jhav:word_language_model jhave$ source activate p36 (p36) jhav:word_language_model jhave$ pbs1m 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 ===================== Sophie 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 numbering. 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 http://bdp.glia.ca