                                                                             hands
                                                                                          unmake
                                                                                                the pale
                                                                                            septum
                                                                                         and
                                                                                               pour
                                                                                                  blood
                                                                                               in2blood
                                                                                           become
                                                                                         a single
                                                                                            faultless
                                                                                         immolation

the splint to mountains trollop
and ecstasy of luminous death
a sunging light is hurdy gurdy
and
            to behind
their rocky stiffened pose
it's a plunging ***** of deeply laughing violet

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 world
(who shall by nothing easily break)
will eat the seed, my body
and of it forest make

where shall girls
in little nothing
wander

                  lithely


(a tiger amongst
                                )
and foals will
burst their mother's womb
and life will breath
from even dark-set tombs

mirror me
catch
this softly
snowing
outsidenight

where two and
three girlthings

the soul of boy
wars         rings;

hair in shortly
which some
*** wears

her mouth without
lipstick saying,

"kiss me–


       (i am soft)"

of you there is me just a fraction
which though a fraction just does
multiply wonderfully spilling you
full of a hard incessant easy thrill

(a pink headed girl whose perfectly
folded hips are suds completely of
my hips eager to feel their droll hammer
)
  
                                                                        behind a restaurant
                                                                        murdered of thought
                                                                        she divides uncanny
                                                                        thickness a nice ******
                                                                        impetuous tattoo on
                                                                        her neck tastes like
                                                                        the rude blithe mystery
                                                                        of life performed in
                                                                        rhythmic cadence
                                                                        with just a fraction
                                                                        of me which just
                                                                        though
                                                                                       only
                                                                        a
                                                                        fraction

                                                                                     multiplies

no poem with compares
to the stinging suddenly
up of what upward airs.
a moon half corporally

has by slow instant chance
itself in utterly nearness
2 on satin shoulders dance.
with no abrogate: queerness,

its indistinct afterglow
hugely downward under
openly golden star's grow.
has not by chance asunder,

the littlest death of bells,
to mountain quiver as rivers and in dells.

in the belly of her fragrance
laid and bared(it's where
the unclad baying of superior
determined fruit
hearkens genially my quaking
and my venom
to deftly smear my soul
in swollen anemic) hysteria

.






























            "Water you waiting for?"

































.

i met you were small your lips and your body was so it
was so and it
was like i loved it to be
to be so and
i loved it

i you
the body me
it(baby)
feels more
when you(re)

your how mouth
i
wanted it
i want it

i stumble freshly it by
i madly wilt to kiss
its fluxing wondrous shoulder

your implike wafting
the keen dribble your
the heap of
parted sleeping

amongst
when i wander

(a dream becomes me)and baby please don't go

i love you the

iloveyoutheway

you the youthness
the inside tight the
hips your
and a sliver

i want to dash against
my teeth
i want (you)

i want you
please and don't

go baby

(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.

in what sureness holds wife hands?

My most mundane love,
fresh in a moment
i felt your shoulders
between my fingers
the fascia binding
my soul to yours.

when took me
yours beneath
a smallest gable
of artificial flowering:

(in a peach dress
very pregnant;
i kissed the
last person).

feels like nothing that inside which is alone enormously too enormously to be anything felt or unfelt into every corner of being seeps
like a big room
too big
to be
inside
it
feels


                                                      




                                                           alone

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

the new perfectly lewd sublime
umm drunk sum
*** dum
blindly apart

   stoopid

girl around
rotund hurting

             Completely


without self
gives each lurching
empty towards full mouthing
, "please


              just


    love

                   me.
                           "

of some lost,
did you make?

And how
would you know?

(typed rapidly)

it will unpersist.

the rain and the earth
will eat it.

the skin will come off.

and all the night
WiLL SiNG.

shoulderBlades meekly scrunched, hard, together shoulder blades.
Before me shoulderBlades and spine curved up to head, raven coiffed,
hair pulled, lipbiting, shoulder blades: you've got monsters inside you

     've

got pain, cuts, and bruises inside you

                 've

got pretty eyes and dimples and you like to wear flats, tanktops, and skirts.
But i like how your monsters taste like molasses and sulfur, they taste like
fingernails(turquoise)rending. And your cuts feel like lace and razors they
feel like your waist in hands thick with me deeply in you: shoulderblades.

life, i cannot begin you to describe beyond my dreaming self your how divine moments of simple nothing.

your body is not, and i love it the how it is not. it is

and not it's


some muscles firing with hurt
seething to ache
so horribly
wondrous. it's driving

to the beach

too early in morning and you're heads not clear the sky is so wide and the sun is barely. it is

the uncurling of your fingers between
dishwater
and the winsome triteness
of the caving instant of your breath
caching in your throat
as you realize the dying
of your frail self,

clutching furiously the mundane heady song
of a coffee cup

(and in perfect silence emitting
the most enormous roar
of surging electric stillness)                                .    Life

you are half terribly
painful to. and life, you
are half splendorous to ****

sweating in the heap of your
car behind

the creeping sweep
of raging vein. Life

you are perhaps nothing. But lifE

you are the most,

and nothing hurriedly to slowly
take between the unutterably tiny *******
of snowgirls

their coldest song of closing lips,

and speak something hot

(something big).

frail i, in moonlight shall, march
up wisp of spring
into gabled spilt
juice
of curving dawn

orange
whose rind
like the human also
drys

           withers

                            sloughs

do you(dust)feelemptytinglingD
                                                     u
                                                        s

                                                 t

do you feel elegant quivering elatedU


                                            S



                                                                  T


in pale and in comely glued arrivers
sharp straight white.do you feel cool
touched (your shoulders nape sternum
) brushed gentler climbing rapidly
quivers AND u            s                                                  t


do you whorl 'pon my palm?as presses
through your body its kiss fastly andUST

do you know, between light and darkness,
FLESH?
                 do

         you

                   know

      lilting


                     fl

              utt

                        er

         a
         n
         d

                                         hush?


(you know.

                        as know i.


                                                         you)

petals tinier of spring silken wet
doused of pink innumerabley
minute death litter the banks
of a river where reeds bending
in wind laugh breath grow die

              by

the quick ankles of deer who
in downy copse eat the blood
of earth and startled by the
rustle of foot and twig straight
burst out bounding their skin
taught and lathered in spring
tiny minute dying spring by
petals silken and wet

2 & 4, we're forested as soil drinking solids our knees benting smell nosing a lolling gaggle of riotous pink dangles a careless droop over spilling pearly
sharps and crunch!y, cr!unchy; crunc!hy."' the minute deaths rankle or the cool common ground's a sun draped bulging acute beige you heave chesting and spit mouthing the gentle corpse of oxygen

by spaded hand
the cloven earth
receives the root
a seed and weeps
a new flower with
fragile completely
petals that in even
meekest shooking
bend
           and

                     fractures

anon


                               what dreams may
          spread effortless poesy on the sheet of my bed

                  and

sleep softly stunning in the rapture of the night

to beingly is
to dyingly make of
white flesh

a most brutal mute song–

arms and hands behind
music of throat
–full of fingers–

pushed fingers into short throat,
deeply;

trying to
and openly
needs of, spit

where unsoftly comes
and fingers fit.

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.

so leapness, the body healthness, deeply blue
a white cool draught of unearthly peculiar
that staggers up July, doe and fawn
beleaguered nothing(stroked with sunlight)
striped of shadow litheness jumping
frivolously jaunt streams of gold
through a barely cupped hand(fingers splayed
'pon tawny break: night and day)

those strong youths die never
live always
                       perfect

unarrested, surging, tendon
the ripeness of your figure is

                   a fullness

                           a fleetness

                                a

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

I feel the immediacy of things. The imminence of objects. I feel the keenness of a glass in my hands. The instantaneous dribble of condensation over a knuckle. The spontaneous aroma of a summer night. I am enthralled and enraptured by the crisp mint of toothpaste, after a barely slept night. I feel the rough twill of a garment and I am in love with it. I extend my hands into the rapid amber slats of the streetlamps on my dash, as I speed beneath them. I watch them wash over my hands and I feel somehow indescribable.

I am in love with beautiful women who pass me on the street. Every one them pretty. Every one of them a neat mystery. Every one of them in skin as lovely and soft as breath off the ocean. I know myself least when I kiss. I know myself best when I am kissed.

I feel myself in the world and I feel IT in me. I love my friends and my family. I love the rough smell of fire. I love the wisp of spring, grown into the verdant pulse of summer's heat. I love to sweat and feel the movement of my body through open space. I love the sharp itch of a tattooer's vibrant needle. The splay of colors. The tang of my blood.

I look at men and I see boys playing at what they think a man is supposed to be. I see excess, increase, and birth. I see leanness, erosion, and death. I somehow know that neither is life a beginning or death an ending. I know it as I know the tip of my finger. I know it as I know the taste of sweat and hairspray and sunscreen, distilled in the instant of a drunk kiss, in a tent just inside of Idaho.

I am for life. I am for pain as I am for pleasure. For I know that one is nothing without the either. I wish to be known and to say myself. I wish to know you and to hear yourself, said by, yourself. I am simply. I am a man. I am just what I am.

I may die tomorrow. I urge you to love those dear to you and to say it everyday. I only try to do that. I only try.

"You're not what I expected."






















"What should I have been like?"

it's time


       to sleep



i guess

tomorrow

i'll love you



forever



Christ.

does up what seems a little clumsily down snow?

White and
White and
White and

everywhere, perhaps?seems snow

seems no

edge or fay

where might Spring's lewd fingers fit?
lewd fingers fit fat
lewd fingers find fickle fair frayed a bit fay
where its fingers can fit?

(the sun)
whose thick fingers
between the quick thighs of night

       can. fit in)just Spring

i,ve made love to a woman
whom twas a radiant fauld
of glamoring apath            y

yet i often dreamily
recall in lazy strings of lucid
her nice hair
                         or
patient grass

often as i culled the fairy heat, her *****

       i'd say in particular her name

a            n                                             ­            d           itt wasSUMmer,

some girls taste like all girls taste like
every girl, differently, the same;

each smells the least exactly like the last,
smells swelling with a pinch of brine
between hot breaths of a Summer ocean;

and how good the ocean feels running
faster than curved orangeness of pinched
pinking hotness down your chin while it
rustles jook quivers and sighs heaping
one exquisite leap of its spine into each;

(let's say basically i've been a lot myself
on my knees at the edges of beds eating.)

beginning closed, opened fragile hardy meadows outward from the tumult
of absolute stillness. a skull in every smile smiles quick wry lipless grins
in every skull it smiles amongst the bodies, youth soaked dripping carnal uncarnal, it smiles whenever the voices, **** and vividly, couple and
uncouple the twains of hips(& between them it's grinning, in their pumping
force & even in the ****** of the sudden exploding creation)"it's grinning right there, and someday when you lay in last and final you will say 'hello, FOREVER'",

i do not write a poem it
from "who knows where" comes
in its body
is some words
i think
some words
but

why       ?
and             i

"don't know" cuz
like lithe
from out of
sleeping hair it marches

adamantine

unstoppable

invincibly fragile
it marches
doe-like

its eyes are pretty too
and in the terse clutch of its stinging copse
i s
pythe
gleaming rind of life

foamed in sweat
it is nubile strong delicate

but

i do not write a poem
it from
"who knows"
where
(idon't)

it was cold your heel hurt and i'm sorry because we were walking to get some food i was thinking about how you are so nice to kiss and "this is magic" the world and your eyes and the easy body of your silence between the houses "this moment" and my hands full of box with scones i couldn't wait to see you smile


"I know it's ridiculous,


                                                but I'm serious."

your mouth is a beauty
whose word i long to pronounce
whose keenness is marigold in summer
whose almost too fragile a slit
makes the fragrance of desire
whose language is heavy and soft
and suddenly across
your face it slices
more pink than bubble gum
and more sweetly to taste
more sugared and awefull
more impossibly resisted
your mouth is too delicate a flowering
destroying sound
of which i long to pronounce

know me:
(i am myself amongst you)
i am the root of light;
i am the light where roots dare not tread to pass.

let's get differently. Electric let's

(you)sometimes get

,differently your

face let's
get red
hurting

(cuz you want it(




                   me to


ya want me too


let's





                        get,




                        .




                                     ,

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

"i like girls"each hole is something
easy nice and wet
in a sallow sheathe of skin
tight of sweat
after yoga class
in between their thighs
before not after
a shower
tasting like a parting
shale of acrid
heaven
bent over the washing machine
GULPandmy"kneeshurt"

it was november it was raining just a little bit
of rain was powder fine glisten soaking
the frail pale length of the forest long dark
sleepily crisp in gnarled and in limbs
crooked elegent
the way was streaming(bent with treees)over
and a sprig of magic sharply
in my nape first creeping
through loam(worms)
my chest
worn of heart broken, i
through gnarled lengths of long sleeping trees
freshly said life
in the nicely dead forest
my heart(worms)creeping
through loam

.























































                     "You're in love with love.

                                        You don't love anyone."













































.

it seems the brief
nothing of my
hands cradle
the sweating brow
of my child
sleeping so hardly
within the quiet
of her breath--

the smallest pressing
of her chest the
largest miracle of life.

her hair is fine
and golden--
the light comes somewise
the follicle full
and brimming in
brilliant strands.

my wife is beautiful and i love her:
she has given me the most
beautiful gift in my children.

she carries in her body the torch
of into swallowing enormity:
whole darkness.

on the withers of a pale horse,
riding into that good night,
she bears making.

a maker before all craftsmen,
she creates through effort of her flesh
the most exacting somethingess of being.

i hold the makings of
her hips in my arms
and they are the most
beautiful thing i have
ever seen.