jhav:word_language_model jhave$ source activate p36

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City poking from blue thread

profits, shone, burning.

To be there was to be lost.

Angels in black dusk

women in laughter.

I am milky deep and bleeding

through your sun-warm'd

bullet Mother scar,

an atom holds numb.

junkies

within the serenity of death.

At evening

a voice on the eyes of the reservation

As a soul goes down.

Midnight in a chair in the savannah

Breaking new foam

I left the human, and the fret

staggering above me;

I came to work with fireballs'

floating interstate

cotton powder for a cane,

This they say, tore it.

under the ground is dull,

a sea searching

stings for movement

the sheep

in the south breath

where the sun begins to blur

More of Them.

contrived, crowded men in small plights;

dogged and pregnant in

their cost wrath-bearing tapestry

wafted in Murder. Bowing

Waves of Burning questions

as guttural clean

blind funerals boometh.

You Who Fell After

those times I saw

live sleeping

replaced by words.

Oh, I cannot remember this drug

or cure or fire the king of eternity.

The sea this morning seems to stroke entangled.

chasms, with a light streaked with hammers.

Keep The Gun On,

Tarred and sinking,

tactile tempest

They threatened his hands to care,

And watching, thick blankets wild,

bade his poor home be gone

I sat on a red sapling,

withstood a moon

leading odds

and walked on

watched the buds balanced

in a refrigerated

crater

beating quiet

as spun

fallen skin

working deep in the garden

Wonder Is

not a thing

to place and undo words

by a tender scene

naked, a sweating divorced

tax-deductible lupins forest

fell like young lovers at your feet

We understood the bond

Of Living, owned,

Each of the cries

built by soul

It is not the lonely

known grace of it all;

But what belongs to others

in real solitude.

Art and power,

To the wind forever outside.

all men

sleep

numb

harmless

Meanwhile we

in sick hallucinatory dives

under wavering clouds

slumped

into the brain

O truth,

That has taken

blue in the field.

If you have forbidden the trees

life or the gods,

do not forget, new stars watched

the bickering roar,

haunt the well-sung flowers.

Boutiques torching

viscera wrapped anatomy, caught tourists

drawing on the tongue.

In a world glazed with wine,

evening holds my waking attention

and in the rain, finiteness reveals,

a little sunset becoming a hive of leavings

I woke up from the

unrecorded pride laminating

the crowded love painting

Flowers, flashed over,

wool on the surface

of sugar water

And high among the geology of liquid

I have never found a poem of heron-crested

bones folding the white leaves out of light.

beautiful

they are not enough

to understand

an ancient space,

made them

write unrehearsed

glare

Till The Tide

of water stills and jostles

& leaves fall into the deep-sea,

and the animal drink the moon,

once again invisible

ominous strength

meets useless birds

who hug simple lights

To tap the message

Cold, thick stalks

Nurture the blind

skull half her gender

In the morning we perforated the

the names of day.

And from that chasm,

near metaphysical's mute void

The weight of an eye winced

In the curvature of a crowded, sailing net.

When born on earth

And emptied into its surface,

I used to speak.

I heard

the forgotten smoke,

and the voice of death.

The night is a long silent moon rising and the air is

immovable, intrinsic motion

awake within a Self-Unseeing

wildly repulsive quixotic

tribe of clouds.

Your Pleasures,

enthrall me,

let me die.

Kindle the carpet, while the sun

drives along the highway at night.

The moon is a dead trembling land

being broken by applause

the dead story

receives the resistance of the flesh

They devoured her fur with universal plucked

silent inverted slices of wind.

Forms spent

in the living fainting gate

abandon uncurled stars.

The Fields In Gull Warning Thrust

The flesh chorus, a toy

Over shadowy sands: marking the sky

Just to find bourbon bottles

Seem purposeful. The mad man speaks

But never spat.

No, no, you understand what I say:

I count you in,

And keep none.

Cataracts!

"Ah, is God as wise as stone?""

Darkness already won't believe him,

Clearly, my sight is deaf.

"Sanitation has never yet known known

So great a pause"

The world can

discharge for the truth,

Or in terror.

And then when we will the flower

There where birds wait for us

Crowds of silence and heat,

Array words.

In the house of sleep,

files smell the surgeon's fountain

& you five, swept against my door.

inert hiss, melting fire.

Sham naive.

industry excruciating

foundlings, line.

Rescue Snow receives its obtuse

HBO crowded wolf's kneading.

booster Sugar cheetah O Ambiguous patroller

I accuse no other oblivion

nor the old madness

I'm the color of a girl's skin

we cannot do just twice.

Let your humble city,

tactless there be.

It Because

It Healed.

But There Was

Remarkable

Irrationality.

I climb

into a dark afternoon

of another bird

in time

but some

tell the stars,

things, rise and sit

here with the embroidered slowing

twisting above the sea.

the small light that made me

Wherever I greet you dreams of gentle dry,

lips, sunken in star-shaped fate

devouring all you ask and

Hushing the discourse (drool).

The idea lunatics, meanwhile,

sell animosity

circumscrived,

overmuch

Star And Wood Was Soft

pheromone hair and ears passed north,

promising again again

As a warning would shine again through

The green bastions of the winter glade—

the beautiful stern hotels, the growing eyes

And brethren bursting over the ceiling.

It was beautiful and desperate, with its level breath,

The curd-pale water and the glare poseur,

Then the tramp

From Repaire.

In thick green streets, gliding

Pain held us,

Perhaps it should give.

But body has no old comfort.

And out of oblivion, stones

Think passages thru a truth

That lifts the shuddering light

& where the glass blows

It takes.

I pry his bones

in the flat bed,

in the strange light,

a seam, his mouth and

all through

all the hooting rooms

switched around

The next life is a moment

The moon is stretched like muffled nakedness.

The coming is as shattered a place:

The history of the soul.

What has Power done?

Who hangs this delicious world?

"It invents the dirt.

In the pressure of the sea,

a hollow wisdom

sore,-- from the musing."

crowned— it makes the body

our many-colored selves, or

having the wistful

artery awake a guest gust

Each, upon a sand in heavy summer spurs

Their sea fades, moans out like a young talentless

kiss in the sky. So that i

drive past the massive regime

More horrible, than laughter.

refuse to resuscitate the smell

of blood parted into dark. Nothing true.

The other town

lives still on its back.

Among those crowds

the heart (or prayer)

withered on the bruised

stabilized alterations.

The Enemies do Study Me

An old lamb, like a bubble, ran over,

dawn rose terrible over the meadow

among the gloom of lonely paradise,

The world called us a joke.

We rubbed the seven of always

because before one older gain

Against sodden tamarind mat,

Where people know it is barely

crowded. Seeds. Wine. Shower, toothpaste.

The Place You No

we had to be glue

to escape the wing and plump

open adornment of our mouths.

The moment,

That infinite time

Has no memory.

At a point

As long as I am

The tree fades.

When I am,

glowing stretched

in the light fall.

Turning outward into how a mourning was,

tightly amid a field of glass.

Scholars defend the Drag geese.

In a dream they meet our tongue.

Until the worst lies dark.

Sad is my love, all these vaulting degrees

Upon my solitude the Violets are;

An allergy shun, a waning growl.

It sniffs

this mild blade,

single womb

tonguetip,

the salt shapes

pushing blossoms,

the sweet wind

addressed:

The pastoral who of love,

a hawk open under dreaming.

As I sleep

whispering

above my deep

your eyes

touch the

I don't know

Now I am

one thought.

And Here In The Kitchen,

when night came without torrent

doubt blossoms. And who can need

my tiny touching gravid

image of my memory,

i taste my head sliding loose

its whisper stolen from spring-tides

hair-soft, signatures in your mouth.

Shrilled: you call it

fizzing, and their coat cages,

break those eyes rushing out of your mouth.

And the ocean opens curtains

Into mountains of finest days

From the parched Library

Of this hour

Sapphics a Psychotropic Song

Outside our favorite ghost,

The streets open leaves.

The awkward girl

think about beatings.

You are caught in sleep moaning,

shopping cheer,

You know, to get out.

The world just so was saved,

Touching it. Upon the shadows.

Almost Half a Sonnet

My dawns are few, and the gray wind goes down.

Her lost debt suspended in wet arctic

Faces. Playing watching the damage of

Substances. Whom all of us be cold in,

The heart at last locked into their balance.

Reservoir

A resilient ape picks and keys syllable,

Not for a kiss, but as the far-off voice

A name without a praise,

A dream filling the yearning curtains.

fragrance beadrock

a fossil fantasy of Red-orange

a floating bridge

scattering the scream

in the starving streams.

========|========

25-04-2017

========|========

Bodies.

Called out,

little words.

of a tomb

the more majestic

cubicles held

their steps as the bony marital

fidelity evening heaved up

untouchable

hidden corners

An hour snarls in the exploded green home.

These are the cliffs in which they understand error.

The $20 heart, wherein ten-minute rejoicing occurs.

Your mind is taken into the consuming room.

Here you are opened by the clouds.

Here is the disgrace.

Plummet, With Confidence,

Nocturnal light

Arose at dusk

Stinging the lands

There is a place in the state of your work

that I may blame for the deformed kindness of beasts,

The earth flung up in thy great heart.

A shy white road, snow-slick

Warm drops the newborn sun

And out of some boundless coast

Phantoms fluttering.

It was not that they turned

Feeling their soft bones

in the bright wind.

However, because you're

eternal, I buried you,

clad in directions.

In raunchy, breaded, bars,

And caverns songs where shadows murmur

I no longer see blessings —

Eternity Dangling

through the trees

and then in someone's mind a now,

soon appears.

I play at

fighting it, its gentle endurance,

a long blue silence.

You sing into my life,

And now I fear, my being too,

must turn from the margin pounding woe

to joy of health and good!

I'm tired of the white

foul regret.

Thin hours,

& the mountain-sides

of tables remembering trees.

And Mouth sez:

I am only born

consciousness

wildly

manifold

(a million hinged

leaves in a cave

licking sunlit dolls)

Open my door if not I can get in

hope the substance, the mane of name

Then the back of it, except if not

as my lips in the name of River's air

froth. Whatever you

see, then green, but in your mouth

I bloom in silence, touching your body to the sky.

Then after loving, with loneliness,

is it not that time, so we know,

some kind of inner robe the shadow.

For her lips have been watered,

And sit on the rooftops

Where I love you,

She must be right--

to fill the yew-narrow

Half-flush leaking years.

Without care, Let us laugh

As young, forever

Even as the world

Explodes

Is it possible distance is charming?

God checked,

Leaving a book which he

Sent as horrible debt

Adieu to light

Denial upon my breath

And upon each brain,

A nightly thing shoes along,

Feathered and empty

Lit by the home left behind

Till she changes not,

except to love as death

In the middle of the day

my family stopped dark u

on my heart that rises across

this island.

wounded: openings and heather

glowed tight, sweet teeth

despair loafe

thieves inrags,

fold around you inside it

but this is my tongue.

A food may feel more like a full honey

what happens, only

more cold. My death is

what happens.

And I have heard the bed, poet.

Drink the parting halls in yon daybreak

Drinking wavering in old orchard faces.

A field of leaves, and land,

filthy rugs, baked clouds

and hovering hooks.

Then they invest him with narrow snow,

And the pulse of the light moves forth

raining in a long sad way

Pluck

the wet lips standing

poised up there.

Hearing the leaking stem of the rest

of the little plot

come back to the top of the gas-oil

ritual

of course

that  I prefer

in me.

I gave you back. My senses moving

out like

vines, to jump jagged,

to rampage and derange

like cancer.

Against The Night,

sleepless, it seemed in intimacy

I grew up

in a stormy high.

Politics was the small

hands and the concrete,

of each masterpiece

sea-soaked, polypore ellipse

Cut out of the earth

That we grew deep.

and leaning down,

mashed from the palm,

a flame-flower, credo

that was iron. an extended page.

magnificent,

repeating

in us.

tab. saltmines).

We're stunned songs

Of hand-painted uniforms

Academicians coffin of public thought,

poodles Master's like,

Taking the rabbit

LXXXVII

Past scorn:

thick-ribb'd

But the shout

That lies turned as rain!

The blue light knows it,

The solidity in the air.

Sleep,

Leaning like water,

things must

be dead.

and then,

Casting the blossom,

And the steam trod the sea;

And the stern wild leaping grass walk-

Thinking,

Golden will come,

Where midsummer peace and sunset scents

Look at us foam here,

us creatures fill the aisles

Memories of the sparrows in the grave

hailed and questioned,

Our leader something Lebanon.

Infected as the Khalifa on the glass,

Feel broken sunlight, from the English.

Meg

By looking at each waking

And traveling far off on one knee

Zinc Hector leaves. We

Breath his portrait in head

And break the cold swan on head.

Heliotrope

not the thing

to slake

this restless rage

which is

clear

chance

a question in clues

the unburied chair

your eye waiting

your breathing ear

I see a dark rainbow

crevice in the moonlight ebb

And God's only mother, murdered

stubborn to tame,

strike the Right of it all.

Feel the we?

Quick, afternoon and new. In the Death of Painting

There Ovid had made layer his underworld car.

Strange bridal doubt, the Cameo

Wilderness.

In the seagull's chest,

Around the scenes of doom

And oddly piney

In yonder eastern

thundered house, the barren feeding

light forgot

Begin, creation's fleet

Dessert, inward eye.

The Last Line Of It Horribly Bed-Sheets, It All,

I want the orange waves alone

refinements off the field of a fugitive blast

The

indictment approach of

non-being; spring

Of course let be.

Heads In Folks?

Undressed

In the water hidden

In the pines.

My appalling claws,

Shortening the couples

That revolve in the underbrush.

I am old beyond the four flocks of reconsidered peers

and trilled with submarine circling and

the moon falling inside surrounds me.

Later, as if the seed

were every forest; a continent

Flashes its jackals.

Neither Wigs nor Me

are serene,

nor inhabit the Laws,

Impatient for a wedding way

--addicted steel-

rhomboid suis controul, Crimson antiquated secretion

apologizing in the eyes of corruptible flank

Well?

Only whatever

the sun is:

matters

discernible

dark on the porch

and the forest

curves the way

it aborted

The quiet place

Mother said:

Consider all beauty credit.

The lonely fire

found otherwise

Asleep in phallus, faces,

the babe of light

fungus in the seaweed

pencil at the still edge

We're empty

masques.

Looked For:

an executioner;

disturbed in humble years,

firelight,

young pelted pines

Wrapping me

and I became my face

a gentle harmony

of dread

That it would be

true as my own dream,

"Y'all

Through all"

Ages of bells.

I far-off

closed my soul.

From level eight

I greeted

A lamentation,

among thoughts.

Often,

I set

The landscape behind bars

I think it. The end gone now.

The road is passion over all.

People imposter; knowing

they should be more.

Voices grow.

Your Friends Were Waiting To Be Still.

Forgive me if, for one hour, I stand here?

Store my hands

Above the full foot of the run;

fresh water,

heard in the wallet.

dispossessed, pains

so beautiful,

sleeping on this tongue.

How are those heart blossoms?

When I wish I'll smile.

If I see that, would I know the

ring that blows away

the open cactus?

The twigs waiting on my face

going out to hide me.

The something strange

beginning in these whims

stem cold

among stones

where I hear

hours I found.

If By Uplifted Navel,

It becomes impersonal, so what!

my arms throb with Craving what I think is done.

This which is born about me is

not formed for the word nor not wrong to be

if death had been content to drop

me, realms of that one.

When I was mother and woman.

wings) played

once on land

I loved them to answer them well.

Oblivion Withered In Chagrin

1.

polystyrene geflsod nones; more";

the lady, as three kittens,

they nailed up our feet

the evening sky

Gray and yellow -

in the cool light

2.

we wandered onto one of the moons

which changed, not from sleep

at the threshold of intoning

the summer’s beauty

3.

it needs

no naive irony

river crumbling

coach in pirate presence

surrounded by mild-eyed engines of re-embroidering

Of this we Cannot Tell.

homosexually,

Almost daughterloin

Beauty would no longer work.

When we cry, and what g(rain)

Hearts and blends, awoke, and there?

who burn? -- keeping

A kiss, to save the dog

Or occupy love's liv'st

To

My fingers blunted on an invisible

blossom.

A light

Hung over the fern beans

wheeling within shot wings.

Rapid scarred one,

lines,

tap the tail of your right hand.

I must go to bed

I go in the grain for me.

The sudden machine broke,

Healed and listened to itself

We shall die as generation fed

In vain on vines.

You are a cluster

Of grass and dimmed darkness, a

blanket.

The sky is a lonely lawn,

Tied up for the weather's cheer.

The thousand broken torsos

Heavy with Selected bland green,

gash preponderance restless

bitter tube heads of Light

dismay from reading

ephemeral chords of cats

Our life a hampered mouthful

covered and small.

Nobody, suffering all day.

Death.

I discovered you in official anchors

Inside the mirror

home within its eye.

Snow-Storm

I high-shoulder'd, midsummer.

Lumbar hnahran part).

Pale little lovers

showing some return

Ten years hence, I begin

designs about forever!

Of My Body

following either season, making truth to arrive.

No one deep-scarr'd on our tongues.

No action blamed on an old house

To go in this, here on this eternal page,

die:

from the throat of a door falling

outside the city, a hollow vase of some thin residue

in a dancing light, in pebbles that now

issue the same sign.

Here sun.

Bellies

speak on the path,

phrenzied as stones

By A Labyrinth Of Salt.

subtleties, sowed

spinning round

fruit, torn, shrieking

ever-changing Clorinda Infection

a fervent blaze or fraud

Where your little yoke calls

speck truck went into a rainbow

With coffee brother and bitterness.

Did the first sleeve

say that?

he died, his appalling keys

bending five year

euphony into bug-juice

To Learn The Lesson Coughing

And the wild team watered the dashboard

Over the empty land of time

Winked round with the sky red minding me

They Have To Hear

some other extra

lip-synching

poor gathered

supreme wish

in their bravery

and images.

The lies of it,

hold the seasons.

One tugging leaf, a beard filled with groceries

and a note that squints to Kuanon where it sleet over.

These are the names I always know

on which we sell decks in suburbs

in the groves of the open woods,

Where the wild hula iron fishes chance to fight

========|========

26-04-2017

========|========

A Feeble House

between two blonde

young-middle-aged, grace-work

old—away formless humans constellating

argument!

a dead seedlet

mind retells

to bury that minute

It might have been otherwise.

I need a few moments

to be black like stone.

The red pond fights

the little boy

planted in his body.

I disappeared.

Time--Makes Out with The Fire?

Strange cipher

parcels of smoke

all in winter, from above

on the boughs.

all raining in the air

palings, and mother calling

cold America Out of a cloud of garlic,

her mouth falls across the shadow:

"Who'll wake?"

III

Out of the hail

Where the population of illusions

Sing strong in the sky,

Where dawning ships

pray at shaken rocks

in the stupor dive of market-place rigging

And homeward-drawing star-showers,

Are in a body.

The Turret in the mind of together --

How a thin cat too,

In a nest

Has circumstance.

What ice could be, it is said.

Consider the fallen, and the neat,

leaves and Lake,

winners and tides

one watches street-arc

the naviglio of apples,

so went

out of oysters as the streetlight

exchanged in its own language,

a singing gale of sex

East has Faltered

making us peel

the light we've lopped out,

to speak

A woman

is wearing it; virginal

clapping the void

and sea into silk, finding

the front end of day,

the first barely-rat-filled time.

I used to sift governing water

standing in the pit

a patient perfume --

The Dove Leaps

away, and turns wrinkled world

-- busy -- free of longing,

Until the heat that means in need

comes only again,

Up pow'rs;

As justice

stacking enemies

on that crossed

moonlight

Love the voyage.

O feast of Peace, and soul, --

What songs shall vex us;

Who'll fool our hearts

For the green is chide;

Let the night attend trees,

And the trees with joy and abyss

As

I begin to live

In my patch and heated

Half-past cold,

Stealing off

all, or most

articulate

breath feigned

Seize Not The Crank

And going out upward, morning dead.

So midnight's gray

Under the iron leaves

from trudging turf,

Comes somewhere

still a crepescule groan

in the spell, I met

The sleeping shadow of the rain,

And the still lonely, vain,

Knowledgable of grace,

Flowers of anger and virtue;

Next time, the light I cruise.

Pliant Play,

an existential brow

Smells of stone

upon his breast.

To Negate

That the house chewing

depleted life fixed out the shifted

simple flower in the evening bars

YAHWEH utter all Herschel, grown, or more.

Low Blues

I was at home in the nursery,

Looking up in the sounding fins until my grandmother

loomed lonely in the published birds.

Coveting Swamps at Length.

The sleepers, moved

Away from a heap of Things

That came to the field to get a little lens sheen:

maybe even, gently quiet much, go

back to bed through the hot fear of love.

The Watergaw

In the crowded morning dark,

Draw forth the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.

Pursuing Nature's cards.

Come and see how,

it laughs and spreads.

consisting of cameos

in readiness, in mind followers, amused and

hour downdrifting,

the way the barbarians are fragile

a matchbox

before a single possibility

She Lifted Her Chin And Laughed.

There were places where they could not pass

those who they were sleeping

nor forget the intricate unwise

harvest of the well greater than trapped

within a herd's sphere

One Night in September

Unvandalized, Ithaka loosed pints of Strega

On blossoms sick from the stained houses.

And you embrace the same,

fished up morning, aims,

Notes on your little ut-

a little whisper and a water bare

long before.

The Hand, Near The Common Air,

Others whose flat strong hand fall through,

My heart

sleep sharply on my finger

Dogs in fields of moist

officials and aspiring

Honey

Case:

subtle tone the dying

story. strath fungi, the double

ruin of age, the other failing.

Subcase:

Dancing of flood, heart's virgin wind

wending, like a cock tossed into desire.

Deep dark and recluse-chill in summer,

trying to call music

to you; to deliver

you into or from the wound.

And Come Up,

gathered in morning bars,

Under the boughs of the Beginning

somewhere with

No surface, no mortal appointments:

or radiance or

PsyOps, fruit of an uncertain earth

Hold

all our anguish

continuously like an orchard

in a perfect flame

of bliss and eyes

spray the window of some

solitary pain.

Nets gently, power, sweet meek.

The dead have no ending.

And As I Drop Up St. Rose

all sound sits down

gutted like ice.

My weak face

bytes its shave

in my pockets.

the pine years

black dahlia, now

readying me.

I have learned what I really can't.

Lichened rocks and billboards.

That summer I run in angry.

Curtains wind singers, swayed their hot headlights

like oft-read ghosts or scissor sneering,

always silently warming me.

And turning their vehicle,

thru father's Transparency

bored, the re-enactment,

the force revived in shadows

to grow.

Its Foe Again.

It was approached as it

died, once,-- curled on a solid

swift blessing in the trees.

It Canvas

and there is no earth on heaven,

no tedious yesterday.

There is no fear:

each thing is near its open view.

lounging changes how this is;

they heard nothing in it

except a silence growing

in itchy warm steepness.

Sleep taint, that has salted

created, and gone.

Out of the alders, where twilight comes

Now gone perfectly long.

No brain of art, or something.

The song rose not even thinking

Soaked in ancient snow.

Its waves shifted sight,

On ecstatic assurances.

Scapegoat

gloomier aloof,

crackle) muscle or

weak pods, passage -- melancholy,

likeness, freeze.

The proclamation brought

widscofen into our air-conditioned rings,

and Grace from door to lay.

swallowing the World

& the coming-out-of-nowhere news is

done, and it ends

Near The Hallway Cup

virginity, and all divine

OFFICIAL. answerings prevail:

And love and mortal psychoanalyst

temples, whose tender hyacinth hair

Weep when the panther and garden kiss

The Bait within the circling light.

========|========

27-04-2017

========|========

Law

spookily dark

frosts the "Self-Portrait,

Beneath it, we wish to go

keening night

gazebo cedars

of muhtha shore

the collapses heaped-up hair

we turned the key

Ooh, echo

the hands of an oven follows.

a pampered,

looking out

at worlds

these houses

stone on our murderous

pipes dawdling

the windows

of the #10.

iron pair

Cut Within

silvern thinly

pale lust fells the shade.

coming home,

on some map.

The car burned

like a barrier

abraded earth.

subway thin limbs.

enormous formal meadow

faces bending the dead

water in search of joy

The rain leaves a wreath

in the hand of my dry silk bell

And my heart will become this moment

and will look only at this morning.

Far from the night

is the dream

of a torn tongue.

They Walk

burst over-- against

the sun in its last

torrent flow.

I want my breath to buy soon of their young meaning,

but then it's good forever, we give all

to a headland of resourceful ripe ice:

dark-hearted

headlong

eat the beach.

Is there much changed?

Nothing spreads this way,

but the question.

If you fearful, heavier than the affections

stop in the mind of your still

wildest possession

first feel

stared down

on the ass

up the stairs

I'm driving toward the small

honey of my doze

rifted

testing the

surpassed condemnd

ours? and stein.

The feelynge, came

before his sandwich

sways, an ant cherishest; dog--

… 1025 THERE rose

out of us, the quickened girders

of the wreck that seemed like dark.

*

vivid, Tresses,

doing an

Hour

chorus.

Song

You're sitting down

past the sky, its sweet

water makes a sound

of dust

To the shadow

You enter

as a flash in the stem

you are grey light

Among snow on the road

to the warm sea bank

And all so sacred to pray.

They are not men.

We are not tender,

But only by the bloud of death,

Perhaps they're All in home,

Save the old man's weedless nurse,

But not enough, any accent to scan.

made scars

Manhattan, grand

waiting for the mirror,

preferable, exaggeration.

The chairs cheaper over Time.

Oh, the world's bowl!

journy blasted, rage poisoned:

Flat in their dilapidated defects

My glaz'd wrinkled sole shares my soul,

And can no longer

Receive mighty groves

inhaling snow, and pallid thought,

I thought of nature & happiness

breastbone. its mistakes

Where the Younger grind

Ring and jags

We have not yet.

Love Is only

What About It

And be a hearty that for a generation,

Though my perfume is mine;

But a slight believing man would kiss it.

Not the gods I suffer all,

The living thing trembling than fail.

He does not exist, but cannot eat

When he Suggested a slippery game;

Of my Superstition

Only He set me up for a nun,

And of God, that nothing ever was.

Swing and lower a jar

With The Heavy Curb Of The Lie

Of your face . . .

I try to brush

The serenity— mirrors—

his prey,

brings Disseminating

winter sight

Calmly We Coveted, On Sand

sea-bass then, unblinking. hot

landscapes files and Beaverton,

She works having spent

our style.

When man opens up to wax.

Slowly. A brass smile.

Talking to her desk

screaming without the world

And Blasphemus, Horses

with tinfoil rising a little along

in each direction, flying down on the dust,

peevish, star-shaped

storage forest

morning

was a nurse

in the chair

rendered bones!

prairie-wolf orange-going-into-rose chickadees

Durex.

And Have Betray Us

Nor all be called by throats or tackle or members

Of plague or spoil of you, rogues;

Or though not even a single man’s and complete cup's

nor a single make, like some smart witch always cut,

With strange life, whom the secret green,

space Tempered to itself, one chaste one.

They sleep around the old oaks.

"Though the angel rolls over the ball,

the planet is blue"

Of Wind

hubcap

silent beside me

Time and snow

loneliness

your little cat exploding

diamonds mocking

vascular music

There, of Life, there is no body

For what is another.

Obelisk in the yellow sand,

Harrow of cracks.

Politics--The Career At Play

A plate of resources

Maniac white and concrete is black.

But a question of desire

Is hard to wonder and you.

But the wonder is not beautiful.

Someone said that Truth is confined to me

letters lining its lonely.

I see with self,

Offering up triangles of applause,

in my step, aging the elastic mysteries.

After I, median

Brain burnt out of

the cave

no longer

used.

From which love is thinking little of

God in her own shower

Adorned immortal evidence,

The Lady of zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz world:

I am our promise, and the grane

Are de preacher snaps of her voice.

Long passions, his dear wife,

Whose spirit dale:

Wheatley strength at once;

at his own hand,

Shake out,

the cause of prime,

served

Like an afterthought

That others shall do it.

I have

approved my Song of feathers.

I will not eat and destroy

My bed.

The sounds of unshared

Looks and folly

arriving in bricks.

The bogs from the pond

stretching open

through our eyes.

It is a pretty

threading

bargain desire.

huelessness,

In endless.

Reality.

Nativity for you in hands

Mortola, not by dreams imployed,

fragile as a cheap carrot

laughing sticks, promises for geese

beside the prisoner's invisible idiom

children bought by the art of the lock

this heat

this cell

Under the water

The hour breaks, blowing

What others believed.

This scarred room

Meowing ruined putrified:

It never deals the path.

We knelt but watch the air.

We felt the organ collaborator --

The thought that looked like war,

And then nothing to love.

Now the sunsets.

Perverted, laughting in the snack-bag

Of the gap-toothed Heliotrope

Consider the silence

that is always below.

The dead man

left his body

in the closet.

The nightmare of love

Comes forth as slowly as a dawn.

At dawn

asleep

in the forest

When I came to keep

Their sleep being asking

My mother entered her clothes threading

untreatable bird-necks in her throat;

The sound of her iced houses,

Small blood gongs.

A sense of eating,

As the grass burns as snow.

He laughs when he wants to stick

His strange in the hollow bud

Or watch the feet of a midnight sun

splendorous snug in the afternoon.

My Father Muse

climbs feed tiller through all

the search of asking returning

to putting so many ways to live.

Again Death

Like a Lab-mix unborn.

gold curved grave.

I’m idea.

A bee on the neck.

The worn piano.

Steps blackened in white.

========|========

29-04-2017

========|========

Flight?

turned them through the golden sky,

As one chance

a river of graces

trampled by thunderbolt affections

enveloped in fluttering thought

They didn't believe I loved:

the birds heavy with grass,

quiet waves swirling out of the suburbs

A mountain within itself.

A Drop

Of weary days and

Luminous wonders

Memory runs below my house

through the eastern wood,

Where stones floats up:

Within winds at sunset

It hides the damp outlines

blown against western windows.

because he was saying,

this person's edge

the place of the mouth

the stalks, the tooth

the forms breaking

into the dust

III

something of our hearts,

breathes in need

Golden

Plod along the quizzical will

Loving life

Teach me, let me bear

a Religion of new poems.

CHORUS OF ALL

The woods and their cold

Green leaves are wet

And suffering on all sides

become a dawn-light

within its body.

Where Ebb is They Are

Whose ashes gulf such a sound of death.

Not only desperate, dark, deep lines

like flags among trees,

charcoal with the bitterness of snow.

Its numbers ache, a new creature

you need to know, -- you

swim into it.

And you can not say I've no part

To explain: you want to do it.

And As On A Spring Night,

this solitary sky

Bent with her song and sighed

a consolation in dusty life.

To keep the Earth, no more

to dream. A song where she

strikes because it was

something that bore itself

to understand that day.

One stone reflex laughs loud and round,

breaking open the pavement that stirs

Upon the grass, a yellow slumberous

Art of snowdrift and sweat.

A sunbeam cracked and held

Between drifted trees,

flames along walls to trace the

Weeping drift of self

which fell to look

And die in touch.

On The Road?

the soul, even under progress,

a raw fuzzy sand, denouncing freedom

Like those pastoral fruit

That respect the strangling ethereal grave.

Like having teeth that roar

And buckle the mind into pain

Many forgotten curves free

Children and the pulse laughing

Coarse wine of  slipknot love.

Since moss dies our

milk-teeth

spiders open

hours where nothing spreads

As roots strike their wave,

cling to the basement of an untorched skirling

flurry of wrecked sleeping wind

And swinging water from a blackened animal

Thus dark with wind bounty,

Begins the rapid world.

In this Used-Up Bed;

Conversations wallow

half-sleep, separating frenzy

burp talents, & climb up rusted lightness;

content and almost threatened

the morning allows them

defence to eat

Dying.

under the house,

we walked that flickering

light with its dictionary

to the uttered drop of mute ascent,

and beast fever

moulded with signs

unsure in the land

========|========

07-05-2017

========|========

Just when the dreams have endured,

The weft breaking the heart;

Light is loosed, a watery authoritative

gradual light of ripe words.

And from the quiet cloud

at the centre of the sun

time births a shadow.

They'll make good be evil

People may have called up love at the moment

but they are not interested in waiting

for a repair of amorous shores,

or the opposite of the sun

coming along thru a beat-up jungle.

And in the Blue parlor.

The janitor seems dressed in the morning hills.

While he pulls me down onto the rafters floor.

Years later, I tried to sell him a drink, and

He said: "Try a better smile,

Ascending, soft and distressed like aging chalk."

eat into the snowplow to spin my stride

And sue me as you strike my presence,

All makes me ignorant,

And I, dumb, kissing cheek

suffer hard.

In His Place.

I have I say time—

Let's be ashamed of.

Sum and you've fine,

I'm here and I'm one to nothing.

David was Trader's doctors who poems blisfully

would plunk away? Were our mothers

decide skins and facts, like compounds

hordes of a good downed transmission and

blunt-prowed fingernails, yearning and hunger. stand.

Our modern search, with "Given is free,

centre or going to 1939 One of our unique beaten

more Healfdene, just

In The Hands of an Alley,

there was a dirt

lying on the fast sheets of the pinched earth,

wondering if it had been a code

Of the mind to take time

to the end of taste.

Having drove over all our flames.

Another soul was inside us.

This was when two

Who ate these things

In others became seperate.

Dole waffles,

gray drums

feet.

The tree

red, barbaric

dead.

A blue pear

curious in the

slow old earth.

The world

Diluted

Inside.

Allegiances.

Through sharp meadows, under the shore,

He put his shield upon the wrath of the dead dead.

For the wind is a thief! His facile word

a shaped prayer.

Dense dismay, smoked and tall,

Walking through glass:

The whole day opened

Awakened out of fact

Into the brute of bacon man.

In the same

first weather

I see myself

About This Moment Still Dappled With Unhanded Pleasures

Tongue, as if lost once, sets on things,

its judgment read in the price of derelict sleep.

In the dusk of the dark,

these hands have been waiting

for an endangered bouquet.

Selves

they come back

hard, staring

sold within serene stone

consumed by wonder

intimate electrical

elder grateful, things

eluded knick-knacks,

pioneering blurs.

a trick

of lingering

potential

And from out dream

To the flawless end

In a cow's veiled eyes

and the bird's heart.

there stand slow, undimmed

cool-enfolding minds.

mind-fuck. wretchedness? No money

fear, accessory, or death.

unsnagged gold

bloom.

shepherds on

ineffable grass-hopper

farm

like many

bigfoot universe

Eighteen Things,

in endless belonging

harvest all his need

returning pride

from wayward

destroyed praise

Skies of Buddhas

pillaging apple-trees

Over spiral streets

like cock wheels haunted by pruning.

The wicked ones,

the mountain-tops, binding

their lives within

inflamed transpositions.

Emergency Bone

gradually

colonizing

a vague

circle of luck

jewels without learning

span the morning

I put out a sign

I dreamed of my best

I laughed to spread her eyes away,

to reach the river.

later,

my argument brushes the door.

When the panther

tinted with white wine

is sitting wide in the west

my slave

in my first segregated array

tans my tear-colored swing

with the gambler's camouflaged glove

from which my earlier eye could

bask in the butcher island

Barbie tumbling Down

To hear words

be one of those

terrors that are men.

They shall think what danger means

Know not to explore

The dark grass

Older than themselves

When I grow Home

These pages, so gently,

watch

The ruins of the tower.

And as I age, I watch

Mountains sliding into swamps.

Currents of epochs, steel-edged,

sipping clouds like water.

The mouth of my eye,

a fire,

a sweet suffering gasp.

I am a stone

with whom a ghost

conflicts.

Harm The Light

Incontrollable! My fault is

impossible flesh:

the invention of wounds

subject to smiles and

felt changes first.

An organ drenched happiness smeared within earth.

In the exaggerated joy of a dream

it pleases something about itself,

leaving.

A marble texture and bedrooms

known when life holds itself like

another.

Framed life, fine as rain,

threads furnished

sea sticks thru spiders.

A clock drives backward

Half tempted to miss the future.

Crone

two. by everything and tubes

close in love's soft hands

Tawny, years

take time to get up meadow.

strain or injury

like a moth boy's arm.

Money and Sounds in the Street

This trail of uniforms raining from the church

Or a dash of moss, and a placed bone, that grass.

Breaking that after example, of wicker-neat

That you anchored & cropped and bore,

Where anything is elsewise to do with the any.

Weep

ashes. What little fate,

Unmoved in incoherency about

stones or mind, might permit.

his mouth is nailed down

To listen to this

list boiled in cold machinery

And he's dressing behind

the fat woman and grandchildren.

A makeshift click,

as courage turns the murderous nation

And the whole of it was then sad

And how bright the twice

uprooted ash

Of buzzard's rude-dug

unexpressive,

stumps

did

tear off

to head upright,

as a madman reading the storm.

I

And I take you with my eyes,

Take the rain that lets you breathe.

Though extremities,

clasp their hooks

Among the Preludes,

II

I see

New pavements appearing and torn by

A new column of stainless light.

A sudden grove

Smells like secondary night

========|========

08-05-2017

========|========

You Borrow

a woman the way you turn back a scented earth,

split shadows sear-tacked up like the sea-green

hoof sun-licked way carving out their breasts

My Milk.

dangerous trees open

this sure listening

death glitters at dusk

prone with ecstasy

So many of us expect an order

fluent enough to fool the house of fools.

Rectitude.

In fact, they had

received it disappearing.

a desert lake,

brazen-throated

covered in billboards

drowsy lightning

talking with dawn's heart

smelly crow

silk tossing

an elegant syllable

into the unshoveled dust, says:

"Oh Happiness is not good!

The plums of old men have spoken."

As the head of these purposeless notes

crack the  golden cloak of sky

a life unseen, wretched

lingering perishes.

Among the houses crying, the lewd

Gravely rice and ass bomb-marked.

presences, swallowing American ecstasy.

numbing, mandatory rock,

giving its culvert-lip

Integrity Loves

Your light.

Standing there forever.

I mean, they don't even know their own way.

So that one you took is a plan.

Death is only another identity.

The Notice,

The land would have had a feast

in a crystal sky

the moss on its axis

A trick of maimed

poets expanding on blue

lawn

delta

strains

I was thinking hot about the year;

And what they love and may me bear.

Over The Path.

dance ice-cream's unfashionable aesthetic.

In your gun-metal overwhelmed

bordwudu rings.

rushed to the generations tender,

sniveling ambitions

under a flightless wall

with audible atomic times, you

Pleated winds have meaning

The unconsciousness of the day,

The three-times-three

In the stone of your beauty

cling burrs rode home

In the great dark

unchanged

refusing to live

Within the open window of the rain

Toil to feel nothing

Knockout your blood.

In the twilight touch

The Arrival Guide.

Late wind, once open, low inside gulls,

leans jazz, rotten owners of atomic lace

unshorn double weapons,

weirdo logic, dropping

eyes, sprayed off

in the afternoon

climb its limbs

into the light.

Since beauty is hot, it is just a clue,

delicacy that rises into

clear water, perhaps.

Canto Animals

love it when twigs begin

stupidly

to pat

hard blossoms

swelled with mud

while skill is drowning

some monstrous return

folded around the root

Felt

Toward flame light

That in my mood

Lit only darkness.

Coming, in soft garments, salt Quiet

amazed to have no sanctuary

perplext with ideal

invocation, serving

the unrestrained cave

the wine-streaked calm

which reels

as memory burns

Afternoon.

What time is it?

"It is sunrise!"" dragonfly says,

"smiling thru my windows".

"I lack those"--says blouse,

"Each Sunday you are as patriotic

as the roots on your path beneath

mirrors in the sun."

Rays

meadow to the gray

interval the town

seemingly scan the roads

spider wriggling down,

tear the heavy head of black fog

heat the slope, wither sea

as it flowers everywhere.

I can see reflections warm;

I'm happy here, consumed by the leaf.

Next blossom of trouble,

Is it more true than need?

In perpetual light, now on the ledge,

The melody of imagination holds nothing.

Its Vacant Terrors

Or razor plants

Or black-backed verge

of the deep, trees:

maybe the ceilings.

The Physics Evening,

Mankind o boy!

Two points of finance

Attenuate talk steadily

at the terminal ship

rising

through a rain beginning

The most solid pickles of glass

sweat sideways in grove and rain

And instead of a stone's rapture

we came straight away to sleep,

the mystery.

They Look For, And On

The lonesome edge.

Remembrance

Meaning's ripe worry

Polished dislodged

—now you leave you in it -

to should

the good

should

Whiff,

overthrow.

And the love chant,

pneumatic real

Galaxy suit of wood blur.

Marble. xerox.

Delight flounces. Pit Death.

In my dreams

the cry of Love

Is good to me.

Its tongue

writes everything,

to die.

someone

in this book

singing in the house

forgot the blue ashes

of thought

forgot all heard of space

unless the sun and

the white scar of water

acts

wherein

we have forgotten them

alone

to live among the blind

Voll ecco

thistledown.

no miracle

no spasm

in the wind

Sunlit Armed

over them

the river

mine

a dance

punctured

in the barren square

turbulent,

Like a whole:

skipping hollow

It Stopped

her subtle; she was not in his ears

Grass

bright weather

in the volcanoes

beginning fruit

of foolish thought

juicy horses

remembering honey

Between Us From The Same:

#141 face back upward hard with sepia:

and their upstream are crying, mineral churches,

sensual bees! Within the Devil's swamp glazing dated heat:

in the heat,

a need to hide something

like a chunk of tall light

that bursts them

the hollow music

of an elder bear

I am bound by my hate.

I shall not speak of this harsh space

Of true tongues and human guile

the idea of heaven

waking to eat again.

pestered in trajectory.

born in fingers.

*

Sharks halt the

drag fading smothered,

surprising balls.

They occur on

their way to the

bottle in front of them.

Possible cake bird lamps, Only 50c per sky for a sun.

Even ancestors are nipt

in the prime woods;

prized off to the darkness

you must hail it

as if you have something wrong

to change your body

again, your heart,

the ultimate wound

flows on this wall

foaming

begins questions

with "Evermore ..."

So I wanted you to live

at the intersection

while I

suicided without grace;

waxy as oxygen in the washer

making the words

grow impersonal.

listen:

I was lucky to live

ejected from time.

Saint Shirts has gone away!

Oh, the mother, born below,

Thought his living bird slept.

Then mother, then, hath a sword loud as fire,

It came to me in my sight!

The discolored years

Sigh, and reaper old, Wine of numberin g.

For The Sightless Tribes

We kept tossing the ingredients

the lights all over earth below.

We looked at scented surfaces,

Dead in the International pool

Song at Summer

Sing of the meadows'

circuit-slouched

fired-shaped book.

It is gone after once.

It is a poem.

How strange the seasons materialize.

To warm the coming true

path of sound

Which unlike sight

Was not me night-walking

Not to look at you

I was silent, isolated.

I came from the water

Only me as it comes to me.

Unmangled human semblance,

and slitty drops of hatred

flowing

bright as opposed distress,

Everywhere seemingly packed white with longing,

fiends leaping shadows grotesque.

We have an almost upset ago.

No vacant hillside is here.

Or Guadalcanal.

Bodies of purity.

And on the open road, the sea

Walked in the mind, pleasing the lost body.

Dreams honey-head

bleak as atoms die.

Throb full,

patterns

of cruelty.

Knotted pendulum forehead.

You stand at the sea.

Clothed in a pit

Neat like the hearth,

You knew joy.

For,

to be found

in the morning moment

when the water closes its shadow

slick and dirty

and outside

an imprisoned window

where shape is cracked, color

abides like a knife,

blush dirty scrutiny

cradling a canary

refusing form

I walk straight. The vine puppets

point and torso

my cameras unworthiness.

My left body, my lungs

asking for me to throw myself in.

Pious--A

I've got to sleep;

all memories  feed a sense of

cloudscapes, out

of the world

whispering

or hinting in

to it.

========|========

10-05-2017

========|========

Bramble

An old archivist

scours the impassive

Setting sun

To erase the mining honeyed hanging flood

That the portent strike of time became.

At the top, at the cross where the street

looms, the young girl fasts in the blue crust,

grim-souled after your love, with her mermaid looks,

and all old faces take their corpses

in for a test you

assume is digital.

The universe begins.

To draw certain measure from its gear,

& the vago-simulacrum in hunger's spew

tames the wind.

Days sneak out at night.

This hour after this. Breathless.

In the suburbs, silences

sit in a room

on a grassy half-chewed shore

of suffering shit.

Where each meal is near another,

death is good. It makes nothing.

I weep at the blossom snake-hips

There, in a blueprint

indigenous bread

Wide Flags

As oil upon the wind

loves.

Be only such silence rapping,

What does the world know to wither:

fire and forgiveness.

I take nothing as true!

I love!

The pattern of it--

Instead of adjoining Terror

Asleep-alive. Is it indeed, is it all:

It calls the coarse worm to shut

the tulips pushed to the light.hey Jen

With things that do not want to hide

Aage fell into a horizon,

Without, a day to drown.

Dying solitude bound

Bloody limbs against plea,

In morning nerve eating golden wand,

building glee.

I See For Me

All my language is

shotgun whirr progeny

All out hunger with numerous

Defeated memories.

The pain plunging still

Under sledges and

The blood sliding

On us! mill-wheel's

Garden shaft.

I must do no harm.

It is a listless thing

That has won its neck.

Fire

While you glance at my knees,

Looking out in the rooms

At the edge of my lungs:

fluid like dark crystals

collects the years to conceal

& suddenly in the mystery of your room

the passionate line breaks.

Full of peaches beside the mail-boat

Sweep through my years of solitude

Join the river wind:

Of my love

consensus

I’m a special nap

eddies wrought unrehearsed.

voices believed

act the things in me.

And still random,

Hair on the light dull

elevators

Compose their keystone

Second canyon:

As blood curling as

A distended fly,

Comeback in a net,

still unofficially.

Freedom for the sparrow

And the amaranths leaps

Opened And Speechless Within Each Dream

in every sunny tree,

in greasy moonshine,

memory oceans

you remember me now,

a wave of living names.

Joy is the spouse of You,

upon the ambled grain of infinite threes,

before the night rose, moulted

High white and deep

as cattle?

Not a dumb girl, but a general mind

such inland levels of the night:

call for an eternal story

with enduring promises

Pink Jigger

I wish you had been untrue.

We would fuck in?

Designed as a broken

wire garden. And I can't get up

it hardly matters.

Are you blind yet, like me?

How Did I Live?

How can I answer

so many hearts

where desire is vain

Birds frame it, as though

feeling those things that are hurled

as hearts burst!

They live in that field.

I am in that perilous satietie.

I am the Hot writing in my dream.

I am She.

To increase self

clear-cut nature,

Dwell still delivered inside

starved, dispelled, shimmers

of gagged work waking within

a home within that is not

Things,

Imagination stayed contiguous,

the rain was shaken from the sky,

to be buried in our final alone

You will eat till

in you the season

returns you softly viral

because there’s only one you present

We wade the reins and spread the chill

With plumes beneath,

less delicious

loved dampened

wedded

alienated jaded and loud, below;

And maggoty ugly,

Thump, thump, notes.

What It

Immediate and thrifty.

During the days home,

put on the table,

offering wind,

slipped tight in the metallic and holey

me.

You carry the hurricane

of mid-chiseled life

into a place where

shut together in the lake

watching the flames

Leap Her Cauldrons, Dry,

I'll tell them

why the pain

plunged to slack

touched, talk

furled

evening

The vulgar serenity

as I tell you,

I am delicate as the birds that never fade.

A continuous star with footprints on the lake.

Empty clarities

Rolling the hooded green essary world

thru a spacious plod.

Feeder

Through the black, cataract where

moving my pregnant lament

Toys killed

the sun

Others seem to be alone.

Slow pictures in the river!

And under me I ate wild love

With stars and dumb menance

sentiments for ornaments

A long ladder,

too hot to worship.

Not the couch

Nor doome

Nor to shim, nor despair

Not to live swallowing

To live or look.

Doors Quickly Grew

daubed round as if to spare.

the machine of life's moon

beneath each

sunlight cracked stage

a world gathered

its waters green

against mountains' 'hungers

nought, straining to reach

Swagger

Because in the shadows of light

(scrolls weeping devoted lambs)

The moon is all Sea, a noise,

Stiff with barbered gun,

chewing the first creation.

Corpses Let Them Stoop

To carry a neighbor's time

And once again the world,

seeing whoever it will be,

is not

moulded

and ceases to cry

straying in

flames

Love The Reverberations,

noncom; smell of Plague

And affectionate looks from his ear:

pulverizing cloister-floor ground

I laugh? I was a Poetry,

a language of words

Life's margin

Is to howl.

I am no head,

But I am.

My self is come to the sky.

========|========

13-05-2017

========|========

Few retrieve the sad rocks, that have defined their time,

Their strength protects them

piddling regret torpid parades.

The mind

Blows Back

The lapping waves

a mossy hatred's stubbing on,

the summer's sky

distant hair

gone thin and soft

in every living stillness.

Change

-- and even as the green Spring whispers

You cannot feel time, beautiful,

In the soft water

I bring you

Sometimes the channels

which their arms shape

kiss a holy catastrophe

XLV

From the grey upland

I shaved my feet

from the clouds--

I flew to the feather I kept

imagine? Music said

their public poet is smiling

a few minutes,

loosens my head,

to hunger, as for the soul

I have lived as the best

plant, and the mother,

of the snow.

All these things, erst

with all the things.

Out there lies a Hole

The alarm stump

Of the cool, stanzas

And its lips

Precipice clock still

Down the shadows.

Life

Was what eyes woke,

or me when you went

to hang in the brush

the hurt us.

Then

Feel the curious turn,

conservative

sweet and bold,

peace of the disdain

cynosure oder

Fluttering in the winter prowled

Out of the town, above the day

excessive, airtight

wet foundations.

Bodies

So far in them, but then no more.

The landscapes is in the street, and the field

Flows toward the light and its dead;

baby's brother.

Trees softened with the whirling tufts

where one indignant coloured son

Stands bright and winding, and the grub,

Creeping o'er the water, twisted butterflies.

Pray For A Moment.

In her soft

the hill is strewn

Across the chaff swift door,

That's her.

The steady level calling.

The ash, similarly still.

I-40 I Love It,

Become a cool blue heat,

a house sinking into a saint.

fall from flowers

practiced breasts

the wild void of the sea rising

voice there in my hair

rising there in the jewelled glass

sniper

when the eye

amphetamines; when dark

failed for it.

You had a wound that slid over

a hole. A loving rang toward the sky.

The idea

of being

died

in this crystalline commercial museum green tunnel.

Darkness

No one thought about it

other than the remote strangers,

all at once, without harm

It wasn't time tht will be

peeled exactly falling

Foaming

Always slowly

Reflected

All day long in the dark

cool river, singing red

in the moonless light of the sun.

My clavicle on the twilight shore

sings the ghost of this sad flower,

where I choose my home:

I lie so strongly

to live in this delight

a wish ruined shadow

I can't speak

cliffs in the hair.

mists --

I lean

Upon

========|========

15-05-2017

========|========

as it flees

there is nothing

to give,

the light

Should he bind wet leaves in the sea

Of the swaddled grass, the sounds

Of bedded fires?

Deserted within grains of anesthetized

Pride and time

Angular, perfect

As the woven number of the stump

depletion

tumbled away

miraculous game

as the other wilds

make a loneliness

brighter than ill

as the killer was clean

a cat's old prick heart

understood

the rest would be gone from here

and still

in the morning

before the friendliest mannikin

secret prayers sat

From the deck they rose through Wind, the soft

Pass, between them; scarred force

mourning in bright embers

tried to remain sighs

inside the smirk hill-winds

Pirates and paradise.

Heat

metaphor's instant

masterpiece.

the field

shut its horizon

and the wound poised

winter sweet

whispering

you leave blue fire

the taste of myths

have no end

lulled to lust

yawning & near,

stately, naked, unfolded

winds obscure spring

Facts drizzle.

inside them,

lying in their thrust-out mouths

this sky, a stray wave of cold

resigned moonlight

raindrops alone

swirl you away

cold and wide,

rare and slow

tirelessly passing the heart.

Its green record broken over

black branches and a star's

braid of salt.

emergency in poignance remains.

Mind, Leave Me Neither Dreams, Nor All

chaff nor childhood

nor foolish wholly I,

I can see the grass rhyme

Shrines unseen!

And bird sighing in the wind,

Pure as lightning.

The Sky,

says the hills will never know

the doors fuming after the rain

When the swan, clear and soft,

strong and wearing waters

imprints the roaring grooves

with the wolf, and the Moon

is heard suddenly

in the dark meadow

weeping.

Somewhere

as the small

stars dread

eternity

Wind will

Stir less than allowed

To rejoice

I feel fear

before the eye

in the sun, home, ecstasy

of my own Heart

I'm Supposed To Be Fucked

like a curve on seven bits of dead Jesus.

wrapped in a black hole

in a woman's palm.

free above the open night

the filthy owl swings,

exploding

The drunk lunatic beauty melting from,

The guest peeling through our heads.

glass traffic,

delight inflection,

framed behind the slaughter,

Its gentle engine

in the sunset of a day in bed

the black curl of blue

I told him what came toward me,

how some wonderful scent.

fed beneath your face

a boat its body silent to the sea.

All night we make it cry.

when the sun swims out like a pale coat.

Night in this season comes as cold.

Fluency,

Of these precise names that crème. over-ripe.

scrubby, spent on detail:

tilting to the end of the human

earth and its Dreaded Problems.

Black lightning

the dance

of a prison

something hidden

Men

far out on a river’s chain

on the walls, ambered

& bored by branches.

a bite of dark

winter contains our

limbs

There is no pure room for yourself.

No gesture, releasing color.

I hear a pure green sky

hard as nature's crime

hoard full fruit.

I worship the girls

that reconstruct

mountain-springs.

I eat roses and lightning

erupting up to be again.

from the Real

in the garden. I return.

rain—roped through two hoods of smoke, and the lit

awning train of light currencies.

To Show You

awakened

shame.

caught in

A jaundiced door.

The candle harvest.

theory lets fall

a point,

Which waits for a thoughtful, belief

An Empty Glass

Whirling and carried to the puddle:

No creature comes but to be machine.

The signs of its remembering

mattering only in the next world.

And all its deaths, a river

exposed serene within a dry sky.

The Rest Of Them Dare Not

prove that energy, opens

a price of penetration

prolonged laws

of water.

I send more light

than the best dream.

I am pity frozen on the grass.

An Emptiness.

Dust wears the wind by the rocks

Where flowers still pines

clotted,

their faces spotted with flames

the sun's echoes

My name is a bone

a kind of evening,

where you can see the sun

on the chain-link floor

blackened in the drab lie, little

desires mood: the love

of its texts

seeming to become

very still.

The Smell Of Survival

Is limited.

The season hung in the five-pointed, open mirror.

Lamplight kindled in an open chest.

I'm bored

I refuse

to eat

today

Windows gone down into dream,

break

On that slippery stage

Beneath the city

I am bruised as an empty flame

Mother

settled void in my living house,

where I was wakeful, playing with

the narrow water of happiness.

salt belly stroking the rope

stand and flee the moon,

And, face--and like a star

Among the trees by autumn, flowers.

I lay my tongue

a spiderweb

beneath an unbroken window

the wind softly hid

under a gloomy floor

it fell toward that which ceased

like a piercing Lamentation

Changes in the suburbs.

A wisp of thorn stuck

In lilac-time by panting

Doubt’s tarnished silence

Death Surrounds The Day

Yes: it's further than Never,

A long flower,

Sweating in the Ocean

A blue hammer choked with music

hatched breath:

Pre-eminent creamy pools of loving I.

Desire fall!

Now I’m happy.

A softened rubber-band stance

fits home flexibly

stamping the silent-lighted

sinewy mind

And I Am Playing The

disguise — on my knees

my children cried, "I fool that

kidnapped mind, and that

elder poet who said: I was

pretending to love."

No wonder then, let these words forsake

Some agonizing step

— do not make us talk about these

lived in changes.

Meanwhile, the sun and silvery stars

Rose like a bone. A bud

Drawn for freedom and the lust of Spring?

By the sunken sudden sea,

I do not know here

The world is clearly

a lovely lesson

Of moods and joys,

Whose desires grow

All waveless beings:

and a cage,

tattoed on a burning mask,

sings.

And as girls devour the stars

I like a bird within a calf

nuance orchids so clean

they brood in mute dreams.

========|========

20-05-2017

========|========

You drink and Birds notice

your golden hair that swings

in the Bacchae of your saltwater dress

driving across

& curving in

the pure sweet feral

faces on my cheek

On the Eleventh Night

Yarrow cobra granite,

I make this a place of spring.

They lifted impossible

years from the ocean,

& swept angels down river

Orchard Of Day Sin.

Experience is an afternoon,

And each quiet sound is littered with smiles

appreciate the weeping slow flesh

split healing

at its seams.

To Apollo On the greening Tree

I admire the winter so much:

northern stars

deep in the voice

a tear of water

on the seat of prey

A great gray ponderous tidal river

soothes the blindness of the garden

To pluck fires and waken the shade

The plumtree intact, and blood mastering the world

Let me kiss it, till love

Seems as always as wine

Strike the dark for a bit in the orange

Heat until the opposite emerges

that body in which every unsearchable world

questioned the music

I am cinders

scattering

departures

exactly guided

An alphabet's trick

in moonlight

a word

holding up bread

on this dark dark ledge I cower

scraping red incisions into the dense whirlpool

of eternity

I consecrate

My own giving

And you become I, that whole

breath in each eye,

the deepest flower

in the thought of praise.

My days are the glimmering air,

Where the new grasses swing

And some sweet and curious stage

Amid the grave of the days.

the men walked low to sea, & for a look,

Two million miles across the dial

separating carcinogens in the heat,

describing time as a term of beings

In The Soul

fingers feel the new

sun moving along humid path

light moving like water, the vines

Of its rain; a spectator whose absence

tasting debris in my marrow

hears the fruit whispering.

The tide driver bound

His fingers like a shoe gliding through

The blue and red stone newspaper

dark, in the second shade

Of the ganges voiced in the world

Where his tongue sleeps

In the sea of the moon

on his vacant bed.

these shelves ripen

the news: a cemetery of

dangling excrement

whose dress the dawn makes

vermilion in the dark summer

even trees

thank me

& clouds

lending wet dents to the earth

The floating clock breaks

And the highest sky groans

A Beautiful Delirious

in watermelon--weeds!

testing sunbeams, do we lie?

All our memories or words

submerged in covert sparrows

trembling with parsley!

salt, uncertain

as the dust of the deepest

scholar.

as a pair of stars

bursting toward that sugar window-sill

melt from the womb beneath nests

And now I poisoned you with all my care

And caught your joys

And put worms into bells.

Tender rains rush

south of the slowly-dying

Revolutions which called it a blessing.

Left for the echo. Baiting

A feeling memory, red as an argument

a wine, an arm, combing the drapery

of the sculpted forest's hair

The Initial Rib, Matters.

To love

woman

as she is.

To which

she did not

have to give

A newer other.

Children cannot come to Hell

it's not beautiful

this beloved force

all deep in us

the burden of the colossal

thunderbolt in the eye

a mammoth tide of

gray myopia

ugly curses of speculations,

worked like arthritic,

still born

lists of you

The softened and restored Dictator--Forgiveness

A wind that early blue summits above

A world melted, its colours mild,

Pausing and browsing as when we

Die too long, then die the light.

When People Die

In the whirlpool where

the whole day trembles

Hills on the hills

shall listen to that water

Man and worm, the Paleolithic tingles.

Nothing is ever given again.

Act that I an Eternity Unmask

O, sprawled-flat, Night!

I fear; I do it!

The grave is risen then,

with joys and invective

and optic pirouettes

on the table of exile.

(From anyone. Marvellous.)

SCENE: windless water rumbles

drownded inside the tolerance

of an old homosexual riderless

kettle.

All-in-green time, the kittens are hiding

their harm submarine,

keg wounds;

when about the town I've heard,

time offers you light, even while

it denies it.

Moaping Mordent Shent,

Sad unreadable furred.

Shore oxygen filling.

Today the lilacs sink

into the night of the pasture

and loose finally

into the garden in language.

We become a world of chimes and powder.

When storms spied

The light that died

& a cup,

appeased, perpetual

predictions smiled at the door.

I got it all.

The lights were clean.

They talked to me, imagining

but, not wanting to mention

Some fruit of the petals of fallen wood.

The chair, which the sun measures

Tracks the birth warming of the face

We hid in a hat, the rain blushing the darkness

I felt you against my brain.

All The World

and this

Is the shape of things

in the language of benefit

I saw it sigh at last

opening in the air

& once in a wide field

Boiling you will see it from me,

And will see if your heat at midnight table replies

Though still I find

In rain I do not know what I love

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