Dying: that's life–who is a boy

sitting alone; and knows,

but writes a poem anyway.

Do you? who in marble stillness,
(thus reposed) under shade of
buckled trees and heavens hand
would with thee let me lay and
into quiet charging gushing
stiffly ever and

        for
ever;

.































































­


















"Let's put it this way: if anyone was
actually honest all the time you would
hate them–you would deride them,
you would do anything to disbelieve
the things they told you. Honesty
disgusts us. Only someone who was
insane or hated themselves would
always be honest–absolute honesty is
the same thing as insanity."







































.

skinnyhips
breaknice
onpetal's
singe,elated
dancethe
washof
summe­r'sgiddy
stomachtanned
taughtlush
faultlessribbon
ofAsmile
(singl­e)                 sings
                                
                         of

                                cheeks

                          ******

                                 with
                        
                      green


                                mint


                         and



                    taste




                                like





                             gold

.









































                 "Cruelty is a more genuine expression than kindness."






















































­.

there's one long gun
girthed in boney stable palm
and finger flicking death rattled
sweetly copper children
a patient rind of health,                                    for thou and whence
                                                                             it girdles profusely
                                                                              a blatant death
                                                                             of vibrant pulsing colour

Winking doubled 3 and by 3
he was down by a the an at
the very steepness of the grocery
outlet's little outlet shunting
to passersby his handy vanity(and they liked his dog and saiding so they drooped a coined palm and flatulated giddy tinklings

     he later utilized to *****

The first act of creating oneself is nearly impossible. Being that they must ***** the very plinth upon which all creating is later done–all plinths themselves been built on ever prior ones.

her it
the soporific
very dreaming
split of
easy night
falls so lovely
brushed of balmy
hair short
in tender heap
of girlness heat

it the deftness
of a wrist
hangs
softly loose
uncurled
lightly the fingers
in

her such steeply wonderful brain
a song is me
by love's lips it
i
the earth the
night
echo primly
kissing

and
couth
so a fancy
is all the world
to her in lovely slumber's keep

such as i would like to enter
and of its beauty reap

a flower on who would rise
all youth in me to crown

and lay my *******
in crimson parting's drown

some girls are like
the uncoming together
of deep mountains

(there are where

occaissionly it's been


flowers.          ) their hips



that part

at the parting

of boy ribs—




.

That I was alive: I suppose,

there was a certain eager meaning to
these moments–wide and short–these
hours–fat and narrow–these years
long and deep–

the stars, the lunging of my breast, the
turned curving of a sunrise, the rapid
expulsion of blood, tunneling suddenly through artery and vein;
I guess.

Looking and wondering; I turn my
hand over in a spent beam of sunlight. Its span tumbling with that heavy glow–it iridesces.

(I love you.

Knowing I will die–I love you.)

I am walking in some hall. There is the fast purring of a cat. Easily my breath inhumes and exhumes the space within my chest. Heart beating. Air and flesh exchange.

How easily it is to be–it seems these
hands are mine over your *******. I put
my fingers in your mouth. Your tongue
tousles their fiber. I make and unmake
myself in your hips.

The thick leaning of this chair into my back–where are you?

(Reading this perhaps.

And am I alive? And where?

Or dead?

Could be.)

And what is death?

Dying after all, it is, I guess, what I am.


There was the forest today. And five minutes ago I kissed you.


I am incomplete–I can feel
the way this shirt turns over the skin of
my arm. Somebody is speaking French on the radio.


"I will be dead someday." I want to whisper.


(I will be dead someday.


I love you.)

cut that face pretty
stealing
                 between
aisles glossy thick
with starkest sharper
lighting catching on
the edges of heaped
organized rows and
rows
and rows of
cans(quickly splinters
a fairy pale smile)just
pink and little and
painful pretty smile
by the frozen goods
(i think i'll say

                       "hello"

i want you. the
coalesced flower of
Autumn in
wriggling manifolds
of
freshest
death,

that by who
paints with strokes of crimson
their brush becomes
the coy feather
of once a month
between
your
thighs:


                                                           blood

in coldest cool,
of chip alive with face   ,ice wears
a short


                (eyes)


blue skirt nudely
implying lips

of chaste laughter
crisp with hurtling
twinge of Spring

dead between
two pillars of
nice femurs

stiff with
stuff of newly
braiding autumn air

love's not mine

                    nor

                for

                        me

                  neither

                i
                   either

i not loved
                    exalter
                                  though

to speak love, say love, deftly

                 I

keep these hands alive in your hands; that they walk and breathe; that their skin becomes downy in the spring, and from them spears love-roots of dark grass, filling over the hills and meeting with the excellent night their shining bodies.

live, love and smell the rich perfume of your lovers hips; meet and again touch with them your cheeks, and delight in them–the coil of their heap.

they are with your body, and to touch another's is a great privilege–and i know it.

wander and know the nape of them; laugh and extend your blood into their own.

invite their inspirations into your own breast, and make with it one respiration.

they are cool and wonderful between the ears; they are soft laughter and stupid giggling; they are the arcuate sleep of a rose thorn–deeply within your skin.

know and love them.

hold not back your laughter, nor praise, nor joy in their clutch.

touch, ramble, delight in the visceral perfusion of their mouth and kiss.

hulking with indifferent fragility
the serious mouth of life
is
         a redlipped girl

who winks
                      at me

from nowhere

elle n'est pas one hell
of an elle in does
brightly chafe with
dower stocking removal
hastily into thigh as thigh
does improbably hairless
Glide into petite grande
pink pretty pinched heaping
of dryless ****** helping
of **** help needing

A quick drizzle of angles that
unsuddenly with immortal pairing
bare the rude stem of Spring–

which cannot unbarley but to shreak
the tiniest whisper of "please into my
house enter the deepest blooming
of red red red steam   "

being i just could only
that at
the naked perfume
of her
seeping incessantly laughter
but to boom as wide and cloyingly
drunk with open health

as God had said
making the world
by one word: she

said not one word
(making my world)
but two,

               "**** me"

unnicest winter die please cold
and let Spring unlaboured
                          unclosed Spring come

please, winter dying, that for you
coats and hats
tightly of bodies worn
from the slick ice
thinly which veils
the limbs of trees, naked, save for
thy

one beyond perfect
who through
neat newness
of skin is pressed

prying between
pages of same
glued by glueless
hands of everyday

her waist
her hips

                     (:thickyoung)
                            wai
                   ­       sthips
                            pry

ing between new old pages of glued by
       glueless hands(
       of everyday.     )




her face




her              cheeks

.































































­                                         of
                                      loves

                 ­                  we've had


                     remembering is too difficult


                                    we would

                                       rather

                                       forget


















































.

last night rain magic

          (such magic)

you visited again
so freshly and so
cleanly you caked
each hour i laid

        (unstirring)

with your music
your voice and
song that gent'lest
and constant pitterpatter
                                                    ­
                                             pitterpatter


           pitterpatter
          


                                       ­                                                     pitterpatter­




                              pitterpatter







          ­                                                                 ­                                             pi
                 ­                                                                 ­                          
                                      ­                                                                 ­                     t
                                          ­                                                                 ­          t
                                                               ­                                                               er­p
                                  

                                                               ­                                                         a
      ­                        
                                                                ­                                                                 ­ tt
        
                                                    ­                                                        e
  

                                                      ­                                                                    r

sa
yn
ota
wor
dor
)don


           'ts

a




                       ya




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

                           slep
th
ard
ly a
letter
ofy
ourbody.but

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

                       from





                          SLUMBEr



                          and rose






                          upon







                            the crimp

                            of darling youth





                             a flower,



                                 ,


                                          .



                               ,



                   ,



                                          .

fist needs little openness
sprawls completely fingers
akimbo
                receiving

another also little open

                       hand

girls feeling EMPTY cords 'tween their hips feel. They
of some nothing
go each day
filling
nothing
with
some
cords.

i miss you are dead
somewhere
dead maybe

you were alive once
unknown
,but knowing  . how

like it feels to dark within
the instant upon looking
through wet neatness of
glass onto the rain

where a city is

and say, "because it stops for no one."

when you die
you are dead

when you are dead
you are not alive

A mountain is not alive
A sunset is not alive

i can remember your mouth across from me i was late it was 11:17 i said i was sorry you said your mouth was across from in a mexican restaurant 2 years later your mouth was in my mouth in Eugene in Eugene it was very hot in the middle of the summer the van was broken down and i loved you so much there wasn't anything to do but climb into each other's mouth the thick heatness of sweating palms and you are sitting across from me in a mexican restaurant your eyes your mouth your hair was short 1 year later i thought you should cut it shorter 1 year later in a hot pocket of some thick freakness your hands mouth eyes spit and got open so wide i climbed into your whole body was so beautiful tasting better and fighting all night than death i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry


(i loved you)

so                                                                                                                       into
this flaking night           we   went                pl
                                                                                             u
                                                                                                          
                                                                                                      n
                                                                                                         g
                                                                                                           i
                                                                                                           gn
(of winters throat )
the sallow column
                                          ofwho,sneck
i'm a gently kissing

down the ups of the very backs of streets
just skirting the very edges of napes
the cities slightly tickled little hairs rushing
up it's thighs, colluding thickly bushy
barely about it's "ooch!" it's "ow!"
it's youth rimmed slouching pocket
hollow fully bursting. empty so crowding
tightly packed cheeks, clumps of giddy
gurgling songs pumped lazy chords
they sickly punch the nooks and crannied
edges flourishing the rainbow bright
chatter of lungs that taste the air so
healthy and so long. "Tonight, as the day
goes 'Wee!' over the ******* wallop
we"ll higgle wiggle in it's corpse
our skulls and merry bones to
frothing jowls overwhelmed with boisterous
young hearts supping it's crudlicious
pillow, supple and rotting gums
the large lit teeth of whom bust
right to heaven while we fling about
their oblong towers our shales
of *** and magic;

my love, i give you my life
the eyes

   (unerringly)

the lips totally which
are for only your lips;

my love, my hands are
your hands, my mouth
is your mouth, my love

my fingers are the brushing
of sunlight, against which
your skin folds effulgent;

my love, my fingers are
the blithe petals of Spring
damp within your roots:

(you are the cool and dark
soil of Summer, my love,
you are within each curling
of my breast, each turning
of my blood through stem
and shoot)

my love, i love thee,
the burnished gold
of your scalp, the
mute laughter of
your eyes; my love,

i am made and unmade
within your hands

      (our hands)


               .

those things heavy confused wonderful
to touch are cool on the shore of a beach
beneath light blue and seagulls effortless
on wind in a field sunkissed flowers by
your brow laying with your body
splendor and grass itchy on backs
pricking at cotton and getting hot sweat
delicately messes your makeup quickly
sprinting on loose noble perfect calves
to the arms of a lake and stabbing it
the pierced cleat of your excellent
figure and it's fire smokey and just
on a beach somewhere up into eve's
unsad cheeks (where there shines
unbelievably minute and gorgeous
stars)

i have the (deliberate) comely legion of summer marched through
in the lather of poppies;i fell sleeping with flowers from my skin
pulsing to reach the sun

                                               by stems fragile aching

                       LAVENDer

and



                marigolds 2

                                           were

                                                        there

                                                                   they
                                                                    had
                                                                     *****
                                                                       small
                                                                        voices
                                                                         but smelled like
                                                                          H
                                                                          O
                                                                        N
                                                                         E
                                                                        Y

where your lips meet

       (unmeet)

     :

there is day ;

there is night    .

patient violence: wait at the breach
i'll let you captivate my sinew
when the bell tolls. resounding
activation; articulate fists dapple
cambered flesh

kiss pretty ugly knuckles
love the pain shower
b            u                t
so it tolls again
the exact ring of rest
calls to my hands
"steady breathes now,
in this minute"

i await it's summons to
birth
           purple
                         blossoms

all love
through
the crisply murdered toto
of uncouth faces


    (FALL)   i want to sing




inside you once again

each crimson bending
of vein

the accidental flower
of my hips

some death living
more hotly lathered

in young stupid
lovely dumb lips,

(noth shaping)


unelected silence
that sings to me:


i might feel O'
your primrose hands,


whose palate
,in plushy sward,
cannot house

or unhouse

               the lord,.
                             '
                                ,
                           '


                                    ,


                     '                  
                                                  '




                                   ;




                                    .

i have like tress stood piercingly between slick sheets of darkness

                                       light

pressed with lips full of burning pollen(a sting)

whispered in ***** bold dreaming

unloose cruel love

and

burst

i am your body,


my hands the

dark hour between

shook cords of blinding day
                                                  ;

cursed
     /
coursing

of curved
hours distilled
          .distinctly

***** heaving
of

tight aroma .  Atoms,

hither thither
bump pumping

white into white hips

fissured

at the breach of

          .

(to you my love to feel
wishing within throat
to fold my most unfolding

into you
the hands
my body (yourbody)

tween shook cords

of blinding day

something leafs (inforestsdarker
                   ) quietly of     nosnow
but even                                 paler
       with ...
moon light and              between
columns waxy with    beginning
night there accurately          i am
doused wonderful human arms
in youth gorgeous of health and
wishing playfully for hair body
naked                  giddy feminine

One dumb ******* mouth speaks
does eat
the face by

two thin chords
of pink sweating
easily .

it yammers it says
something about
the weather whether

or not
it might rain

heaping into
the pinched
nooseness

the fat trill
thinness of
its head:


sleeeeeep.

enter me thy hands of cool etherizing
that i might

                           suddenly

(a flock of intense doves)
become my skin
some curving ofs
starlight(inAmsterdamwhere

a flower left me
the rich improbable hands of the wind

slips from nothing hugely poem of
light creating light by leggy moon
over whole earth palely tousled in
maimed and drizzled in silver curving
a point is risen amongst (man) and time
earth away sprawl echoes of finite
sleep.but though it moon over(in
a little naked comely heap of pert
and blazing tinder calmly foisted
between sabled ******* of aching
stupid darkness)burns how and fiercely
eloquent

o moon though small and nothing hugely
poem shall i (man) a poem slip by mortal
wiggling fumbles; and O moon!quiet sleeping
curves away silverly(into pimpled quavering
neatness)i muscle leanly dispute the soil
and up to you gallop sloppy gallons of kiss
(for you are most pleasant.UR round and fit
nearly in my lips (who shall pluck you from
between ******* and fill me burning
                                                                        )Lust

i loved you
that you were something
easyweak
between the flesh and eyes;

doing with precise smallness
your hands within my hands.

it came about i graced higgly piggly (to saunter, generally, my flayed marble in the gross determined light( winter specially came upon all the arbor straights slatting it correctly,

a fist broken
uncurls tightly
(and from in
there bursts
a whole heart
laid o
           pen)

that fragile instant dream
of when your body smallest
and supple pleasing nooks and
those 2 fierce shinning sharpest
spheres of green languid violent puddles
(of your eyes dear)
across from me spent into
the daft shaven molecule
of my stingingonyourbreasts head
a lean sensual evening
and you let me put my hand
up your skirt in that
stuffy cafe littlest cramped space
in the corner(in a secret tight space)
you let me purr wetness into
your softly cloven pile
andbut we just went on talking like i wasn't

i my lips have been

    (to fling across impossible darkness)



A kiss


a curling
a soft
a mouth
a such achingly
a stupid and.


Across feeble immortal night
a blade of light
might that it would
its cut to part
that inken hood


to sleeps where curl'd
in girlish winking pearl'd
your heart's body
to cup it in my pinken furl

and a bit of sting
by Spring of pollen
your comely wisp
deepishly to imbibe


lifting thy swollen stupor

(press back the leaden lid
  )

by my face standing the next to upstairs window looks out (i can see) on the hot inch of a glowing city youth where and unyouth mingle (a cat) in a fat buzz of quiet freezing still air it looks so coyly diminutive (curls about eyes)(through next doors window) opaque and not breathing pallid sprawls tinly its tummy has groaning stretch marks(a paw)thick with amber nestled suddenly a car horn(and skitters away)

cometogether
fal
la

p

a


r





t

bruise
i like
to press you. your

body and


the skin beneath me please

i would like to

                            ,
                                   press you.