lily does her yoga
she drifts into the paranoid cloud
what do they want from me?

that´s what i don´t understand..
she puts the music up loud
you got me pretty deep,baby..

you need money i need money
man,can-not live by poetry alone
bbr-bbrr-the telephone-

not-in leave apoem..
poppies in july
another from sylvia

little poppies,little hell flames,
do you no harm

you flicker,i cannot touch you,
i put my hands among the flames.nothing burns

and it exhausts me to watch you
flickering like that,wrinkly and clear red,like the skin of a
                                                               ­                                    mouth

a mouth just bloodied.
little ****** skirts!

there are fumes i can-not touch
where are your opiates,your nauseous capsules?

if i could bleed or sleep!-
if my mouth could marry a hurt like that!

or your liquors seep to me,in this glass capsule
dulling and stilling.

but colourless.colourless.