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.

.































































­



















what are you some kind of monster kind of some kind of monster are you





























































­


.

of Cherries,



                 "OUCH"


down'er pants firm notched reeking
stiffly *****


                         cherries

red cute slippery fumbles fingers over and

down'er pants

jeers clean shaven a howling gypsy split
from its lips to its lips
Wearing a manicured crown (strip cut square)
notched tingling
its

face


is

i got so many beautiful

   (words and Dear
          hands, Baby)

they just want to breaking
leap across the chaste ugly
winter a sting of poppies
into her steep heart bury
their roots and climbing
them shout from clenched
colours warmth as you
have next to a sweating
Summer lake been curiously full of

burst distinct order. the old new's gaining trembly girth in spongy sauntering crawlingand BANG surely nothing's still as moving jitters cream a taunting yes

come this day with me and look upon the earth.

She is a wise
wide at the hip
deep into her
basin where

the folding occlusion
of her bulging lips
contain the
exstatic pearl of life.

she is full:
her thighs
abound over
in supple fat;

her moss is
golden she hangs
a bent beam
on the running
rill from her

cleft bump,
the hillocks
suffused in
grass rollick
and distend
pleasantly.

within where
the waters
part themselves
into blood
and wine.

Her mucous
is secrete:

it flows
en-opaled.

The eyes are for it.
The mouth is for it.
The hands are for it.

it holds wide itself,

(and tight and suffuse
and secretly languorous)

for all who would enter;

and ALL entering is here.


And leaving too
is here:

there is entering and there is exiting here;
one quickly after the other,
or at the same time,
or at neither--
entering and exiting all the same.

She is a worm hung
and in her cellar
is some moist rot;

but do not dismay
for as entering and exiting:
from rotting there is birthing.

And how we are born.

And how we come from her.

And how we come into her.

And are made the same again.

the legion of your slumber is a copse of

innight trees

a trickle of moonlight

and petals caught

in glowing tinily

neat messness

(where a doe comes
between hushed eaves
her mouth pink rimmed
with and tongue plucks
from the body of each
flower,

                lust

the flesh you have been has always been the world beyond me to leap through all mudness such clarity of love i have soared upon the breadth of each timid stroke of it and slept furiously amongst its petals.

I am not myself
nor were I; know a thing
this body's just fantasy
this mind but a dream

that first which out of nothing comes
warmly steep and comely dripping
in easily breaking and confused hands
(but though which are still are aching
needed to have on lipskinand) LOVE

                                                           ­         

                                                               ­                    is dear I


                                                             ­                           Have some i

                                                              ­  
                                                              ­                i have some



                                                         ­                                 dear of my




                                                          ­                    love in hands




                                                       ­                                       though which are



                                                          ­                   breaking easily





                                                     ­                                                   still needed





                                                     ­                                and aching






                                                    ­                                                           dear





                                                       ­                               too of mine






                                                      ­                                                  "please"





 ­                                                                 ­                     dear





          

                                           ­                                                             have­some

Χάρων is a nice fellow
by some gate
on the bank of a slow river

in the summer
his mouth
hints at
a sliver of
crisp mint

julep sweating on
the table next to my hand
occasionally a girl
between my lips

and the small body of
the city stretches
'round with
creeping dapples
of caressed heat

(and the slow bank of a long river is
waiting next to some gate i can hear
the boat creaking without weight and
all the darkness of forever at the backs
of my eyes.

2x2
they're flouncing girth
it jiggles less like rocks
the hard barrel
a great and hulking steed
billows on the hillside(
m y lady jouncing like mercury(
f r o m   GODS mouth
)on their withers )
liquid thick as glasss

erupt gradually a forest
of my limp and eager throat
green ponders waifish

always
,if the like moon(smoothly as waters),
threads the onyx plate
of night:

            
               i will love you.



As the rain loves the dry air.

As the dry air loves the sea.


will love you even though
eaten by the glad mouth of death, i.

will love across
the stark span of nothing.

by untense memories
of my softest hands.

will caress the curving hull
of thy body's eyes, and muted soul.

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

      unfurled
                         your grandest burning luscious dilating SCARLET

of a body
being 2
bodies:

you are my love.

the wifeblood
and the childheart—
beats within you,
and sumways,
being the hollow place
from where all life pours.

and if anything is sacred
your hips are sacred:
the cambered holsters
of my sleeping children.

you are brazier,
forward carried,
into largest darkness.

the light whose,
consumed nearly,
rages in the face
of blackness.

(i love you in the flesh of my palms;
their meat holding somewhat of your
glowing warmth.

i love you in the apple
of my closed chest;
opened only at
the brush of your laughter.)

My Wife,
being my hull,
and the body
of my 2 bodies,

I love you.

she,s a livid verB
of pure distilled
filthy l!ghtn!ng    and
                                               she makes me wanna

she makes me wanna

                   sh       e            m
                                       a
                                                                      kes
me


                      want to...
                                  (   !

there(realslowlydancing)is feet
cast in leather sweating ankles
up with(firstcalvesdiamond
hardlittlesharp)a delicate feminine

barely in neon

and shook smoke swirling giggles

thighs;****,pink!hair:andPrickles of

tingling most

(and bet tight i her inside is cool hot throbbing) DeLiCiOuS

there is an old man who is dying inside me
he lies by a pale ocean
his eyes are and mouth mouth crawls with
ladybugs Spring is there
her lips are full of chafe and brightness hangs
about a flower less
petals each into the wind next to a pale ocean
where there is an
old man who inside of me is dying

are you what.
((i think you are)?



             the body).


i think
you are
(which is
just slightly rotund

just

easily weak.

fit betweeen
your years)

long and
barely skinny

of arms. O

and you are

what
(i think)
you are?what?

(you are the rushing
keenly that joins
vein and soul; singing
)
You are.
and what
you are

is

vertically serene wonderfully pleasant

falling.

Luv all
love all
all things
all things neatly
all things neatly ugly;Love

all you are

you are ugly and



                            Y
                               o

                          u

                                    

                                              're


pretty nice
between your thighs
wettimes someand

easy nothing sublime                           ) you '  re

the winking
of a lash'd eye
wearing a girl
in boots.her
neck stands beneath
and her body does
a young hurting
of beautiful pain

which i like like i like
the way she
hands and her
mouth uses
her fingers
and her tongue(feelso good)

and love's her
in the morning when
i wander from nothing
and out a dream i stumble
naked into her lips a kiss      (        i

)the world
and fiercely in limpid orange
limps through 'er
into the sky
and darkness

a bit,


       .

there is a man in a small voice with a tight hallway

he is waiting

he is waiting, his boy like dolleyes watering
in his tight voice
is small hallway

he is waiting

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.

.







































                        ­                                           ceci n'est pas un poème.































                           ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                  .

.                          



                                                                                    fuckable






                 the





                                          haireyes





                                          morning roll



                                          her pinched





                                         cleft

                                        wafts hard
                                        smelling of seagirls; i splitting
                                        wet
                                        crack
                                        stiffly her the


                                        fingers

                                        ENTeringleAVE
                                        dewed
                                        in
                                        A
                                        Shout "yes"
                                        (ok again
                                          i will)

                                         push her up
                                         me to
                                        
                                         sighing wider
                                         apart
                                         yawing
                                         thighs
                                         extremely
                                         taste


                                         li(ke
                                         brine tastes sweetly sour
                                         )marching through
                                         mouth across
                                         tongue

                                         throat and hand
                                         "please"
                                          tightly
                                          "hert me"
                                           and
                                           "ok" i'll

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).

what are you?

are you as me?

areyouwhite?does your body sit easily

inchairs

knees skinny
not awkwardly parting
and fresh in grey light
spill young
out between your
thighs



                                   SPRING RAIN?

barking Marge was tight and wet
she took dem bois wit out regret
she let dem in, one-by-one
and let dem pump till they wa dun

but now dat galz a little loose
from all doze years of takin' goose
and all dem bois ha got dem lifes
and all dem bois ha got dem wifes

sa bawkin Marge went down da peer
out ta waare da air isss clear
she took er self a litl dip
neeth da roll o wave and shipp

not a teer na don yu foist
cu bawkin Magj is nice nd moistt

i (flower) who god

                 blundering


staggered light full

bursting 'tween ribs

blossom quickly faster immortal wilting

                       (petal from stem from petal)


                                                           slough




                                                                            lilt







                                                                                             REst

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?

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

(      i  can  feel   )

it feels too heavy with people
and sounds often
in little boxes

, people

little boxes in them

where sounds

are too heavy.

Cool. it makes me feel
(the ocean when)
words do not the lightening
of the long sky,

in undrab Spring(a body is proposed)

of flowerets and garland roses
(green at the knees
between the hips
stoking         )in profusion

their broke
colorful
tension
ringing
(the fur stroke

                  singing  )

.




































                 i love you let's ****

































.

do you i
have some
memories

   of remembering

some remembering

i was when
you were

two cold outside
to walk and
we so
(staying)
stayed inside you

were very warm

and




                                             (it was so cold outside)

enter me the intense sojourn of our lips
that i might

step upon

each flensing kiss

my toward darkness body

each more of its less and
set into its bite
my own teeth.

o open me quiet

         –in–

more completely my
very closed.

that such
,of tightest whiteness,
spreads cooly

parts ethereally

the quirky mystery
of empty rooms
behind nice doors

(where every sleeping is awake
amongst such nothing so big
eats totally the quick figment of
a thought faster

than breath                                   )





.So let's small?

the"fu"ck(U
                     )17

whyn't.let's

cuz yerI'm A **** "we"re
hangin by
a long fingernail,nail
,nailin U
withaaa
finger(tasteit)
don'*** taste?                                                               Good

Is, the definitive
not me when
whose hands(?
)are these
in my hands, Spring?(the grass)

and trees occasionally
mirror the always of
my body as dirt;
there won't be
a day when. I or i shall

go amongst the chansons
of lilies the dilute spell of
life mysteriously. a flense

of an ember parted on
on the parting of a blade
of green and waxy earth

gardens will where gods
do not go and grow
more deep than worms

into each body their roots
as hard as soft as
and light might apparently
become a mote

of your wrists will
pass into the lips
of other lovers

a very tiny song.

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.

not as like,thoughlike,a little more easily nothing flake
crisply hurts on each carefully florid cheek brittle melting

                   likeyou
  

                                          likeyouth

brittle melting carefully on the florid cheek crisply hurts

fingers hurt

lips hurt

tips and tips
tips and tips

like,thoughnotaslike, youth: an easily nothing flake, on the the florid cheek









                                                                                              melts

eyes big love crumbs
the delicate thrill
of quite so new
You;

stroking by
the coarse fuzz
of electric fur:

i like it

more my fingers when
drunk with monthly blood are in.

i could (outside hear  )

            "clip

                     clop


                     clip


                                  clop

                                      clip"

                                                  outside

                                                     i
                                                    could
                                                   hear
                                                  (smell)
                                                 steam
                                                expelled
                                               rapidly
                                              night
                                             children
                                            laughter
                                           and
                                                  "clip

                                                clop
                                             clipclop
                                    clip

                                           clop


                                clip"

ears pricked

                       eyes

                                 bloodshot


                                            and

                                                  "clop
                                                           clip

                                                         clop
                                                             clip

                                                             clop
                                                                 clip"

                                                             gentler
                                                               farther
                                                                 gentler
                                                                    farther

                                     and


                         "clop
                                clip
                              clop
                                clip
                               clipclop
                              clopclip
                             clicclop



                                

                                         clip

                                                      "

Nobody cares.

of such it is to dream,
more dreamless nights to become

that fleeting which
like a breath escapes

into crystalline diminishing
and the loose tightness
of October.

she it who little nervously is

most soft
most innocently head

throbbing

between neck and air to be

loved to be

needed to be

wanted of more than body always
can't but to "I guess

we don't have to
tell
my            boyfriend.

this world alive with night
tinly bruised by
chimes seems to
wither seems to

hold the ready mystery of
life between its hips mouth
full of lips steaming up one
spectral flower of luminous self;

(i wander and suddenly am)

the garden is rough
momentarily i make a fist
of five fingers

somewhere there is a sound
a totally superfluous noise

i yawn and turn through clouds
of just spring air towards the
bashful eclipse of silence

i count my fingers and there is my hand
i mark it and pleasantly ingest the pale
twinkling swaddled of the wide sky;

how many days are there?
how many nights(and a petal
catches in the groove of my palm)?

it's thick
i'm drunk
the night is alive with
world is tinly
bruised by chimes


(And purple easily conquers the horizon

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

it was milk again last night arms sweating teeth on edge and whole body steaming lathered in crocuses

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