Tl-IE BOOK OF DURING

Clark Coolidge

Tl-IE FIGURES
Cover painting: "Insert" (84%" x 48%") 1984 by Carroll Dunham, Private
Collection, photo Courtesy Sonnabend Gallery; drawings (1991) on
pages 6 and 90 Courtesy the artist.
Acknowledgments to the following magazines in which some sections

of this book were initially printed: Avec, Searl.et, Sulfur, and Triage.
Publication of this book is supported by a grant from the National
Endowment for the Arts, Literature Program, and from the Fund for
Poetry.
The Figures, 5 Castle Hill, Great Barrington, MA 01230
Distributed by Small Press Distribution, Sun and Moon, Segue,
Bookslinger, and Inland Book Company, and by Paul Green in the UK.

Copyright© 1991 by Clark Coolidge

ISBN 0-935724-43-5
ISBN 0-935724-49-4 (signed)
for George & Chris Tysh
The Entry
 I

Hell, I don ' t know anything but I'll begin . I stain these pages.

Nothing could come from it and yet something did. I could do

the work, from where? and have it go completely outside.
Nothing more to think of i t. It would exist but I could never
touch it again. I had made it. I had gone beyond my inside and
forgotten it. There it stands. And sometimes still I am among
the formerly mine, find myself there adrift and obscure.
Turning and turning from these pages.

Enough that I would put the work outside, an object I could

then want to fuck? What is a ''beautiful" sentence? A sen tence
that is an object of desire. Ridiculous enough to be going on
with, or just a masturbation of mispellings? A lob book? By all
the writing done, what have I been innoculated against? Push.
Still push.

I remember people coming into rooms and doing precise

things but I don ' t recall who those people.

Somebody punched the door behind me. I backed up. I should

have turned around to see, maybe to open , but I didn ' t, I
couldn 't. I could only back up some more. Finally my back was
against the wood of the door and I could feel the blows.

Ceilings. Use mirrors for ceilings. Wait on the floors.

Just step, forget.

The rice was original. Few things are, prove to have been, to be.
Nobody collects them.

Wars continued. Nobody hated each other. It was economic,

9
they said. People died, were killed to die. Hatreds produced
fewer killings than you might think. Thought itself produced
more. War is thought arguing among itself. War as unshielded
synapses.

Fingers on the windows all the night. Fingers of insects.

The war of the dreaming helplessness with cobwebs attached

milky to the stems of cards and washed flesh after sex. The
world opened up into a single slightly transparent stone. Recite
nine numbers to get beyond my block. Rinse off your toast in
the leakings of a ballpoin t. Show the sun a picture.

People don ' t know anything. They smell. They sight things.
They worry at traces and unravel and toy with musical blame
and unlock the pigeons and ratty sparrows on dream time.
Inside the house, the housing of everyone, a single small clock
in the shape of a pinkish cathedral with felt-muffled bells. I was
dreaming of a place where all the moons could arrive in perfect
silence.

Knowledge is absolutely to be blamed for: (list all your finest

attribu tes) .

A mock terrier, or man with a mask, asked me. He wanted to

know where but I told him when . A brawl. Two wrists locked
together, the other hands snapping their fingers and flinging at
everyone and elsewhere. Time for everything. Time for the
Collision of Masks.

He wanted to stay with me and fuck me but I wouldn ' t let him
so he drilled a neat hole in the medicine cabinet mirror and
left.
Nine degrees below zero inside the radio and at all times.

10
I live on next to nothing these days. Tapes and tales.
Masturbation even impossible in a position of ignorance. I smile
like a sailor. I hover over only rounded glasses, straight edges
would ground me.

I laugh when everyone around me goes silent. The words to

the song erased themselves in its singing.

She is a maker of baffles and she comes to see me. We just glow
in each other's an d don ' t speak. Nothing touches. Everything
else rings. She try on a sailor suit, and I to pass through unseen.

Novels don ' t suit me. I read them endlessly, shaking the
droplets from me as a dog.

Night, and life, have their alibis, but me I just stick to my story.

Who, at all certainly, keeps a name anymore?

I realize I can use any name here and be someone for a length.
I can rip through the world snorting with conjunction. I don't
even have to learn to spell or control finger cramps. I can live
on dust in the air and live on. No collars of steel on the hands
of dream. I think I am someon e, perhaps a shy coal worker, and
quick I am that one but not tied to him long, if I wish. If I wish
I can assume disconnect iden tities and leap limitlessly. No one
tells me, nothing halts me. I can even combine.

I am her? One day, one moment, microseconds, I am her?

I look down.

The world waits on a small black notebook. The world waits on

nothing. I hurry to write it down and step back. I step back
quickly and write it there. I have nothing but time, to lose. I am

11
loose in the hum of these circuits, these meals between drills. I
have to step to no pace. Everything is sudden ly in time. No
matter. Nothing to help or waste. Nothing but thighs for a
moment, a chain of moments, those thighs. This world will not
wait for a sunrise, or a melodic beckoning.

I have become the king and waste time happily on needless

rings. I take up time with hapless rhymes. They extend one
moment the same. They haul all sames to me. I blow a mist in
all the mirrors and there have to be many in Rinseless Palace. I
rise at dawn after no sleep in my rocker bed and arrange the
circuits of my chimes. All belongs to me, with no knowledge
and little ability. I save things that I will later tire of and throw
without a care away. There are nine suits within the one suit.
Models of more modernistic drawers hidden in the drawer.
Plans for extreme sex. Sex wi th stitches, sex with hardware, sex
in pursuit and in hiding and in the lap of the gods, the laughs
of my peers. I have no peers. I preen. I gum up. I throw out my
knee. Piss on dates. Accompany rotarians to the abattoir. I hide
a model aeroplane in my pill closet, a checker in my vest. All
the things I might ever need are mine at a glance, a balloon for
the gladdening. Show me your house, your glass hobby, your
ripened sex, all mine. The ribbons in your dresser, mine. The
warts on your cock, also mine. Abacus of variations and trends
of ass wind, mine. Everything possible to pleasuring bodies, in
useless work and in measured heat, all mine. This be the
Kingdom of the Sole Encompasser.

Perfectly still she gets me hotter. Why marble is sexier than all
the dancers. Flesh a matter strict of polarity.

A says she wan ts to fuck me, but she doesn 't want to fuck.
A says she doesn 't wan t, but I know she secretly wants me to
fuck. Someone. Other. The ones who race past me, on the way

12
to singular slum agleam. God knows what's happening at the
lake.

The rotarians devised papers, that's all for all time, just sheets.
White areas of darkness, nothing intelligible there. No fucking
on saturdays, wednesdays, only sundays, the movie lasted a year
and I was pissed. She sang and didn't remove it, her clothes
were hot but not attractive. She could have shucked them, but
he dido 't want me to. He was rotarian . He liked all things at
once.

It was late in the night and no one moved on the street. Lights
like small suns with rings. The sound, close but tinkly like far
away, bothered me. I walked down by the shore, erasure,
constant, no one leaves me alone, I have to take erasure.
Winning is beyond this planet. The other suns. . . .

I don 't remember then to describe the "real" people. I do

remember the ones from books already described. The honestly
fitted together. The dark ones with asthma. The grey one with
helplessly open valve. The animals flood over the streets in
patches. Excited world of nothing human . Pale pall world of
slight trembles, overly sensitive needles. I couldn 't choose
though, I couldn ' t run or stay. The way the emerald fitted its
clamp and j ust squared away, and just rose there.

He just wanted me to tell him something so he reached inside

my blouse. That hot afternoon I had felt overly rouged, sauced
to the nipples by stick tipped with red. All language had passed
between the smoking lamps. On deck piles of paraplegic
paraphernalia. The red-legged spider descended. Its cry shot
past me. The all-over hotness was a matter of my body leaning
at his in curving and rhymes. Insect hit the floor, running.

13
They want to fuck everybody so they learn to go to school. No
warning, just arrive. Compete with teaching with penis and
vagina, call it cock and cunt. Shout it in the hallways, paint it
inside all the lockers along one wall. Meat moves in the boiler
room. Folded spitball notes whole detailed novels pornographic
with real names and even crude pictures. Everyone is insulted
in to bald driven heat. Take my short arm, senor. Ram it in by
the clipboard pound. Cocks harnessed in rows of notebinder
rings. Negative cunt from molds of Federal Lunch. We
reorganize the whole curriculum into a bloody stew. Feedback
of meats. Chopped and channeled exquisites. Art of the come­
stain on my card board pan ts.

We machinegunned everyone who passed a certain barrier. And

we keep track of the rolls of the dead in mammoth fresco
behind the clambake works. It all goes fine, make them
everyone go away. Line of reds across the chest. He goes down.
She pleads for the one last shot. I tum to spit and giggle my
trigger closed.

Johnny Carson combines with Marcus Belgrave to tie up the

lunchmeat market. They use ten-foot aluminum cylinders
labeled "Twinkletoes." No one is funny then. Everyone laughs.
Ten winos drag the tubes, empty or closed, down Fleet Street
for no reason . Heads clot the brittle barriers and casements in a
bright barium flare nights. Captain Midnight is rued to be long
dead . Long live the Cap in his secrecy tricky wends. Long life to
the long dead.

I saw cock rhyme cunt in its outward plunge. I saw the shuttle
clear in the center of each dream. My cock rose going to the
sunny awning store. Cun ts of doctors drenched the parquet.
The MeatWheel spun, outward in all avenues the shriek of the
inward cam. The knowledge was deafening. I wrote my new

14
poems on sailors passed in Ditch of Spume. The all-out war for
the language started coming up the Hole.

In Foster Grant Avenue tarpayer lynchmobs. Three fights per lit

match. Grace Glancer mocked on by thrilling in brine-pink
shoes. She pursued a glamour no one could trace, the fame of
onion burn heaven a valve left on in your gut. She finally took
three rooms over the Saddle Stationary. Mobs looked up.
Nothing but grass turning black in her single pane.

Bung waits on quiff. Quim. Intolerable awaitings clogged and

darling. I lift a snifter, a drain of rust and brine cogs rinsed and
scarlet schist and echos shined to a shot. Blameless scruples
tongued the inside, tongues in brine, ruby en capsulements
logged into compartments whistling along the bledways. We
were en teamed in a jet starling of wheated blurts. We did n ' t
know the whichways. Hot out war fanged carbonside. Where are
we going? And who collides the marvels to treat it? Tongues
char the whist of clit sen tences. Everyone's blurt a single. Then
we see the WhatAss clear the spongerange, his whole hotness
immaculate and draining in strainpipes of Shostakovich. And
the placemat soakings continue at a fuck.

I slobber out all over my hover jellies. Everyone knows me and

they wait on my smile. Fame in a windward loco away. Pass the
farm smells, pass the belly. Rhyme with gardens the joke of your
tits. Eat marl and scope of ant stoppage. Blame realms emit.
Red lit cabbages at the bevel of the cart bar. You have sucked
me into my own stains, my star barn turns. Heave on back the
lobbage jelly, tum up bluestar to shovage level. I take out Mars
Bars on an insect date. It smarts and cools derms. Stop eating
off my face and reading. Chart juice all over the warm dials.
This missage picture will lan d. These carping bell boils, these
harmages. Picture of a boy pouring onyx over his tips.

15
Lights to failure urge. That or the greatest greenstop in Texas.
Where they hire ou t for flame lessons and bunion carbonation.
Whole whales of cheatmobs stabbing down dust rows in cleat
sets and delve pants. They smile. And in that group smile is a
weight. Will calm down on you, thirty tons of shirtwaist
embalming tongs. Rattle of belts and cogs and shears. Run for
your dimes and call on out of here. Don ' t await the shadows of
the short star. When the girl wants to fuck whole combines
short as a sneak cabbie. And the bees snort.

People have opinions and wait around the radios. Never sing
and nothing means. They hold their opinions out in front of
chests like paper waffles. A mon th of sundays compressed into a
sunday moment without the bar spins by their noses. The
population all about not to pass out but wheat out, paste out,
scowl all noteless out. They don ' t do anything they migh t at
least listen for. They drill pale brain and avoid the surly dentists.
As the town boards sing to themselves the one note the river
gives.

I went back home to bed and dreamed about bed dramatics.

Girl jacking off with the one special toe. Epoxy as lubrication
for that terminal fuck. Episodes with joke teeth, surprising
chittery cunts you can 't make time or lap with. He's come over
and won ' t go and she won 't stay still. Leave me but first blow
my body all of it whole to the wall. Use the coily strappages and
certain platyhelmin th techniques. As you come divide so I 'll
wake to have more. Stop up my ear wells in penal servitude. Get
off on icebox remnants. Stop my screams with a quail. These
are the stories I fed off in my bed, my long bed of the call of
the row of vivid rapid short events.

Shortages became needed and all the fucks more silent.

Shapeless tendencies, brown as a worm. Godawful ox horn went

16
off instead of the summer siren. She called me, then went off
without me. Are we standing for the sole onan event, l ike on an
earth of single stamens? I don 't like to call this Bad but I am
forced to shout. Calling all lice-happy chorustersf Chime in
once you see the shovel at the end of slime-band balance. And
keep close nates. Chalk dust dries their parts in these films.
Choking the jade oxen with clams of steel.

I 'm obliged to leave and you know why. You understand me and
therefore you stand for everything I do, anything. Even my
tromping out of this room without an explanation , a reason, a
bulk pass, peremptory trauma. You will be left. Then I will stay
outside. Masturbation. The film between two separate but
adj acent wars. The terrors see each other always. Transparent
walls smeared. Everybody gangs up and screams nobody on the
otherside hears. You lie back on the sheets, the rubber beneath,
and raise one leg, "languidly," it means a flow of milky potage
down to where your stocking rim takes it. Your cunt shivers
slightly as the flashlight touches one corner of its focused beam,
opens to show. You are on stage and blush, blame is rising in all
the stems. Your throat strains to keep in line with desire. The
other side. The filmy side of the trench we other beings build ,
and fudge.

The rate of hearing collapses inward. Sounds like a million

snails fucking on a dime. Zazzing insects fort up their own razor
concertos. Sense only compacts. Three zero clams pop the tire 's
outward bulge. As I'm showing you a trumpet, naked, we meet
in a glare of wide oxide perfumes, a solo pressed to micro-parts
float on air. We smell an act. No need to listen or moving listen.
A fuck the size of a tick.

Desire ratios. How many minutes of bounce on the slab, very

cold whiteness, do you want me? How many times slight reveal

17
of an armpit? Dare to sneeze up your opening how many times?
Show the nipple then recover, how much? Press eyeballs inward
through lids at gain of orgasm, how hard? Phosphor embroidery
flotilla? Up against the brain walls ticking inroads of. slap of
cunt, lips against stomach, rod against hairs, how many, what
frequency? How many times have you said to me '1 want you to
take me, " breath gaining pitch on a rise? And how many
breaths not know where the other hand is?

You disturb me a lot so I shot you away from me. You disturb
me so much I clammed up forever. I talked so much I even
talked to you. Told you while we' re fucking the length of every
lesser-known avenue in the city. Have told you and told you and
now you say you remember nothing. Where is your head? And
where will you open next? That I come out of you beyond you
where?

Bending in sure indulgence, shorter than everyone. He asks me

over and over but I still can 't remember Johnny Carson though
nightly I loosen my cun t to the tube. See up me, absent friends.
Then sear about a flesh dot and see about me. They curl in this
city, when they're not wrecking their plumage on the steely
girls. Woman exposed to cathode nightly, why are my eyes
supposed to redden their rims at thought of that? Fingering in
bedded indulgence, sighs calming the pressure to stow meat.
I ' m smaller than anyone, even that grey-cropped bark down in
the nozzle of the light. Dreams of the Cylinder too, I roll in
place.

A crystal ball high up between the thighs. Sheddings of the

future, juicings down on any possible sphere. You, world, come
to me, anyway as I would come on you. Displacemen t mode,
quivering mineral between quakes. I shout you and leak. Thin
covering iridescen t vivid in breath of lightning. Breathing you

18
down into scads of small disaster, I would be a shot hawk and
furl. The time between spasms coming briefer, world to crack?
Stem these feelings.

She says, Hand me the petering lamp. About to scowl and with
one hand at the hem of her drawers. I think, It' s all in her
mind to burn. Which portion of flesh, which thought? I say
Hello to her, again . The wrist watch around the middle of her
thigh is reddening off the circulation. Something will have to
dawn and soon . I don ' t give it to her and she takes it anyway,
leans over and takes it off the round slate table to my right. A
nipple dangles I grab and pinch, hold in vice till she smiles, her
eyes going out. See the pretty flowers, lady? I t's not going to be
easy. She brings the lamp down in a line of oily fume and sets
her pants alight at the crotch. Blooms that the mind never
deals.

I see the world now, more than two lines of extremity. Not even
lines, not even points. Hash browns growing scarlet. She was
saucy with me. I groped my way to the wall, soft brown fedoras
hanging on it, more than three. I'm not being cute. I can
count, in usual circumstances. This was no night to be out of
line. She was playing hard to see, constan t batty motion, curves
like a Greek, thoughtless candles spraying, lips that would loom
parasitical, crawly knees. Things never seem qui te brutal to you
do they? she shouted and went for it. Hot metal like the newest
of hair coverings they could have come up with . Sounded like a
frustrated army on the radio. They say you can always get away
with words.

Old pain t grumping up. Men looking to the corners. No one

would drill to the quick of the artist's intention, his swerve from
what ( ?) with still quick eyes. No need to rehearse it. The works
are all escapes.

19
The granite steps in fron t of the man 's n ame way high up and
the carved recitation of his many deeds, what do they mean?
And that one standing over behind the rose beds with the
pencil in his hair, what are we to make of? And the many
movies of all sorts of people talking to each other about
anything both before and after opening and closing countless
doors, how explain? It's necessary, that's all, they said and
began adjusting their clothes. Then some of them were seen to
run away, but the worst of them stayed .

If I were here to say something, who knows what I would mean?

Constipation leads to dwelling. Carne back later and found i t

still here. Breasts over the ear drums, a spine fo r the inflation. I
stood up, couldn ' t find myself thinking of anything. Wanted to
walk back bright but stood stock. Caught hard in a glare, lemon
in the window lighting the yard. I blew horn, thought out my
bedroom layout later, man. Store of tongues, laps lapping each
other. Left the block of my though t years ago and collide with
everything else since on a yearn, a pile of papers juiced. You
hand me within a hotness, great ridge repeating the hang of
walls. Store nothing but the beat of the cheeks. You come
round that wall and see me now.

The panic is on. Man running down the street and caught
himself. Beyond that was nothing but whatever, Block of
Business. She tendons her blood out through into heat lamp
visions, mats of black above your lying head. I don ' t know you. I
only get to side-saddle you. You blow my sneers. Caught up with
her own sneakers. My head is caught. The cat ran under her
cap, my head beneath her settles. You '11 have to sneak eyes back
under and leave it all there. We'll have to match. Play the black
silence back, snort to hip and even teething furthers. Carne, as I
start to catch up. Play cunt, realm of interior haze peacock on

20
the music's needles. His spikes in the loam, her tits in the open
bowl. Handsome as a scrape, one ear holds, muffs. Then I get
down to the back of the music beyond the cellar. Inflation time
of sticking close together.

I see you in flakes, fade. Dimple, your treatment of socks,

blouse, innards. Spiders all rise when you sit. You seem no
length that I can divide. I'd have to erase more than half. Suck
my flams. Commit to abutted futures, sporing lamps engulfed
overland. The gas has gone out when you come to tickle. Resist,
refog. This is not as abstract you can't follow it. Simpler it would
bean you an d drive the spiders. Beyond wheat, beyond residues
of the blank page, blind desire. I would have to hate everyone
to truly come back home. Hate clench crotch to rear shine
knots. Impossible to climb out of this room. Room where fuck
so much is common enough to spin no deed. And he had
deeded her, and her head was bright not dead. Great malicious
pauses to the palm on the thigh. Scream these n otes.

Height in the morning? I cannot reach to stand it. Blinded

vertical encapsulations of the crawl. Say something to me that
hasn ' t blue in it. Anything I can ' t say, rotate your thighs. The
day the wrist becomes novel. Explosion come from over behind
you out the window in the morning. Ponder fucking shadows
on meeting venetian blinds. Have I another name in the dark?
Pronounceable, if barely, length: over an hour. And even raising
one arm as I say, Flames are mortal. Fuck the trees. Height is
always fron tal.

Always fron tal, material, face.

Grandview Highway opens and there are pyro-beings fucking

there too in front of the grating billboards. Guy with an acid
cut. Polyurethane crucifixion humming away, and the price of

21
slack is felt. Do you sense the gun odor? Population grim and
smartly. We watch, then we dip, you and I, in a saucier bulge of
the cut strip tarp. Having lunch in an extended lap, inside and
outside the rubber totals. Birds in the area all dice peas, and
rump around huge on boiler vents. This is the thing we thought
about later, penal servitude in vaginal washouts. My hands won ' t
crawl anymore. Savage inventions i n a minor stoop. Longer face
than I've ever seen on a crane.

Then they came to Cord ura. Arguing over and over a plan by
radio, by camel saddle, by raised points on pea-covered strata.
You milk the sun , I 'll treat the moon . Small gremlins trashed by
fireside. Radio sends three pistols were found, and then a tape
on the back of the place of a face, faces here owning no fron ts.
I thought about you. Screaming about the cereal didn't come in
the prettier informative boxes. Three ways to take you: amytal,
sidereal, and frontal too. Remnants of a face, found in tungsten
oil drain . Presummation insurrection congliptious. Rate was for
Brake 's Sake. Oh a millennium passed Poin t Ban, glassed in car.
Or wax cast remands your shiny fuck. Glance planet of stored
warm animal roentgens. You see as if I say to you the whole:
Tongues to the Memory Window Plaque. They stuck out their
hands in place of bands.

The Alchemy of Objects. And trees cleave through celestite sky.

You do not know my name and yet it stands.

Nothing, nothing, and a brighter nothing. Mist and then

curving linkages. You smile the table blue by the bedful. Arm
over n ewspaper cuttings, liftings of rag. Open cunt's light
source, grey fans going blush. Cat at the tip of the sill, widening
mornings. I slip a drop from my lip, touches y01:1r inner, then
and nothing rhymes. Throw the cat through the glass and
plunge.

22
Silk frock on then , off. Lift it beyond the tips, then descen ds
the dusk backing. In this room arms are held up, cries, the
dunce of crockery. Shout on them shortly. Peacock one pierced
in nebulum. And beyond the doors removing shirts. I see it all
in my hands on the clay globe, the cool oval beneath the
nerves. Then little pieces of porches clip your lobes.

Isinglass reaches flake off on the wettened breasts. Beneath the

beaker I love, float, unattached mastery of the glides. Old
wallpaper aces will cover you, lasting aisles of throat stopped by
rose bruise. I have caught up to you, inner thighs, battered
frames. The cunt is an egg of mossy thicken , hedge rowing marl
to the morning stretch. You are what I lack myself. Collapse
inward to tones, bones torque in shied ram. Owls, more owls,
cloistered owls, owls in liquids darkening. Then I will wake to
your opening.

She placed down wide hands on the table's jellies. Everywhere

maps where we fuck. Crystal prism touches i tch and we use the
floor as a bait. Then I am bent, over, must I always wait? Hand
me the wall ever close in delirium. First light in ches in the
Oblivion. The plot to cap you naked in my sight. Boring as a
hum in the middle. Whiteness over whiteness in the pale ones.

If stood so, the fuck to fuck the fuck, how carve it later? Sailor
replaces halo over the slipping barge. How say now so shook in
wetness the hands require the feet? That I marvel at off-color
rhymes, an ounce less now the cock removed. Blank as a coat of
fuel , the advance of throat repeats. That again I announce you
in the hallway less one tooth.

Missing stick device, you goggle human. Bury your brains in

apple, that apple rolling to a stop at the wall. Never quite ever
reengages, top off, saddle missing, shorn of blonde and nipples

23
droit. In you I am run , rumple in measurement and all tongue
and busy. The song at the marble top is moistened.

You have to know something when it happens, you have five

minutes before. I tell you it's all confused for openers. Never
enough time to live and think. Compacted, it's just that.
Everything runs in on its center, so you can see that lines lie.
,
And you re treading on it every second second, riddles, rhymes,
all spots of totaling density. Everybody rolls out in the morning
or whenever on a slab of approaching lead. Roll over, open
your arms, release everything all over again. Stop treading, fuck
from across the patio. There's no more room.

Used me, I tell you, he took me in there and used the hell out
of me, until there was no one and nothing to leave but me. 13
Buena Vista Drive, Santa Ana coming on, a sky-blue and a
lemon convertible in the drive. And believe i t or not, I thought
I was hiding. Check your rods, fellas, the juice is on the house.
Could you believe this? Shrugged out of her off-the-shoulder,
breathing apparently. They used the coffee tatted couch. Wires
in the walls, intimacy afternoons on call. Use your hand , don ' t
give i t a thought. Hot i n the mornings, breasts good and wet
between. No doubt about i t, I 'm better now. And better you'll
be, or else sorry. You could see right through it, and the walls
are still there. You could use my hand, you don ' t trust your
own .

These structures are not fast enough, said the man with the
time dam in his head . We'll have to arrange to have speed in a
particular silence. No more plain lines. Central access to all
circuits. Tame the dogs and open all tomato cans. The Doctor
will soon be with us. Blame all coordinates. Open the main
spine at all points. The drain will be immediate, and total,
inward. At that momen t on Otherender Drive, the gates sprang

24
open, and goodbye to all chickens, the tramways to favor are
free. The people stopped and the autos opened all at once, free
treatments to all scripts, plot now remedied, Fire! The precise
ratio of nipple to circumference is . . .

Inside our life a largening death. You will see its seep come to
the surface, darkening the outlook. I tried to say as much to you
but the coffee cup kept stirring. Worlds as huge as glances slide
over our hours. You give me back so much of what I have taken
from you. Always a cracking of small lines in the surface. Visage,
treated as well as what can be neared. So I make n otes against
the swell of desire. Will, another matter. The penis asserts its
neck and you keep turning. A stronger light? The tension of the
lens between singed out to its edges against itself, in face of all
our learning.

Rectal aplomb in a dirge of severances. Three nuts plate their

drops in a dish, screwing lops into stew ground. I have to find,
level the barriers, replenish the top of the sky, enter the cunt of
my eye, retire the hide-bound returns. Every edge is roughened
in a soft hand. The birds report. The eyes flake back. It's
terrible. There's bread, and lung morass, the single most apt
threat in bored skein city. Lash my mast a last gash. I am losing,
as I'm writing, what? Toccatas, toccatas don 't bother me, I never
turn to listen. Their pipes were sex logs, iridescent standages
and sweat brough ts. The dogs whelms. Where is my last shred of
finger. Replace the glass tops that so whitely press your breasts,
there is morning and violently more.

I tell you all the time the things that would stop me. They will.
You wouldn ' t step back, would you to pluck and be me? I had
no notice then , no, nothing remnant or clothed I could eat,
drink, recoil from the rafters, unanswer the phone its coil.
Three things on the body that would repeat me, soundly thrill.

25
Three lights that bounce off the body play at darkness. Three
stuffed windows, giving on the heat a sort of bark on nothing
further there. You stand up for me now you stand me total. No
time to sum up, restyle the hand on the slant goes hum and
inner. Cen tcrs of body everywhere on that body. In. Down. I go
there, you coil from me, my stuffed center. Brass implacement,
draws from the fluids' thrash, pun t. Hand the breast. Count on
the n ipple's influent pit. Snipe at all times without the writing.

The body is large as the hand that hedges. The mammoth

insides practice drill. Moan over the music, you are stupid in a
line at the genius place. Slow as my spit over your dimple text,
the hours of the world cold in stone. The open place in the wall
that once had flame. The hold you tucked over me, nude
slicing in stable place a throning. You called me and I opened
to the center of hay ash bed. Slight muddle sapphire in delayed
attention of desire. Desire cables, desire stalkings, desire in a
load of camphor strewn veily and hand-coiled. The anointment
is loosening and shied through the fuck standing till and dull.

I wan t it all direct and still as an absolute scream, standing

scream.

Why do I not get to the heart of the matter? Because the heart,
if there is one, is on e helplessly divided .

Naked so close to named among the keys.

26
 II

Heart rates are an allowance of fuck you have to tell.

You put the cap on the tendency, tendons to gristle in the
lonely spit, I too a barrier fueled and tied. Can you see me? Can
you snatch barrier from weighted barrier? How allow when
when is settling? Go away suddenly to a partly fine alignment of
whelms to wheat, and neater than an eatment fuck. Twenty
syllabary standages over dry equals snuck away and told? Parry
with a Lee Konitz nozzle? I raise your arm, you do not assign i t.
The man with one arm raised browns in the pit. He is alarm.
He is nine times the sum of your wants. But he does not. I
always will do, will await your shortening.

Lee Vadose the name of the man with numberless cocks arrayed
from his spine. Stop this arrangement? Be a friend to man. Not
nicking saviours, not penalty for nights so late and fried. I tried
to see him. She tried to see and reach him. He saw her hand
and that far enough it did it. She calls you out and you go and
snow. And the man with the weighted cap smiles and doubts.
She rushes his twine, her belt a wet of wrist. I have to have her.
She has to have. There are positions in the night in the light of
the stayed night. There are she, you, and he. That I make
beckon in this here absence, a hover on a multi. She wears
muffs, or is that a he in salts. The faults in this castle allow the
many fuck. The whole hall of wind and the cambered toes. The
smile of smell and the avenues. Concertina landing, propellers
singling. She is the last place one would die. She arranges cunt
so an eye. She is total and covered and landing, a fur to twin
her stance, molecular topiary. Give me a friend. Gave out on
me, a girl with lessons. Pretend you start out in a park and land,
telling leafage over pour penis. The nine girls ask a fin. It cu ts.
He then lands. He has store of tales, a stone from the ancien t
necessity. They carve it all on walls, wait until the ochre dulls

27
the light. I am high and then gaunt the easy way. I n ever lie
and go away to sea. She is never but with me she lies. Over the
bounding cover the mates shell and ask. Hand in vagina lost.
Crown of teeth seethe and hiss. He is late. She is the earliest. I
have lost, she says it is said he says of me. The print at the
crotch is not fast enough. Caves dry out. Under the moat a foot
up or so the cash line begins. Who is a berry crusader? Who has
the halting tell to and gates a frame of fucking mates of them? I
am alarm, I raise the throttled gate and shout and in fucking to
the rims harm. The haven is a stirring night noun. And the
backwards too have beckons. Charming weapons.

She is the gas to have. How say you that I side with you? Where
is your every arm stayed in styler blaze? Go snap. Take off
insect-rapid, told-vivid, then loom back. I set a stream down
your back, I come back. Nine ridges below the sun in a storm
that shot the trees I become you in rapid snack of your
becoming. You look well in a frock. I take that all back under
the street and say to you: A New Tack. The street here I say is a
caught mile of beneath. The ramp after-lights boned in the sum
of shot arm vacancy. You wrap me and I come collision bold in
a sun made dingle of the buttery blades. Candy, marks of the
arm in carny. All the selfish rhymes, you fuck with a barter
knife. I singe you new hair piece. I send you wand. I buck the
bulk of softish sky. You bend my eye, back over hulk of blade
fatty. We all now go away then I contain in my bleary vacuum.

Conception of bones, teeth, joints, tents, gulfs, gasps, the

phantom stain on the housing of the body toad. Wet in witless
blossoms, or do they use us in our hot blight to scour up some
wits? I see you raced in amber by a cow. Under the fen der is a
sound, a hole in a noun , a new placement for the strung cock.
It bleeds in the house of green leaves then leaves will toll, be
told, scream down the rips of our bounder sound. Hold my

28
bed, you tool of National Embolism. This is an account of the
time I, we, dates of fucking lodge in a line. The flag is on the
hire, the gag that chewed comes fire. Go me one better in this
wheat of damned sen tence structure, the only structure, the
cock and cunt band trying rational joins erasable at the
channel. I am similar to you, in fact I am to the panting same.
We march the place all out in bed as we fuck, banners
stemming, streets to the sides all washed in jam. Stock more
toes, remember. Aisle your shoes at the last. Ask me to ask the
baiters, they all will tell. A maivel and particular fuck that
involves the small.

The odor was raised, written out, forgetted. I become sawyer of

the head. The rest of the salted dots are dead, overwhelmed in
weighted bed sleep. I take care at your knees, so shined they are
sharp. Tell me the loathe of your hidings, source over source of
leveled lashings that shall coil my will to very snail of desire cog.
All of your story is a mirror of hissings at the clamps held
barrier flesh. Your heat flesh, your stung hands that stung mine.
I go back, you right yourself up and stand me a fuck no hapless
fader would trade. Found wounds, we spend afternoons. A
snore that is solid and is licked. Centers of rooms all the dial of
our minds it takes to get off. Go station and feel your self. Get
ticket to banana your crack. Tell whole loads of smart course
gone flesh. Your background toll will mend your back, I lick in
a stein of wind off the ossuaries. No one will en ter my vacuum
to tell this afternoon .

The rates are not high enough on the thigh. As we wait here
and soon will enter ourselves into his hands, Doctor Necessiter.
He opens flaps and bows in the lemon doorway. He will laugh
in his steely haste and soundly align us. He will place our limbs
finally tooled to a vastness, all ( down the line oO fucks to wait
on this. On him rises the vacuum of haste, desire in his eyes so

29
huge to the touch so waste to the blame. He steps here, in ,
midsts accompany. He is director of all stary company. See him
straighten as he whims his vends. I'd have called him sooner if
you'd capped that last fuck. We greet him to the, teeth, n ude
with eyelet. Neat how his frog deposit waistcoat. You or I the
first to bevel with him? He nods the oak posts past as he passes
the pinking wine. All dirigible of eyes, he coins new limbs of us
as we watch. Then he inserts us and there is time.

How much the blending of us in this carey couch? How many

eyes over your belly blind the tide? There be bones in the
estuary, nine lemon pips in the slice that throbs. Cancel other
stamps that threaten us. The roof removes on a pall of
whiteslide sun and the apparents bend to haul whirs and chirp
in . My eye is in your tongue, your beam seeks waters at my
basement side. I allow your eye mere flick of sun before I
plunge, and at the end of bricks you lock. Then am I strong
and caught. But only then does he loom over us.

I see your, whatever will you say of it and at the time?

In drill of single pounce the day the sun dice, the flick the tent
backs on back shorn angry of barrier, solid and instan t. It is
necessary of desire to say in utter instan t. When the light of day
I gag you with the cock to tell of it, then and only or the blast is
clogged, the wheat so left on hold will not tell . I say you when
you, and other wetted coining carriers. Thrash that loaf into
me, you stary aisler. Sl ice my meat at your thong and cry
accompaniment, shrill abutmen t, the riddled tell of the
en trance beam. I have caught you out in a lie, I sametime carry
it all to you. You are a thought threat, and radium damps in the
dreams below the throated delves. That I come with you in
attack, that it is thus said and plain as sweated placement, one
beveled pavemen t, that the rinse is on the rise and I the one

30
that utters the utter you in drome of nothing. Or is the massed
fuck a toll of relentings, at last the charm come loose?

Say to me how it. Arm speaking hands, cock utter time in tire,
bellies glossing what only the moist wrists can tell. Is all this? Say
your hand to my cock in a blemish routish. File down my
mind's shies and complete the mate in copious shorn divide,
strain and entreaty. All of the worlds grace our glands, mock of
our soil only hands. In twain the glitter sends, sands out oils at
the sound of race and that the eels there fuck. We see. And in
seen dream we store whole shots to come. The angle of the
creasy light in a platinum slice peels sucks from our lips each.
Then cathedral we are dreaming death, dreaming one,
dreaming the fractions that totalling amber. I say I have said
here, you will say I.

The narrative of the fuck lacks the friction for pipe-in-tube style.
And the harm and blame words wan t out. The future is a
condition , and conditions we have left off touching. The fuck is
convenience, and convenings are telling. What is shrilled in hot
will not be written back. Conjunctions of flesh at any hip, say,
hold the terms of story. I ant to you so, the better to utter. And
the continual of a leaving off, the smirch on these pages. All of
a can-I-say-this coming to terms. And inroads so eventually
stalling, and in middle meter, that a rate of awe is made up. As
if couches all along both lengths of an avenue made the color
of my count. And we are shorter than our cun ts.

An ice of wine strength in join of glands, a weighted strain of

cold heat the connections. I don ' t know this and I do it and you
ask me, open it. There is nothing. Then limbs. The incrustable
crab. Launchers with nothing. An endless shore. You snake ou t
a hand. I am glad to have you. Back. Sides at crucial angles, and
from them. The amount that the finger goes in, and out when

31
removed. My eye seen in the wall, and what remains when that
wall is closed. I have seen you in the papers. You crawl at my
command. You lift one shank. Your bulk. What passes between
the bodies barely touching. The place finally found out where
solid enough facts do weave in wind. A faulty plateau. The
constant ticking nearness of waters at every margin of the
Sahara. Or her name was Sarah. Or my finger would not seem
to come away. Or I couldn ' t longer see you, we closed so much.
Or just my type of dress. Or the dresser we lifted through the
window that day the light didn 't come. Or my handwriting
faded. Letters lost in space. Fron ting casemen ts, joining nipples.
The friction of unlike substance, of almost the same flesh. Press
of fine length at point of hands. Fucking in the place of
countless elections.

He fronted me and I removed a breast. The dress so long I

couldn ' t believe it. I salted my thighs through blush of opening.
The normal windows, ones with terminus, braved us out, made
us skinny and think. Your dress that day was mon k. I thought
you would have me soil the mink on e minute, the next describe
my intentions on the phone. The man by the post with sticky
hands, his tongue frozen to the pump in win ter, drunken. I had
taken out the cunt, my novel nearly complete. Slithery over the
mounds, mine, with the red ends to the ribbon tied and my
replacement of your heart with a pump. My slight limp always
after fucking the longer. My grope for the lemon. Expression of
n uclear fission, static gold wand. I get to close in on what I
need, always exactly but only the entrance repeat. Sign
announcing the inflation of leather gloves. Your cock loose in
my hand under the dress near the join of rubber to the V of
skin. The unimportan t position when the writer comes in. And
you stab at my frame.

32
Nine times the connection was made. All in the sun on one full
day, afternoon of head below my gaze, and the one gunshot
going off over the powder hill. No one announces at the odor
of ants but we do it in the midst of our fuck. Dial down the
lights and squint. I scrawl over, bed down and lick your n ape
just how, just so under the wisps. The cardigan over the level
nipples. Body of flesh to have for your life. And rumination,
savagery in place of study, nude in truck perform the signing
function. I tum your bed, powder the wall just above, and then
you suck me in. I could agree to do it tuesday, red muff, parade
candles, box shutter and all. The shot removed my fear, but not
my fear of being taken. I was near enough to you to feel your
position jostle. We shook as on a trestle. Then you handed me
the form announcing my friendliness to the waiting whole
watching world.

I have lost her name, I have lost the possibility seashell. Then it
comes to me that she. I, I don't have one either. One of the l's
its that is she or he. The one that doubles itself constantly, self
being the pit, the date in several figures. The one that is never
but one, the traveler. And the one of the story of the making of
the book called The Main Squeeze. That once she walked into
the room, the one above me, and does that now. Time goes
lacking in the rain . The one that doesn ' t occur to me at the
time. Open the store by stirring the grounds. Take her fingers
in to your hole. Melange lessons lesions that cure dailiness into
the Great Hap.

Do you sec, do you think? I had the better thought of it at the

time, not later. Seen your skin, and just where. Close to switch
on the light, darn the sock, implan t the wires. You had the
notion of long between the legs entertained. But nearly
everything a commencement. A concerted effluent, longhorn
bulk in panel truck, seated under candied gelignite, sonata by

33
Purcell. But is there a passage you never install? Seated carrier,
nod and flexing. The monk does throttle under his skirt, and
tense tan rings the image of the cautious lord in horror of
terminant control. Thinking to see he turned each eyeball to
press an equal nipple.

The nipple standing out on a weighted breast is nothing but

alien . In the room where the dulls rule as ovals in a plain
forenoon. Unfamiliar oils on the shell of an onyx vial placed
above and to the left of the pallet, polished space for residues
there, flatnesses are waiting. What I have seen is all right. And if
I did not know about it, so what? The plan of the skull takes not
so easy to the softer hemispheres. The only use of the partial
mind. The et cetera used to drill or close up the well? The
obsession always, say, one inch away from the object. The sun
on a dime. And we go away, we go. Away and come back being
frontal placements only. I could carry you, I could care for your
appearance. And it's always night or we wouldn't need light.
Songs veering from the tongue. I see it in there, your choral
emergence will never light and is not to be wrested out. You lie
back. I tell the time. And at this time my memory snaps. Drill
the bed to the stone of its fucking care. And light my tips at
what stand out on yours.

What if dimly beneath the scab you could see the bug that had
caused the wound. I don 't escape this either, listener to the
death . Crawled under the couch, a cat after. You don ' t seem to
realize that I. I was out or I would have called you. The master
of the wound theory of sexual practi tion , he moves in next to
you, large flabby thighs, head like a case, mysterious harmonica
champion, lacer of the deadly toads to trunks. He has seen what
he would want everywhere and makes this known abroad. Time
server, man no one would gladly greet but plain ly and
eventually would suffer. I sat next to him on the train and

34
occasionally peered. He was nice. He had a rock. I had a carrier
placed within my reach. We were travelers together, that's all.
I 'll admit to an occasional bruise, but hidden. Both of us in the
middle of our journey. The light was going as we smiled, each
to each. It was for the same parcel that we reached. Knocking
sound heard by all in tunnel. And somewhere down the car the
question of rotting apples was raised. I would tell you how I
managed to survive, but those details are not clear. My whole
torso eventually covered with them. The body I do nothing
anymore but view.

The woman 's body curves in a list from bunk to tree. Her head
comes off at the parent, and she returns to the nature of held
straightenings. I have lost this in the corridor but I did hear its
clatter. In falling she has damaged nothing beyond its fucking
use. The head proceeds to the hard object, barrier to brains or
bread, uneven angle that hatches a parable of thrashings,
interminable lead to all those sights that mar us to beauty. The
philosophy of the fucking chamber is an ultimate fluidity of the
several adhered to the one. And I would ship you that glue. Her
head is moving in concerted wobbles, the music of heedless
pitches, beyond worry no one is sorry. Her eyes asunder roll
until the whites are a settling of oceans. Beyond will is a flat
flask, no less fluid for the pressing, her head to an absolute
barrier, the wall with the paper of pictures of rolling heads,
detached eyes. Hardy, beady, and well ahead of us all. Natures
of us based on flakings that melt before swaying optics. The
woman' s head is blurring, she is so close to being our object,
mine in bonds.

So I couldn ' t imagine anything further than wet lashes.

Uncon trollable arm loads of loose eyes, flesh threads, streaming
gashes to the top of the ravine's sides. She was seen to be
crawlin g up there, but the sands would always vent her

35
downward to me in my strains of reach. To be able to pay for
all this in desire I would have to stand to my eyeballs and tear
downward. The strain of reach is like to a will of desire. The
terms must change, as the body of the loved must never. I could
see her only if I could never reach her. Desire is always the
deterioration of will . Her head in its hairs' grasp, no part of it
to ever snap, how crystal could this considerably be? On an
endless night with the afternoon before me I turn in the circle
of my hand's eye and care for the disaster of lain limbs. Eye on
the fuck in the data spread. And the world's severals to be
consumed in the single body on that light' s floor.

The project perhaps is to draw the fluid from the body.

Take it down a little at sundown, technician adjusting lens
structure. She plays with me. The next thing to come is
unknown, and will stay so. Her fingers but not her palm pressed
against the bricks of a wall. Summertime is not conducive to
fucking. Rather the colder months will display us more clearly.
My finger passing through the lens or screen perceives a
wetness. Pass down, body parts, through the floor by the bed
equally. Her fresco, observed from above, con tained an
amazingly fresh sequence of bodily parts in the act of piercing
objects of all sorts. Next we will complain again about the
conditions. I ask her to place. She urges me to slightly shift.
The owl at the bottom of the well is on my mind through these
sequences. Hands moving over other skin according to strange
stains. Beethoven led him to the picture. Fucking in the wrong
sea and turning out brightly. The Story of 0 mapped according
to certain creases. Display your nipples. Bend your trunk back
exposing your lips. And we sing as we slide off and we compare
hairs.

Do you want to fuck me?

I want to see you.

36
Here are my breasts you seemed to want.
I want to follow the progress of their relative weights.
The tongs of flesh are on my mind. Today I wet my body and I
did not brush it off. Today I turned inside out in your arms. All
of our surfaces are harming. Lead through a slot poured, a
tube, a radial emplacement, a gushing of excess parts. The
moon hangs over the tip of my cock, urging semblances and
tearing cartoons. Blown up with the body's air it seemed. You
waited since you wanted me quiet. Still the mode of fucking to
arrive. To fuck is a move. And then I make you up again out of
stone in my mouth. And then I need to fuck down into you.
You will seal me and then I will speak, show nothing but words.

The breast is popular because revealed things must first be

hidden. Why, what have you hidden in meaning this? The fact
of having fuck always in your background? Then must you
needs be gingerly, indirection always a later angle of the beam?
The breakup of what statement has left us? Cock goes where
after all? Forefron ting of some sort of use takes words out of the
picture? Why all these questions, and where are they? Fucking is
one con tinual asking? The breast on the pillow becomes
revealed, thoughts must first be leaden? Or I have not imagined
beyond the touch.

When the money comes, everyone helplessly opens. The

wallpaper's pictures may warm in the afternoon . The novel you
were reading nude is abandoned unfinished. And how did that
harm come to your arm? Night, and i ts various tubular failures.
The payoff would have to be here in this language. The
banknotes left under the thigh in place of the stick. Then in my
upholstering failure I did not listen to the music. And the
wallpaper's galleon flowers were not noted. A shout in the
bourse. A history of literature.

37
And the overly inside pieces. The napes, traced dulls, anti­
settings, gold where lead will be. An arm left to its own motion
in mind. Scatters of preening on a partially mirrored wall,
shelves next to window alcove. I had nine failures yesterday,
today I will have one. And will you take me, and how will you.
The instruction, coming late, will be to stand and fuck. Trace
the lights behind the heavy lids. Coming back to me now, all
these seizing things, the ovular ante is matting in. Short magic,
pissing on lumps. View the flooring, samples that abut. I never
lose the use of the things I would leave. Things in whatever
person. Radiator that stopped singing. The moon where the sun
should be, the moon opposite, a moon seen canceling over our
hungriness. The brighter failures, the knots in twine, the make­
up of the Christ of an arm. He passed her the cigarettes, the
bullets, the spacings. Nothing should end this. Nothing stops.

On the side of the hill there are nothing, and where is the
shoulder's hat? I served in a duty squad then and washed out
the interior of a windtunnel once, then painted it. He had
never painted anything before he painted me. Short cut
emissions surrounded by empty hallway. The third cord on your
shirt is cut badly, you needed aid walking by the stairs. A mirror
to support your breasts. Notches in a board 's edge, what usage?
After you come, immediately I will fire the gun. Polished
windows, talk inside. There are nothing and later you will come,
maybe myself as coming with you. Whatever it is we will stretch.
We will n ame the very thing, once needed but not known. A
black bear is crossing the road. All of us have, occasionally,
disappeared. All the wetted points of view.

The fragmentary onion had for lunch . Then as if you had once,
you will approach the bench. Hallway empty of all but prong.
Glass and marble vantages, the hollow held up to the work. In
the yard grass, sneeze, and beckons. Luminary topography in

38
lapidary felt. The tits came off best. The bird strode back in. I
had only half seen you, after-image shake of message blouse,
hand dangle past rose. You would attempt to catalog it, that fire
at the number of failures. Scratch my back shack and anise
plant. Shine of liars all over the dwindlement. Can you see your
way clear to come over later, from across this room? Wires
mangle the frontal in tentions, sex is always backward. Inside up
and ground frayed. The meter was sticking but they plowed
ahead. I had your head in it and we stormed the bed.

The dream I cannot again view, in which the body is put on the
fire, was it mine, or yours? I go haunted everywhere by
incomplete episodes. But are these in fact helplessly beside the
point, the main action even more shadowed? And thought, even
more hidden beside the fact? So the actual points of touch
remain even more ungraspable, comparable to death? Left with
an imagination only of the corner where the lovers used to
meet, where the things remain, everything else going on
without them. Death is the world without you.

It's unreasonable for you to see me and not touch me. Yes, and
I do it, do it and do i t the more. A vain but vast pressure is
building up. Your image gas has the force of a tiny huge. Insects
are crawling around its margin, iron flakes lining up to score it,
a heavy field of the innumerable insubstantial. Even this
handwriting becomes part of the activity at your outline. I never
thought about this in school, I just wanted to feel the fucking
energy, motion, impossibility. The guns all fire tiny red marks
onto the body, only later do you die without a scratch. She
flicks the red dots off the clothing with a fingertip. The absent
aspect of an act, so much rushes in to fill it. Later, not quite a
n oun.

39
In every way a room, but could I describe i t, ride aroun d its
edges, never quite pushing through the perimeter wherein we
spent so many fucking afternoons. Terrible picture of all the
words waiting relentlessly outside. What after all: is the activity of
telling beyond the fate of act? A feeling as if I had only heard
about the teeming presence of my own life. And is your fucking
a telling? Everywhere wandered around in here while we were
doing it. But we hardly noticed, we were too palmed into our
past decide. Will you tell me about it while we are doing it? Will
you find yourself able to tell what we were doing while we are
doing a thing similar? Can you relate to me . . . . Will you say
everything you can recall from it, the act of saying of a fucking
previous in a fucking present? And then you put your . . . and I
lifted my . . . . And then I came, and then you came, and then
will we come? Or are these only as thoughts of a room, its light
and walls?

Just what tense here? And then you put your . . . and I lift
my . . . ? And then you do what you say you do, and say what I
then do, then I do what you say I will do did do, you saying all
this while yet to do more. Coming to the Lift Place, coming to
the shortened form you. Enabling of you, telling I. The I you
say that I do. The you as if I an d the you in meet of same,
together another. The insane ramping of all this. I you and it
slammed in thongs, thought up into a gate, thoughts left to all
the players' sides. I with you, up against and charming, over
again and downing. The light comes up in the room and we
steer. All sound down, abatement of flaunts. The I and you shed
showing numberless.

I thought about becoming a nymphomaniac but I couldn't

dream about it. I tried to lie down once in a while and steer the
light. It wouldn ' t work. What is all this "dnt"? They leave them
on the sides of things, all white with letters, times, threats.

40
Nobody wanted me for later. They all said "Now! " It was all over
in a flash, a flash of props and deliveries and self-incrimin ations
and styles of dress and pot and quims, and haste. I could tell
you . . . . I could tell· you stories but they'd probably all add up
anyway. Who needs? The walls began to interchange, the storm
out there off the wharves to build. In the book it told the
ending but I had forgotten. I had remembered to bring my
heaviest bags, especially the '1ump suitcase. " It contained the
measured contents of all my previous and scanty dwellings.
Some things could eternally make you sad, but most of these
herein didn ' t. I adjusted my bra sitting on a pile of coconuts
and planned my retreat. It would come in August when the
Buddhists rise and leave for Lake Louise. No one ever returns
from one of those. I couldn ' t wait. I lifted my dress, fingertips
poised, and couldn ' t stop the dreams long enough.

The feast of particular things is not helping me. I want to snow.

I want to "sell you on " my ideas (whatever that means) . Some
schools I wen t to didn ' t want me in them. I had to stay outside
and pay rent. This is not the way the world should treat its
murderers. I'd like to give you a lesson. Untie your straps. Let
me see that top book. Hmmm, The Measuring of the
Undergarment by Captain Frisbee. That one's not in my
experience, meaning that I already know all too much about i t.
What else? Popular Dimes by the Crew at Dan te's. Nothing
there. The bottom one is showing now. It's blue and has an
orange rim. No title. No author. Then this is one that you and I
could write, or read. It tells us to tell this story. Once there was
a small man who lived in a big city. He wanted things so he
Went out and got them. He got a lot of them and became
dissatisfied. But he lived in a very large house so it wasn ' t too
bad yet. This is already boring. Tell me about yourself. I ' m a
blameless person. Once I get laid I go directly to sleep. But I
don 't like to sleep with anyone. There is not much in that, I

41
agree, Goodbye. This is how the world goes, my walking away
from you down a stony road. Signs could be described here,
and buildings with n eon tubes tacked any-old-way to the
facades, but they wouldn 't hold. Time enough to lock up and
leave. Finish reading books, learn life stories and forget them,
unhook things and look beneath them. Soon I will go forth or
back, to the store, to school, to mysterious caves, to a large
foreign city. I will not be able to speak there, I will not be able
to leave there. Give me your name. It may aid me with the
input, the target.

I don ' t know what to tell you. I don 't know what to say to you. I
don 't know how to hook the words. I wouldn ' t even if you
believed me. I'd have to go backwards all the time. To far
woods, to battle fires, to slabby whore emplacements. You
understand but you don ' t understand me. I could tell you
everything, nothing, interesting things, dullish things, no
matter, it all matters. You still wouldn ' t and I wouldn ' t either.
I ' d have to make up an explanation, a digression, three roads
all lead differen tly. Stand close over here by my right elbow. I
promise not to move, or tell you my life history. I was once as
interested in you as you are in no one. Now all I want you to do
is tell. Wherever there is then no possibility of stopping.
Whatever, I expect all this listening to fill me. No matter. I am
the man or the woman here.

It thunders and I don ' t understand anything. Lightning. Then

thunder. Rain all over. No silence in between , quite. The lights
go out. The lights don 't go out. I am afraid. I am pleased. The
lightning is calm but everything surrounding it is turned into
turmoil. Lights in the night, in the sky, in the overhead
surround. What kind of shadows does ligh tning throw?
Everybody waited for whatever would happen, and it did, and
they knew no more than they did before. Book of Ignorance.

42
Book of Fire. Fucking under the lightning. Fucking in lightning.
Body halo, parts of St. Elmo. We go down always in excess light.
Lightning is excess light fixed down into a pencil stroke. Our
clothes are on fire. Bodies look cold and blue-white. It' s as if it's
no longer night, for a second, for a further second. We forget
about fucking while we're fucking. The rooves and walls come
around again. The floor is a lace of tiny trains. Your eyes are
bums. Nipples transparent wires. I have to say things it's
impossible for me to say. I don 't do i t anyway. Then it's all far
away rumbles and stickies of rain , the next one coming. And
instead of lying we roar.

The making of things out when you finally see cock and cunt
come together. The words seeming never to explain us to
ourselves but only in a distorted way to another. Her room was
green. An orange chair there. She opened her legs sitting down .
Are these all things I think? I am walking backwards in to a sex
scene dreaming of being penetrated. My hands press my penis
and balls out of sight between my thighs and I am confronted.
Nothing lives inside another. The mind does not think of itself
as inside the body. That is a sort of sentence, life dwindling
away in the orange light. Do you ask how possessed I am? The
writing of it all presses everything down into a past to keep it
past. The room will always be exactly nextdoor and can be
lighted at will. Long thighs, small breasts. Long thoughts, short
of breath. When you can only see me dimly and so strongly
desire me. A fuck stopped at the thrust.

So what. None of this is so novel . Hand me over, apparently.

Erase what is here. I 've been told that I have no imagination,
and now I tell myself that I have no memory either. So what am
I writing on? I tell myself the present. But as I grow older those
memory images come through more strongly, frequen t and
elaborate. But I don 't write them because I have no power of

43
description either! What is this? Night. A night of words. A
night of words is presence. The danger then is of turning all
this into an explanation of why I don 't have things. A present
that becomes an apology for having no past. And so sex rushes
in , for sex is so present that it is practically death.

44
 III

In the room that is all I have left but is bordered on two sides
opposite with other rooms I have no access to I find myself
alone and these things happen. A silver ring falls from the
ceiling, hits perfectly on i ts side and rolls straight to the wall
that seals one of the adjoining chambers, strikes this wall and
falls down , silence. I have not only imagin ed this happening, I
have partially stolen it. A book I once read comes to mind, in
which an insanely repetitive list of all imaginable sexual
inventions is enclosed. Bodies in all possible positions and
combinations. And in this book one of the kept heroines has a
ring through her "nether lips. " She rolls on the floor in an
agony of delight, thrashes in an orange light rimmed with pale
blue. Everything in the foreground is backlit to a most violent
blackness. You never see the face of the one who throttles you.
Even eyes do not glint in this void. Silence is leaden.

Only a certain type of glue would save you, but the secrets of
this substance are hidden in the words of books of an
imponderable sentiment. You will read them through anyway
and you will not reach the secrets. You will take out your penis
instead. "Take out" is a strange and funny, and cruel and
incorrect, term for this act, as if you and your penis would go
for a walk together in the sun in a park among many delights
and questioning faces. They all quite clearly see you and your
penis striding in the sunlight hand in hand or arm in arm and
wonder at this display, and some laugh, but most frown and
soon will forget they ever saw you. It is the ones who laugh that
most seriously question you and your penis. One even walks
right up to the two of you, stops right in your face and says in a
voice distinct enough for all to hear even in the high wind that
has meanwhile come up tossing leaves and dog chains, What do
you and your penis think you are doing out here together in

45
the glare of all the humanity you could ever wish to apologize
and feel responsible to? It is obvious that you will have to go
away on the momen t, in a rush withou t forethought and to a
land where penises can never be stirred to such escapades but
only grow in the ground responsive to the mysterious tides of
moons and stars. For glue is all too human an invention and
the secrets of its composi tion have been lost in only the most
popular relations of love.

So formal it makes me puke, so formal it gets me hot. The land

from the back of the barn descends to the sea margin and no
one goes there but a few black and white cows. The lunch was
on celery only. Three powder blue ties dimly reflect in the black
glass at the back of the display window. I remove my arm from
your arm. All these things. All these rehearsals. All these final
acts. The world is so formal it makes me rise, the world so
formal that it makes me leave.

It doesn 't understand us but bugs around. The world in chains

of i ts own solution. An ovular yellow, polished and prim. Crystal
vases filled with crystal flowers. No music, but a soft air in slight
but con tinuous movement. Tiny flames. She bends over and
stokes the back of my right hand with her left nipple. This
precision , almost surgical, deft and yet somehow casual.
Preparations, always composed of several. She is naked and I am
not. I do not look at her.

Broken eye sights, enameled bottles loose in the sea. I scan and
do not look up. I am at night, I am winter, and I trouble you
for your sexual portions. The cover of the chest sticks, it will not
open to me or to you. The man laughs and reaches inside for
his organ. The parts are wholes, bu t the wholes do n ot seem to
make up into one overall whole. I slip between your dress and
the wall. Hammering on the roof. Cutting down on , heaping up

46
from lots of tinies. The last thing you said to me was . . .
before . . . . Then your blouse is loosened and your breasts can ' t
quite decide o n their positions.

Nothing was branded, for me but you.

Nothing lasted, tangled, until the end.
I came forth, and you behind.
The win d the lash, empty at the end of our story.

Who has fathered forth the cruelty of numbers in desire?

The crux of desire, a show of the many held in
plan of the many. A circle of diamonds
in the shallow sod. A tongue tireless in its
sheathing. A sun would not descend on this display.

Held by whatever I had said, you

strained to escape into my plan .
Orifices locked, the diagram is simple, endless.
But the story, to grow greatest heat, must be cut off
well before its conclusion .

Moralism is a word from a vocabulary that I n ever use.

What is known but a choice between good and bad, choices
between eternally varying goods and bads? And the
man who holds to one over his whole life, he is the moralist?
holding, holding till his ink freezes over in its jar. Sade
was not a moralist, others have overturned that word 's vocabulary
upon him. And so much later. He was a diver.

Do you see those words? I want you to know them. I put them
up there for you, above the bedboard, in an ink that tears
the plaster. Burn them into your brain 's tissue, that I would
never have to remind you . No one uses them. You are never

47
to speak them. They are to keep you always from the world of
others.

Do you know anything?

I know things.
Do you have them?
I don ' t remember them.
But you do.
I don ' t know them.
Where are these things?
They are apparent.
I don ' t know them.
You haven ' t seen them.
They are there, in your vision.
They must be shaded.
I 've forgotten . I 've forgotten which one I am.
You are the one beside me.
With the things.
With things you have forgotten.
I know, I left them when I learned.
Learned what?
To stand, just out of the light from the window.
It's not possible to remember which.
It's a very present one.
The one over there?
The one by me.
Which one is yours?

The compound of putting you together with my cock.

Launched at first with certain tunes, chaotics. The friend who
has seen you and then denies that meeting. That elbow that
accompanied you and your handbag to the comer. Your eyes,
one of which is not quite. Hidden breasts, excepting the swell,
continually here hidden breasts. The ink that your painter

48
 wi
frie nd sh akes onto the docket th whiirbrush. The tendency
you have to wait until all hands are ready before making your
pl ay. Tu e voic e box, hidden apparently. The whole system of
publ ic systems, rented out for an afternoon or a carlot.
Nu mb ers on your tie, a phone n umber or a clue to nowhere.
Con tents, never singular, as there is never only one form.
Pre posi tion s that hang at your lip edge. The recipe for sound
and image. And that truck that would only load your words. I
have put these together without you. Then I have awaited your
very passage.

The picture one has of everything is not the picture of things. Is

it the busted shape of one's own power? Or a scrap tacked to a
wall over the bed or working table? Mine in all its sweeping
neglects. I am right here. I look up and expect to see through
the ceiling the people of the fu ture. I expect to draw a line that
will only end at my death. The sheen of a penis between teeth.
The "among" is what is hard to grasp. How I stand with you.
The very nakedness of size. I have found things that would awe
you but connect not at all with your life. We go on to the n ext.
I want so much that you would instan tly fuck into my any and
all fascinations. You stand down off that raised board and erase
my drawing. You have come up again and again in my speech.
And that lightbulb in the raw ceiling hovers in my dream like
my dream over all the possible dreams to con trol you. Our sex
performed on only one strut of the craft. Outside and beneath
are all the lands spaced by hums, a total cereal. The morning
currents so hard to stick by.

The fucking guy showed up again. He had an apparent religion ,

his stick. We were caught by this shiny black object, length,
�bstruct, tenemen tary bar, median for the course. He stopped
m the room and lined things up, the stick with things that is.
We Watched this beveling activity, anxious that he would kink

49
and drop things on us. Dream of a burst ceiling bulb peppering
the gels of an eye. On one wall in letters of gold lay our lists of
desire, but he paid these no attention. The lateralness of cold
became a definition we couldn ' t squint away. Obnoxious, he
still had strongly to do with all this. As if fucking be poised in
one body with appendage.

I didn 't know where to get any of that and I came back. We' d
hung out with little kids while preten ding our name was "Ox." I
had read the book where the little girl turned in to things. I
wondered just where I could get the juice in tiny wooden
bottles. Only in that way could I. So could you have too. But
neither of us knew where so we came home. Nights were
waiting for us, walls in scribed with fountains of jet. Leap-frog
lingerie. No one stopped us from trying to excite through
win dows others in near apartmen ts. New York City was just an
aisle and then another aisle then . Troopers on the moon.
Amber lighted laboratories instead of schools all around. Shades
where we gathered speech. Speech that refused to penetrate as
far as anyone. We tried out and didn ' t come back. And then we
did. It was tiring. Only sex wasn 't. "Don 't tire me out, I h ave to
get up early in the morning" wasn 't in our vocabulary. The
older we were the thinner we got. Nobody had or gave lessons.
Things like music and pins. We bent over and once something
came through. I could even allow him to stand on me,
straighten my breasts. It caught us like a lock that won 't give.
Immeasurably in front of us and incapable of wish. So
eventually even the trees gave way and we began to love the
unhindered darkness.

The tree is too straigh t, it doesn ' t have a hat. The ones who live
in series have lost their coun t. The space of everything is
endless. Are there things anymore? I have lost the doorway to
my house somewhere along. Everybody giving back to me the

50
story of th eir story. The doors of the Food Arms never close.
An d I do have to see you somewhere, don ' t I, later?

Empty space (Is there any other sort?) is impossible ( hard) to

photograph. She knew this, had found it out, and fucked more
rapidly ( and oftener) as a result. In space there is no resul t.
Infinity should shore one up. The camera glowed in her hand
(stopped in time) . The time it takes to cross space ( take it in)
cannot be stopped ( caught) . There was a laugh in the hallway
and suddenly no one had known her.

I was sitting so far apart from her that to understand her was all
I could do. Do not proceed to the door. Does anyone figure the
trees while sitting inside setting the words? The words are not
space. My hand is what with its pen? Nothing between my legs
but a sex and space. The rhyme does not log any minutes. It is
a space insisted. In this room everyone bulges away from the
camera. Whose fault is all this rustling edge? Nine times I said
to her, Nine times will cure your fault. It will curl in to a marvel
of delirium. Bright and edged and salted and a sort of part of
your next bordering fucking nightmare. Three women in the
same chair.

I can ' t think about what I think, loss of ready memory. Piercings
precise as forgettable as your own talen t. I could take you along
with me down there but it would do no good. What things you
would see there . Lights in back of heads, perfect pencil flights
be trayed. Perfe ct bending stalks glazed in winds of breath. You
apply gummed stars and moons and flakes to your chest and
? re asts . Shaken. Bold and bended. Bowed and left. Empty lights
�
1� t e dream shadows of fucking and tearing. Leg in the way,
n p I t out. List of stations on the way to
the cun t. I lick your
starin g eyes, never
their lids. You are crying in my dream and I
m ake to stop you
with a whistle, crying in . Stopping the window

51
from imagining us. And then ( now) I don't know when to stop
anything.

The cigarettes come precious and nobody has any left and my
hairs are falling out. Liars to my collection allow me freedom.
They are stopping in with pictures, troubles at the edges of
being and the world. The world of time that space keeps
hindering. Ice viewing pressure with a blanket. Tits above your
eyeballs grown into your scalp. You turn in a fit and squeeze the
windows dry. We don 't go together but keep emerging from
each other. Writing is not fast enough to emerge from space.
My hand should turn a gate. Your eyeballs should be nipples. I
should scrape this page clean and declare (prepare) nothing. A
stack of parentheses on the hallway table refusing access.

Take off your lips. This is a take-off on lips. An entrance to the

avenue of wooden (woolen) snails. A car park lit with barn
lights. A puzzle. A n oodle on licorice stick. A where do we go
when we get back from there, anywhere at all but precisely
several. Nods come here and stanching thighs. She loved the
way the blood would flow and warm and stream down. These
were her years, these sticking seconds. Thirds, and in minor,
and relaxed away from the thinking crews. I could make
anything to happen in a folding bed. Sex by numbers, and in
scissors and caulking. She bends at the belt and removes her
hose. 1 949, which no one is following. The music all came out
of the rooms then , and friendly strokes became pestering posts.
The paginated day of noon photography. Night always came i n
the afternoon . The way the came o f orgasm always sharper in
that past tense. When the shades sudden ly fell and he would
drop by and we would fuck.

I continue to see people who do things. I live down below it all

in the soon to be thought about cellarplace. And no one says to

52
m e "Aven ue sinking. " Lights went out whenever I found my
bath room. You' d have to tum yellow to grasp the frogs I 've
seen. It's mumbojumbo these glossaries of the world. "Legions
of Hell" on a postage stamp you 'd half lick and send to anyone
stammering. The glasses of windows, yellowed at the edges,
began to seep in, and you 'd hoped to control lives beyond the
pane. I'll live later, tell me about this now. Het up with the
fraught flakes of violences like duels. Pump the shovel and save
the wad. Enter full rooms and limp through them, describing
and shattering. Nothing needs an outline and so you do it. The
fuck in the corner is no longer. Now it centers all your failings,
fallings down at the flick of a not seen. Colors have seemingly
taken the place of nerves in your heart. The masturbating typist,
she wheels at the windows through all the following nights.

Is all this fragmentary and peculiar because you can see through
it? Is this the name always fallen through the wall next to the
picture you nearly wan t to have? Are my potatoes the same as
chairs in the place of no windows? Why do I go on in here?

In the room was a cup, a plan , and nine almonds. We fear

the m. Leave them there. Step over to where the light is darker,
more modele d by lack. So many times more the temperature
than what I 've seen. Many of them are here, totally separately.
Lift off your hand from the visage of one eye. I can ' t see you for
the scrawl, the clung weight of hips rushing. Everything here
flips far from casual song. A part of the well tones the fuck
m ake s. Outline my eye. Prod my nose. Sink a vase between my
legs. I own you, overbalan cing behind you. Avoid last things.
Stop mak ing thin gs up. Fuc
k.

1 do n ' t k now
how you make it energy. There is a wildness in her
that streaks the
plate s but doesn ' t rise as far as the head. Try
on e sm all er.
You' ll see me do it, I'm telling you to. Grow bigger

53
and your nerves will be smaller. Ice shows. Tremendous how it
could be there. I solved the problem, figurehood. But I don ' t
know, it doesn ' t seem very possible to me, living nextdoor. I
withdrew my head. People always tell you about it, all decked in
possible fittings, stagnant avenues at the bottom of the street.
Whole rippish push of shattered glass across from him. We wen t
out, exactly like that, again and again . Tremulous velocipede,
and you say there's no repetition ! My look and your reverse.
Tender bones in leather sheathes. Round the time we all came
back a rope appeared from the pole. Crazy to think of it, better
to rove. That we all had known that her hands were bigger than
my hat, I don 't kn ow how.

54
 IV

Wh at we want is death. Not childhood , again for a second . A

thin g already here, unsorted. When we no longer face each
oth er, can not lock in , I can begin to see it. It begins to tell me.
What is wanted is here so always now, tells when you are
searched out. Look at the thin places.

This whole world is full of me, so I want to find the other, the
death places. It is here so all around me, it outlines, too close I
don' t see it, I languish. Like when you fuck in a lock so close
you wan t, but you wan t to see and can 't, the closing body. The
body that warms your eyes, that speaks through your bones. You
lock in a sudden, and maybe the walls peel, and you are death
for a split. Amount is moment, not coincident, or coincidence is
the call. And if your angel instructed you, you ' d comply, no
doubt. Or as if the dream rented the hall you now compulsively
enter.

Washed dreams, hosed-down spells. Hanging the head all over

again and seething up the words. Words to the traits, tends and
muffled falls. That these ones must be washed out again and at
all, I turn over turn you over to be fucked to be blazed then
shorn of light. I sing you over the song to not repeat. And again
the day the night . . . .

Th e sp asm to squeeze you strong enough to remember your

de ath. Shot back past childhood in to the black. Turned out, if
le ngth tells, you were more at home there than in life. And I
am moved to fuck again and again to recall it. The
accomp anyi ng reverse toward a great series of successive
reme m berers is
too well known to pursue here. And you have
all spe nt m ore
time saying it than fucking.

55
Well I realized we would go there where we know n obody,
where we know one only. The world is divided into seines, some
will pass through, some will remain held and surfaced away.
Where you stop is where you begin. And in the night the whole
lapidary outfit is turned loose on whatever joins. The surface at
this point is far away. The nines in the mile book have broken . I
dip my tongue in the ink and chew at this desk. Her whole
body was covered, it seemed in one prolonged instant of ticking
desire. Her skin scarfed in my subsidence.

Where I know one others seem to have known many. And the
ones who have known death, everyone has known that pointless
ebb. The angle of your arm is closer to it than most. The whole
body's outline, why the tattooist wants to draw his lain body
close with it. On the deck of the roof everyone watches for a
twister. The inevitable hurrier will drop his edge.

It is I think that we are all strangers to this world, have come in

a little bit out of the dark. Tell me about it at least, tell me your
face if you can . If you could see what happens seeing yours. If
you could let me tell you anything that is. The world is the only
place where it is not dark. There are always lights on when you
fuck. And the problem of seeing and then not seeing then.
Picasso learned to draw. Writing as surely backing up from the
subject. The poet should have written: So much depends of You
are the one who brings death. When I have you all so open to
it.

When I was born I wound up alive. I found I couldn 't draw any
more out of my death. I would have to be a sort of person , a
treater of things, a make-believe sticker to the source. Then I
found I could walk and talk and all those sorts of rates. The
miles passing beneath her smile. I once could see faces pressed
in the edge of my door, above and even more looming and

56
 the beginning of journey from flat on backs.
highway. Marking
The cobra coiled in the millpond lunch. You could have talked
to me then but you wouldn 't, you didn ' t know me. I salted my
salad, but never since. And must be then I once heard music
leaking. It came out behind the stands of radiator pipes and
barrels of chairs, paper cloggings and the bunion of the rug. It
was tri pe I couldn' t eat. It was ears I became minded of. That
and an i tch of the black plank box, the slab piano. Which
heate d in the winter. We put on snows, whole storms of them
above it, and the soap manger. Singing heard in a lightbulb
swaying. Nights when ice was torn from the locket of rabbits in
the hummable fast sky. Ranks of runners-by in the loath slog
ruts. Maple vine intentions, airplanes for your nose. I clustered
high in tree with all of myself and spat long down and
practiced. Since then I've never practiced, any thing. And he
said no one should ever woodshed. It's a matter of causing back
to the death we're of? Capsules in the Wheatena, brads
through my sneakers. Recalling almost some of the ways back,
those thicket delves. . . .

You could tell abou t it, then and you could meet your parents.
Even , and those ones who would later follow from back aways
into your life. Who is you? Me, the one with these itchy finger
ends propose to pencil and snatch. I watched and waited, which
is to wonder. Which is which at a certain point in the middle.
But I was never certain and now would never be. Ice came out
of my mou th. And others' ears came into and out of my ears.
We rated each other. We stalled and came back from hidden
pu m pkin locations, furtives where the amethysts could be dug.
Wel l, bu t I'd rathe r you didn 't. Afternoons built and spent on
th e se aml ess but
tressing of afternoons. With a pocket where the
hi dden tel l. The
grommet froglike in the well bucket standing
warm I tne ' d to alarm you but you couldn 't be but bent.
. :
W•sh m g the ro
oves would enter the sky of their own nature.
·

57
Penciling was a melting and not a buckling of the belt then,
drawing i t distraught. And now there is a n autilus shell on the
dresser before the mirror that palms me back.

Stop it in halfl you once yelled and to thin k me ever since.

Weeds in a sink. March gales to make pendant of your
bowlin g head.Drafts and shut all your volumes, stop up the
snails. I lay on the floor with my trains. It was Providence, a
bunching on a hill. And no one shined the buckets there of
lunchways to come. We had a marble varied in our heads there
of the carbarn cuived to come. Wires to lead to the portals, no
doubts. Since then all doubts to dip in the every. The latterday
compartmentways, laughs in back of saddles and soaps of
horses' noses, and the last house on the left in back of the
sodium works. They laughed there too and worked up a
garment, was supposed to take care of all our big fun too.
Weird varied wake on the wave. At the foot of the street a
bouncing sunlight, vials and a chair. Almost to the step I would
be back at the start. Bloodied his n ose with my index richness.
Never caught to stare at the beginning of a thing.

Could be a ladder you would tell me to leave, that or my

wooden snakes. My schoolday failures of illness, never snatched
me long enough. Fell down in shatters behind the radiator.
Long beam shadows leaving from corners where you would
en ter. Hyperspace geometry, is it possible? the only kind I
neared to understand. You could make a head in my lap of your
muffled rug. I would come wound in a satin puff. And no one
knew, about my health. My strands of breath, woven round the
underwear icicle image at the space-seeking mirror. I knew that
day I was hollow, and would fill with gradual darkness all the
rate of my days. Labs were a mishmosh of the dancing I
couldn ' t do. White coats and leather straps, rubber blades of
dripping fans. Electric n oise at the back of every act, and even

58
 en' t. The I weren't, like a faucet that raps. And
som e th at wer
the yell ow slid es in the smile of the attic, a shocking blueness of
the numbers there, and the drawing in pencil of the nakedness
and a body's chair. I sat dark in closet with door the days it was
a nausea to pretend to be alive. Could you have sent me, but
you didn 't yet know me, for this precise use things?

Then the day monkey pirates in candy thongs entered the

shelves. Litmus slices before I even knew they took. Iced lemons
in the box of porcelain, the laminated oilcloths in back and the
snap of a cat. I took her down to the bottom of my bed at night
and on ce she shot back up out and stroked at my eye with her
tusk (it was a he) . They said would I learn I learned then, my
father in his war mask, my mother in her breath. And all that
time in yellow the staircase was terror. Brought me there to
teeter, one part of a dream, I did guess, on the lip. That one
should never overstep. But I rode down my tricycle unscathingly
and was watched. More mechanism to be found for reentering
my death (a certain gingerly brain of it anyway) . And my stick
of a thumb in the wall socket, my fit. Dreaming in a dare of the
towns: Woonsocket and Blackstone, BJacksocket and
Woonstone . . . . A mutter to the stop of a penny.

But I, don' t I? do mean to tell of nobody the certain story, or of

the body tell nothing but the body of story? The one I mean , as is
te lling? There's nobody here bu t us betweens of the trees. The
hand that slips off the pencil is often correct, will conn ect.
En oug h so, or idle as such , the tends come, the all boiled off and
fin ally out ten dencies, for which we headfuls ram. The style is on
the can . N obody knows the
boiling point of stained things.

The ballp oin t, huge,

rolled over the hill. And then . . . . En ter the
Debacle .

59
These things come and go and I can only see them one time in
many. They come to hand too easily reduced, as if the mind
m ade postcards of any vast landscape. Who sends me these
things? Who wants me them? I press and turn th�se paperlike
everything thin things. Try to see into them with squinted eyes.
The fear that even they will outlast me. Things I have spent
attentive feeling on , like K's shame. And a man passing in panel
truck answers all the questions I have not even asked.

She whose breasts looked better printed the dimmer on

paper. . . .

Everything is fragmentary, even the life of vastest views. Huge

n ude bodies lie over the landscape in one version of all of this.
Only I will have them do. Greased in their rolling they often eye
me, their absen t inventor. I would like to see them, I often tell
myself, but never have i t that I be them. Such a self-distance
makes the space of fragments? Great scrolls of fucking notation
lie around the yard. And why do I tell you to see the death in
them there?

How can there be a "sexual ideal" when heat breaks all molds?
You did cast her as what, the today's stain of a shiny page? Goes
from the what of it to the what of that. Numberless sequences
of body folds. A night without candlepower barely stroked. And
I can ' t think of anything better than at any rate again to see
you.

We leave what we know behind desire. As candlepower has been

left for almost a century alone. The wall collapsed inward on
the fucking twins, leaving X's for the eyes of Smiling Jack.
Examination of the length of the damaged erection. You don ' t
know me, d o you, or knew me, did you. O r to the angle o f the
ankle at the corner of crystal would you add that. At all interest-

60
 Or in trouble with your cylindrical or
in g or fixa tive.
aforemen tioned prehensile retraction or toe. Somewhere always
wal ls are behind walls. I could slip, you could, i t could be
telling. Inj uring , swelling, the handle or breast. Of some weight
or regard, slick ness or friction of the act. The smile at your
nipple , the syllable at the tip of your tongue. It laughs while you
wai t for it. As it blunts the pencil to write. Your cock to fuck the
result.

My first fuck was in a cold room. Even a little dry humour

would have eased the way. You know those people who always
put huge things on the walls? Well, I didn ' t see them but they
were there somewhere in that cold town . Sand spit, a famous
one. I hung one toe over the foot of the bed board and dido ' t
complain. I had come to one of those points, and it would
always be winter someplace.

Dumbness, numbness and water. A bunch drive over by the stun

lakes. Fits of mass, collision of black capes and hemp pollution .
You'd all go oil it there if you had it all ready. A new pen is
needed. That and tarred-over whale tissue. Market prices you
film over the edge of a room when there's not enough room.
Standing up is no fun here. Standing out no mean trick. It's
terrible at night to have a passing interest in something. I
Wanted to finish a thing quicker by not quite finishing each one
of its parts. Still, as the moon sliding on oil, I'm not sorry. I ' m
always fin ding new things i n my skin.

The view 1s as if from a fish. Drawback of the one-sided planet,

·
·

a shi eld over half

. of things. She pu t her palm over to cover the
code d cock in glacier water. Then perhaps ants traveling down
her fore arm to
see it. There is no mounting of images. H ere is
a d ay an d a
night and part of a further day full. We see when
We stop th e act
to go about i t. A stream of people in the avenue

61
looking at the stream down the middle of it. The fossil palm
tree once warped out of the glacier was plan ted beneath the
fireplug at Hollywood and Vine. Where we commandeered a
group in the sexless days.

Gone j abbed down into the side of the niceness, irreplaceable

parts of the bunker jangling, a stop and then a start makes up a
half-ass furor, a brushed-up middle lane in the fur. I jumped off
you and you repeated me, pronoun battle played to the halves. I
don ' t l ike the way the later stain of this looks. We come out,
how? Passed through too many bivalve connected sentences, cell
paths out of a shriek to architecture. Mosasaur inched along the
brick edge and loving it. We caught giant peels acting alive.
Later the corridors contrived together into a pitch. Night rattle
in the dry gland of an afternoon. Long ago the oil planet and
far away its cattle shouts. Peanuts cu tting the purr of the
cathode. I will hold you watch us in the storm of the end.

Do the lashings of the brun t of all this struggle you? I see this
all lap out on the signings of a whip ( the brains of a shult) .
Collapsible innards rage to my tongue, my hull and glands. You
turn over fingers each session discovering. Set-to, dicings of the
flow, tonal in terruption inventing pulse glamours, revetment
rumours. Ranged all up on a wall to have fucked it there. Small
ones looming large stuff. What are things, freshly ground
coffee? I put my earhole to the lay of the sound, repress it in
finger pulse, a rewriter with a difference. You held so much of
what I have told you back, held your back. Miles to fold in
striking keep. Deep knees and bones' sap. The liar has more to
tell than the one who stands.

Rhomb of fluorspar, nudge that envelope! Drill holes in

overcoming backing. Seel I have accompanied Body and Soul to
the tip of a stick and its sharper bronze. We have glowed

62
 lit the envelope holds it up. Trite, should be the
togeth er. Mis
gen ti al but no less importan t rebound meetings. I
term for tan
tak e it up with you you collide with me. And we be all overcome
i n th e baffl ing of the background, backing to all rules and
blame explai ns. The northern ones in Mexico and the nipples
at the lip of the quilt. Then we are objected to and down and
laugh . In keep ing with the toes we clack the spaces between.
Hare m of Damon Runyon and Christo.

Granite opens into the flight of death. And schistosity will not
harm you. It will oblige to the fielding margins, the toes caught
in the warp. I have not seen you since that monday when you
blew me. We wen t over and over it, didn 't we? We didn ' t know
how to make an alarm from the string. Better to see things all
at once in the harm of the glass. I put down my mask as a date,
quaffed it off the pelvic ledge. Can you be said to see when
light is a stream for your die? We lived haltingly in a pinch all
can lean as if lent true. Decks stopped up with the shades of
pant ends. We gasp, then turn from. The frogman ate the last
of his painted instructions. I licked the terminal morning
evocations. Or copulation as excavation, time running freer
from the honey jar crack. Now that it is sheer death that is
runn ing. And we can never stop talking though we have left off
walking.

A night as plain as the afternoon you have surfaced , propping

your legs on the fireplace marble. That internal tickle is a ticket
betwee n the eyes. The globe dropped before he could stifle the
n osebl ee d. Sitting up or
paperbag you ' ll still expire in
vegetabl e. I turn
ed off the acid and escaped like air from a fan .
Beyon d th e one
-way sign were The Nodules. On paper they
seem ed m ore
approachable than breasts. Gave coffee to the
coffin m ak er,
then slept on my record. I reread the volume from
aVI_ d to ffme h
· There were redbirds behind the cellar, over the

63
well. We go there too. But in rapture, we sieve its lines, leaving
doormat and flounder. A steady half match gaining salt on our
boiling plans. I save notches from much of America by fucking
the n ewspapers I could hardly stand to read. Port of Permission,
senor, as with the eyes bar the nipples. The steady is not always
to the good.

Everyone's cease lines up with the end of each n ew start.

The brazen chair before the cardgame.

64
 v

It's hopeless. They look the same.

Charged things left over from a week adrift.
Never to be turned in here. Where my thumb was slit now feels
sprained. Nothing quite bonds or solos in the min d, in the
warm damp empty palm. Drenched necessity of an out-of-date
atlas. And in the north the cattle passed the cattle coming
north. The ones muddy from the lake and without advisors. I
could give you a tea leaf or clue to the Magic Mountain, or a
ticket to the evasion club of a similar title. The great apes there
made a stew for the lesser. We come home and the only ones
who want to come in are the bugs, then.

Somewhere deep within his mind a move emerged. You would

think a sluggishness dart in bronze. An engraver you would call
the man who can say his words without a doubt, without a d rop
for the breath to short. Things it is impossible to write, the
three to's in the English tongue. An incorrectness that leaks far
down . Place the hands just over the skin of the shell. Be a
friend forever, and start up at the shock of the not quite but
near. His expression is delving but perhaps he knows nothing.
In the glider well the moves thought better of have turned to
signs. And we go down under an d guide in the thought to
proceed. Leaving it.

To praise my hand to the other skin and allow it quotidian

lengths. That I must always look up. Into the lid, which is not
top at all but does hurl back, which nights our afternoons into
furthers cul minate. No stop to the bid of desire, no flange for
perch beyo nd
which open blues. Tiny the blistered tents of a
howl in g stretc
h of skin, will each of you pop? and loosening
m ate, reti ri ng
the light, charging the germs of dim?
Re com m ittal
of firelight in each prod.

65
This stream of new bugs that harp on my windows for an
opening. Give them death, as if the black depth open its
vacuum. They operate at an axis contrary to my rule. Give them
stop, that I may go on breathing my words.

They have.

He told her to press a hand to face each time the n ext thing
could not be thought. It proved to be an in terim in history. It
started out in that way and then turned. They make up things
instead of learning them. They spend the night. Alert, the
ringing of the cock through the night's afternoon . A car cannot
be fixed on time. A hand will not stroke forever. A line of words
is only a line if its tenses are not dropped. Far enough. The
music was made of a black substance. Of which already the
rooms were all full. I con sidered what you would have me say as
you were speaking. To listen and hear at the same time is only
possible in the language. Wrestling would be discontinued with
tragedy. Drop your breasts over the edge of the couch 's arms.
Tribulation is a heated gun without cease. In the night collide
the mice.

Uninteresting work by everybody nears us here at home. Thank

you so much for those kind applause. And the haddock which I
could n ' t stand sweet. Or waiting around under ben t signs in
milk. This pen is the same size as my weapon or tool. Or law.

Back out of the amazemen t stamped the miscalculators. As in

translation you have no friends. The cars passed by me in every
season of the failing structure. By one by one we raise our news ,
notes notwithstanding. And in the purple of the meat the insect
image portions its scale. The large picture should not live large.
He put down his brain in the fictive anteroom. Bassdrum
damaged in fiddlestorm. Room glanced into where they are

66
 When the red light's on everybody's supposed to be
fucki ng.
quiet.

Ni ne tim es as much, the carrier tells to the stiller one. And in

the p ic tu re came brushed the future remnants of the burned
boat an d the red shoe. He spoke of foreground and back in
te rms of time. Then we backed away in to the round of the
whistling lights. Then we misunderstood our laughter under the
identical sign post. It was island and what did it mean. That
nothing has changed. I backed away into the street, never again
to see him work. A lark, with large bodies but fewer messages.
You can not read what I, if you continue to do as if others. The
ones who continue to fuck beyond the cellars.

There are no more introductory sen tences, the meanings come

out of the middle. Round and square and then somewhere.
There are no more topic lines, the tropes come up of a muddle.
Here and then the which is that lost. I wanted to go on in the
writing and see what could be stood out. The languishers are
tallying.

To make terrific connections bu t that will remain unseen. The

women were made fixtures there, by the men? the mice? the
walls? Nobody to budge, and I will get the . . . .

She walked in on me. But that was not only the beginning. Let
me tell you. Ice won ' t mix with sand. And nothing relen ts. As if
one cou ld stop up a hole with silence. In the begin ning was
n ow and ever shall be.

Light and its opp

osites.
Wh at do I know abo ut what
sh e can tel
l me about . I would prefer not

67
to listen, anyone anytime.
The ladders all laid out on the hills proved unnecessary.

I t turned out you could feel well enough but you could not
think at all. That there are nines in every volume. The books
one did n ' t n eed to read and did. Green chiming insect that
alarmed the viewers then goes down in the night. Blue glares,
richness of stocking, shrill and unextendable penetration of any
subject. The sort of views he had were termed loose, that is,
anyone could have them but not keep them. The trend was
toward the jacking up of everything. Better to think that the
world is coming to with a start. Ponder those words you have
never used. Pink glasses holding colorless liquids. It's better to

stand it all perfectly. And at least she recalled my face.

She says, the parts of the body, hand to me.

I never thought of it as having parts and I said as much.
The roof fell in at that point. No fucking deal. That afternoon
at least fell through . Geulincx believed in the freedom of the
oarsman. Another taught escape from cages. My body is the
whole thing you'll have to deal with. Mind. Periods stay
delightful only when they connect up with nothing. So noted.
Take my movie in your cunt. File the world and all it shelters
between your thighs. Down . All in the getting up it is we get
down. Sex. Then it's about being serious, abou t doing work,
about flash thought in dim tunnels. Rank, so rack it up. The
cock rubbed against the aluminum skin to color it. Morning
when the wakes. About getting high and maintaining. The even
strain of the paint against dawn. Dropped an attitude but not
pan ts. Her aisles turn ed into avenues the widest lot. The
canceled sender, the truest artist of them all. Her name. His.
The carboniferous of all those guys with rude lips and stony.
Thought through his tube, they said. I told her to call back

68
when the crest of the nudge had been passed. The all-week line
in broadest great. Heart, and its stripes to the city.

He corrected it totally out of existence, out of the fact that he

had it to work on . The adverb of anything is compelling, no?
The outside of the house was composed of darkness, etc. The
men set up the mine in broad daylight. The third person neuter
comes loose eventually from whatever is being said. The lights
go out in reverse order, perfectly. The fact that one questions
things, everything. Accepting finally the fact that it is a nothing
that has happened. This pen is composed of an amazing purity
of blan kness.

The thoughts of sex do not dwell in sex but all in the greater
life unto death. As the movemen t of thought is in each away
from its separate thought, the colors of its dwelling space. As
color and light are separate to a mind. Thrown all away at each
thrust. Not that each the one you 'll know by. You are known by
the colors of your scatter. Your mind of the motes of you is, as
known, as ripe as blown sand. Come from the sound of drops
not drain. I can not make it out in hand. Knowledge by water
torture.
And there is a space between the attic walls where the
painting has dried. You may end there in a slip of the dream.
You may start there, on a budge from that boil of a negative
alarm.

69
 VI

Tugged down her n ame as far as her breasts then stranded,

stood. Brought it down , brought it wrong down, ,brought it long
down. And in duplicate tries, and in thought longer, stronger
than thin, than pin . Maybe he saw her, had seen the place
where she. Long drawn out and weightier. Place on the mat on
the map where he slipped, where her crease. And the oval tense
lines beneath, a flatter barrier. He flattered her, he bent to her.
The opening went and came, burned and blew. To it nothing,
to have known so quickly. Right hand, left thigh, breasts level
with. Sun on soap. Drill, what is the drill here. When you open
the thoughts to, bare on a bench. Then three more lengths, no
clock, no hand. Stopping by a while, listening and then coming
down. Hard edge of the hand for prevention, taking and then
faking it whole. Eye moving in a liquid. The sight of the man
who could follow you. Pulling out slates and hearing fast
cannons. Bells down her blouse or the rigged thing of cloth.
Seen in the class of collected wipers. She has stood off again.
She has i t all, the wall and everything up top, in hand again .
Has n o t quite, pinned to the, hardly. Has nothing to call it,
when she.

Turned their eyes away from each other's cost. It was hardly at
the edge of a city, window listed to the ocean , hot plan ts in
rhythm, shorn strokes and the metal that drives divers. This an d
then this and then surely this, fitted this. All of an oval hemp a
monkey could love as gold . Numbers for names. Prints upon
the glass, breast instead of window. Open the hand in the dark,
dark as you could get, not very dark, warm comer. Stroking
through the thick of the shoe. Saying things, alright saying
things. Prodded into pronouncing things. Labels on the
building blocks, ceilings for walls, strong slant of machine. She
goes all over it again and clasps, a moment the prism, blood
in to mirror washing. Hugging we don 't think of. Clothes are
 ewhere as are chairs, collecte d walls, books
now here, som
pictures of some sound. He opened the n ame
wi th out frames,
of her breasts, it was easier to struggle with packaged tones.
Then they could know themselves backwards, no terminus. The
length of the sex is homwise. Removable white. Drawers that
won 't dry. Slipped and then slid, tangling. Sheer white earring.
Carving by the thumb at the Mediterranean sun. Then she
alm ost lost one .

I am a man who lingers, having lost half one loaf. Brought the
flesh around on him again, thinking numerals. The failure of
one cloud. The length of one arm through the liquid. Her call
of him turning, bright resolve to a stone. Remove the lace and
the flesh beneath just. Types of bare closely particular in mesh
of fine. She goes over the blemishes, soft in report. A guy wire
of cloth with tamped weight. Fires on the night, in the quick,
nowhere on the map. Glasses, matches, propelled on a breath
to remember me by. I had no hope of standing, a glory,
metonymy. Nothing matches us better than retracting, meeting.
Fly tracks by thinning sea. You are silver and I am better. I take
your breasts for my daughter. I walk out with, walk in on them,
swinging. Lunch on which breath. From the armpit to the stroll.
And she says I am active, and she says I am quietly taking. Her
arm is myste rious in blonde, ridiculous in bronze. Flat black
and chalk white, made up of shorings an d stories. Nipples in
daylight and bent to it again .

Som e of the things you could know are reserved fo r you. Some
of th e last are hidden by her,
righ t at the first. You think you
see, then have
seen , certain flesh. Now that it' s thought to be
�ours, no t that it's ever whole in brought mind. What mind on
� t advancing as if sex were delivered. Singe and sundry. Thought
It Was a man
they were lifting the log they knew it to be. Down

71
by the river, I shot my, etc. Novel that you could think of it as
yours, hers, her as yours. And twice as much loss in reverse.
Bent as the page come back to her in mind, back-to she hears,
removes her blouse, puts down the phone. We d,on ' t wear those
here, you know. Picked it up. Then waited till gone to remove
it, the others. Then does she place her fingers, remember your
name. Christ but it's hot, stop thinking. Start praying?
Collapsible possibilities are not then condensed. She has
opened the first of a series of letters con taining names. The
names at the forefront of the thoughts, not yours, hers? theirs?
What is the position, opposition? of the sexual others. Saw a
stain on the marble, couldn't come over right now. And it was,
wrong soon. Turn on the phon e, the foun tain, the bactrian .
The looseness in the fingers, the volume on the moon. Her skin
all in numeral in win ter, in summer gone. Orange lamp,
guttering. Then I hand myself in between blouse and between
breasts, then we walk in the street before all the sides can
mount in.

Flowers in trouble. Come in the sand. The winners are unable.

This is a volume of sticking. Crises you forget just as soon as.
Films no one handles, too precious, too monstrous, too much
of a list of all the things you shan 't do. Covered cornucopia in a
zoo. I must lose my body tomorrow, yes. With nothing but you
and thinking to care, or to lightly miss it and replace with a
statue. The limestone to cut off waters, the sound to a T. The
belly scored with sand. Gin and tonic without the gin. But I
waited to be thirsty. I trusted your flanking thigh. The mistaken
stare was caught in my eyes. But I bought these clothes with the
idea of removing them. Sun drawers, underthings lighter than
eyeliner. Barrel roll over my camisole. Unconscionable three
layers of bra. The electrode jack set into the panel above the
mound. And she moans at the barest mention of such a catalog.
Send, send for it, now, don't drop a stitch. Then I sat, began to

72
 ach e. The belly is wider than the vision 's daughter.
answer an d
off in mid-siren . Scratchy favors to be brought
I n sti gator cut
here to din n er and then later. Frog on mirror bottom of
astron omical scope. And she is teasing me now with a lens
open in g.

But she goes home with me now again and it's impossible what
happens, begins to draw out, what we do. The lamps are all left
on in the chamber, practically a ruler arcade. The volumes of
DeSade bound in kleenex till now unconsulted. We had
dreamed of this day, a pin spot on each separate medal. The
ceiling all a hoist of flying reptiles. She cancels me all over with
her Hoover. The night keeps coming on, then backing round.
We have the trouble with catches, but that's part of the plot.
Then the breast, each breast, and all the names of them on
them. Takes scouring af1£'rnoons of time. The hands catching up,
then coming loose from her crotch. Muscle cloth, ticking
droplets, and where else is the storm front thought up as clear
in as this? Protein as a sexual fuse, and all of them firing. Any
leather I could watch, if you were lever and under. But we both
want to be under and out at once. Keep taking off and putting
on clothes as if day an d night a flicker. And when will we ever
come around to this again? The point being never to expend
too dose or too far. Get rid of the pyramids on Mars. Open all
the windows and Flame On ! Galloping cuntsicles, what became
of my special focused and overseen chair? The numerals on
your navel have turned to names. And I can ' t remember where
Was my other hand. What time was yours?

La te that night, such an d so. A cross-hatched fading future to

am �ze every p art of
us. Smiling Jack had to fuck the Fucking
Twm s h e JUst
'
·
had to, no reason or time for that spent. H e was
already · th e room
m
.
and they paraded. Talked of him, sported
scan t cl 0 th .
es, rem oved them boastmg to each other how each

73
one the best would blot out shining time with h is cock, which
was always visible, a pole, a monster, how could he con tain?
The twins were exact copies, why bother to fuck both or
another one? They placed their crotches wide, one leg up on
the bed angled. And of course they immediately get down to
the fucking, simple positions, but you never see his face till the
end when his cock is crimped, painful to see it even in thready
draw of cartoon, his eyes replaced by Xs, his mouth a one-line
scribble. I guess they all got off, but the twins seem all
unchanged, though their ballooned ohs had turned into tiny
hearts when they came. I don ' t recall what they finally decided.
A book learned in school I still can see if I close my eyes.

And there was an other I guess I never got to meditate as long, I

see a kid hiding it quick in his desk. Jungle Jim, drawn in more
realistic Terry and the Pirates style. Girl shows up at Jim 's shack
in the weeds, she's got Daisy Mae tits that never lose their
drawn shape, a bit of a disappointment actually, no weight to
the flesh. Anyway she immediately says something like ''I never
forgot that fuck you gave me in Hong Kong and now I ' m here
for more." And they go right at it. Positions, close-ups, the
whole book. I never saw another book so to the point. Fin d these
slim volumes again? Collectors have them? New big expensive
serious "archival" editions? Format: three frames per page, so
you fold ' em out wide across your lap. Porn as the word get-up.
Most lost, even sadly, in memory's banks. Some even featured
such as Popeye or Nancy, early fusions of the silly serious. Guy
knocks on the door of the perfect girl: "I've come to fuck. "
''Well, okay. " And every detailed slippery minute.

Shards of practicality. Like the twins of my early masturbation al

prose always excusing their trips to the bathroom before
fucking by saying "I 've got to get empty. " Right on the line.
These twins actually existed, played tubas and metal basses in

74
 or high sch ool band, but as far as I knew never got fucked.
�uhneyi had dim personalities and all the boys probably hated
·

them and dre amed of their bodies. Early launch fears.

75
 VII

The journey is marked

by suspended event
and at last is out
that at first was caught
its direction bended
or unintended
as yet I have still
to halt
the story of the pier of salt

The girl is the wall, her holds are apparent to the sheathes of
her. Wanting little but holding emitted lots. Her brace, my gaze.
H er foreground stopped by the aiming of the polkadots. There
is no in terior, there is no apparatus either. Sashayed, they have
said around this place, around her sausage, wallet or arm. The
length where the sails go in. A night, and then the shifting
n ight stumbles. The pretense to do nothing by drowse and
indulge. The dousing meter at the tip of the candle's wand. It
goes up, in, then her breath comes out in character. Those
blush cuts on the glow of the dial. We have stopped , she and
the tempter. It is hotter than a sigh in win ter. The sign over the
plot for a dinner, stray field for the placing of wall, one wall
strong as is the story. The wall that is she in this mesh habit of
collapsing directions. I have sung her out of place, the lapse
back where she lives and things.

I enter the book of sex and each time a bit l ike this, I tune the
cloth newly removed to Night and Day, say, a standard here,
said. The rate at which something is spoken, clothing is
removed. The pain ting goes up and down in the hallway, eyes
and following hands gone away into the dimmer halls. Your
gown has always collapsed with my brighter wishes. The words

76
 ean the brass once thought. My hands to be your
wan t to cl
e, for the fool at his sills where his instruments lie.
h an ds for onc
etw een, both the inside and out, the all through, is
The gas b
desirable. Ungraspable thus, always at hand. Near
kn own as air,
the ti ps th e inexhaustible reaches. Her breasts are soaking, as
my breath . A shift in the called code of the passions. Or is there
only the one to follow?

Her cap was speared in the flight from the cats. A plain tower
rose from the site of the dressing, shell of undressing .A5 at the
.

cape we were grasped in the unslung weight. They had cabins

there and we had arranged for some, for one for two. In the air
of the aftermath of the thoughtless deeds. Your buttons
app arent, your numbers always late. We sleep as the window's
sea sli ps in under the coining colors. The taking of hands and
the rest. The cusp.

The clothing was the fuck. The thought to lay down under it, a
bitter sill for the asking of the limbs, orange thing the sign of
the falling backward from the stairs' top ledge. The overseer
spelled out late, his numbers dying by the loosening of our eyes.
I cannot see you as I touch you. I cannot bear to be near you as
I am you.

The color of the water was thought or throat color. The

dissolving of the nodules in a threat of weight. Light as hate,
and a darker one love. The coverings removed and the hallways
la ter. Your risk of skin and my rinse in a grounding expectation.
She has left him, groundless, as he had thought. I have shorn
yo u, sk in and
bones ben eath the gulf of a hat. The rooster
grown sho rt
behind one radiator. Sen tence began to calm, the

�
red n ess that
has been growing. Sorry to print this out beyond
ll advan ce of
blessing. Heatless perk of fresco. Empty the
Ottle. Sh orten the
flash .

77
Dead eyes, not quite. Not left and still not right. Left-handed
though correct in slant, the fuck's strokes to that second's
geometry. To always flake away as time were walls. The heat of
school, the heat of n ervous and boring, the stream hole in the
ceiling. That she con tinues to gaze it over all through though
glazed within the two-heat's lock, the inner chamber' s tattoo.
Come back to me then, your string all paid out. Your dress
lashed up off the plane of your rump. Nothing to settle, not
near to need. In all I managed to trap one thigh.

Water flush over the sill, the cup fill with blue. That kneebones
will sharpen at the act of the ache. The trembling seat at the
base of the tongue, and its black matrix lake, in its subsequence
all marks. I have gotten down off, have erased, and thus ...

The thus and so at the base of the pelvis, so the birth of the
line. And thus we will have time.

She speaks to me bare

in the horror of the one lamp.
Unsheathed thigh, almost ever about to be
resheathed, engine mystery of sheathing
beyond the hands. As always it is a
darkening to shake, or would be at the
clothing of the single lamp.

She speaks to the base of the skull , beyond the stocking of the
rhyming of the hands, the larva enclosed in the white sac of
stone, beyond the shorten ing and stillness, within or without the
calming of any whole heat's time. I make as if to . . . She comes to
me as ...

The stringing pressure of hands, the turning out to be.

78
An h our later , a shorter strain wholer.

A barrier whiter. Your mouth a word wetter.

Storm there dried to the tip of its valence.

Yet roun der forms as the eyes lodge.
An d you go in, my land, as in leaves.
Curse d bless of closed breasts
open wrap of closing breaths. The tunings
of the breath colorings bruise.
Shoe at the base of the saddle.

"Put a watch on the body, " he told me in the store and left m e.
Left by the stone table, gazing at the light fall of water behind
the display rack, with hate. Then he went up the hill with my
idea.

79
 VIII

Clothing is one of the rules of eroticism. The plus and min us of

taking and putting. Blending, as if what came off the wall
became you, and you became it as you approached too. The
canceling of the tissue between, and the insistence on its
presence. Nothing any longer a take-0ff. It was seen that she was
above them when she removed. The nights when the candle,
and the barreling of desire. The machinery. The imagin ation of
some one as you. The breaking, an d then the tarnishing i t all
together again. Beyond which there are no rights, but there are
rules. Primes. Perfumes of the goggling teller. When what was
above forever was thought disposed of. Standing before you, as
does even such a word .

Vast dromes of brute tell. Tongue. Icy failure. Prelapsarian

embargo. The man without a fair head. The woman withou t the
onions. Wrapped in a stream of wishes, of the better dishes. I
could bend you, doll. Then I could enter the wall. H ave your
clothes. Trace your clothes off. Hang you on mine. That he
took it out, she took him in.

But I didn't know it would ever move again . I 'd ink it in, wood
in the wound, smart as smell in the woods. Her legs. My eyelash .
Milk in a jam jar. The samba on repeat. She was Venus again
but there was nothing left from the last session. It wasn 't hair
raising, it was draft. The tongue had a mink on its left han d.

Lights in the bath. The heat to come on to fry after the water
had lapped. Her seizing of the pamper, the egg, the laugh ov er
the label on the cast-0ff lozenges. I t was pimple. There was a
light in the window. Plump. It was win ter. Sad. I didn 't know
what I had. Entering in the dreams of Mortgage Academy,
where everybody loved the streams from the walls. An en tire

80
 Tied to a plop. He washed out the chart. Then we
tried nigh t.
monkeys. A sun on the st.a.mp.
mum bled like

I n the frin ge of Egyptian thrills . . . . Everyone's sick and tired on

th e top sh eet. Next to the radiator map and chalice of sundries,
a nexus, petrified stiffness, we all wait in aid. And the electricity
slams offjust as the . . . .

The ineffable relaxes. What's that you' re telling me, it's the
shower can be coun ted on? She made me see the trees black in
mist as stiffs. Whose cork? Then the saga continues with a
postcard snapped where no one can reach. Or controlling the
gesture fuck.

Then when the fuck opens up into a map of the world. i.e. the
bear that blackens any sheet in sight. Mix me a velvet Russian .
Please leap to hear the proof, formerly available only on paper.
Why would anyone hurt anyhow as bizarre as that? It could hurt
the mattresses. I wonder what the percentage of parents not
teachers are that matter as much as looking into it all the way
down to the ground. It's been totally abused, people have been
using it. Humanism, or all kinds of weird substances. Or a
lighter net. Is Nancy Reagan? See her giving the nod to
Jacqueline Bissett. Zip the door and back right after this.

Stop the worl d and I feel like a child. The part I was bound to
play. A ve ry limited bloody engagement. Toddling town, shank's
m are, mauve bus seats. Weather, sports, bras around hats,
� eri can, blah , patter song. A newer man and hip to it would
wa� t as long as
in any alley. Shirt fry. Planetarium long as
�h ildhood. Fish in
the scotch tape, gusting on a string. Sounds
hke Lon d on ,
r.e doesn ' t it? Giving way. His hand on my brain, like
sterd ay was free
zing wasn ' t it? A very good bet, closing time,
•gh ts in cages.
Her hands go on fine. Productivity, auto, zinc-

81
lined costumers. The ripped-up will of a darned-out dame.
There could be very nice cows, or cars. Britain had a thing years
ago. Record player, made of gold. Fishes around in the lining.
Closes. Now we see General Motors. Going to these things,
inside the clothes.

More than ever. What does that mean to us? Leadership in the
fucking inevitable? Could be called on the phone and told to
go. A signature, of the most popular wide receiver. All I know
now is Jaguar, A Girl . The Mrs made jokes about her right
thu mb. According to the book of this afternoon. Shielded from
anything of skin . Milk in the sink dish the cunt settles into.

I didn ' t see her clean . I wiped out. I was in wire. Simple things
arrived and people without standing. Back over behind the
record player she. Tempi deserted and waiting for touch. Sad.
Alive, the words overtook the people. For good reason, alimony.
There was a pepper in the wind, a mirror. The pumpkin to its
very rind. Green au tos come. People. Ones with pricks and ones
with other. She stood these days on ly by very clear glass. I wiped
ou t.

The world is not sad. But it is large and the fuckers are coming.
Dandled loose from the beaverboards of their childhoods. The
generational month of sundays will not prove enough. Rest.
Care for your kind. In the nursery hooves were replaced with
encouragement. Candies slung gelid from the bare apple
branch. We boys were, and are still, up there. Haunt and wait.
See the upside of things all around. Grounded, he beat off in a
wax paper. Policemen of parliaments dream of the white chali ce
boardroom hung with drools of the walloping main and the
beards.

82
 g the bare boards I thought again of painted flesh .
Bu t cloth in
foot. Progress. Damp lilies. Amputated
The n ail i n my
ta ti ves . The last lash. Then she wen t through another
preve n
sam e book. That same I have learned to hate. That
door in the
trembling in the table after the act. The strung ache. Lust is
provide ntial sometimes. It strikes back when bare thought is
el sewh ere engaged. Prelapsarian strokes in polysemous
adventure. You had to learn to roll this novel, roll with the
strokes of its holes. Punctuation alone will not fill as it should.
Vamp till ready. Release the stocking. Attempt to hide the bel t.
Rock off in to a sleep known as the other.

It's just the capsule versions that keep me turning. Crystals and
blades off the wall. The attempt is holding us down here, wrist
watch inoperative near brimming outboards. Again, you have to
go out to go in . Slip. Ten toes. They know the rate. Escape the
underpinnings of even mari r:i e city. Back in the envelope he
put . . . .

I have severed the name from the known twist. I have brought
about the double failure. Sun lights the garden. The straps all
awash in inner juice. Moving men by the moon cast fen cing. A
member of the animal family, too far to direct, too held to be
slu ng back. She threw out her back. The back was th e whole
se em , towers of imbalance peered upon and open to hand.
Signs of speed under the simple lash. I blink as the corset
comes lo ose. Looser, even to the eyes in level and careless
angle. I dope you up in the latest ties, pray for the cap to it all
fin ally. T hree shots were held, told, each in a shorter frame.

For sure the

novel s with no advantages. I became older than the
cloc k th at t
·
imed us. Short breath back to the beckon cast. They
all held over
the ivories can dles. That and the scent of track
· .

Ine d als cu shio

ned on a dresser in the childroom dark. Darker.

83
No bulb. No failure this time, ice on the mind like increased
daring. The truth would be told, your thigh to the knee.

And the thing better than that was that I saw me. '

Preventative medicine. Barked your ear in the ridge room of

thighs. Metal banner limits, the cup from its n ut. She was a
crazy failure so I lammed on hesitantly. Itched up a slope,
longed the peak to flee. Three mixes of calcium would ravish
the farm, vanish from harm. I didn 't got out of the way of
harm, for the harm of it, the care for the slice as in duelling.
After all after the fuck we hadno place anymore to live.

She told me. She said, Lift me. She had hardness. She was out
in the light. It was tenderness, in the metal of the breaker. He
had no head, she said, which is why I was drawn to you. I didn ' t
know that, I knew but didn ' t admit. You have to sling your arms
when you 're impressed with me. I'm standing right out in place
with a light. Turn it ou t, turn over, turn me over, turn over for
me. It was a witness, more was wished. A helpmate for the
increasingly heavy bodies. We were in it. Here we are, she said. I
admitted. We are admitted to the fray, I said to her in lieu of
the saddling she required. There were slats, in grey green , at
the window. There was one, she said, once but he wasn ' t like
you. I don 't know if I even will like you after this once. She
repelled all thought the better the touch to be received. Felt is
perhaps the better word, if we need even one of all the words,
perhaps words themselves would be better turned down. I
turned away once, she said. Perhaps I shall have to turn away
from you. Turn me. And this shall be a turning that will rhyme
with nothing. Nothing better than this slap in the world.

A fish. A fish to be seen beneath this midnight's slats. Or we'll

have to try on various hair. She had improved her bush by

84
 oin ts of the perfect model. I have no breath now
sli mm ing p
feast on you. And make it we should on air
th at wou ld not
Th e widths of it between as various pleasures. I want.
al on e.
An d th en I shut. I limp and then I turn . I beam. I am in the
house of all past. I turn around you, I turn you. Around all
A
possi ble s, poles to the flesh. light bulb and the patter that will
all ow its positi ons work. You sneak up on the wall, then I 'll hold
yo u back. I turn it to you then, I have shown your back.
Poppi ng the seams in a single breath and pleased as all
scholarship to meet you .

An eye dropped close, beneath the hem, is all. Summers, when

the clock, or ass, is widened. Time you let off the spirits, or
came to the last. I have caught the remedy for heaps, beneath
you. A coat of close action humid at the barn sale, or willowy
breath at the thorn in the breast. She has nipples. I keep seeing
that it's true in all the signs between us. A mighty housed cock
or hand beneath the scree. Lumps in the prairie. Aisles between
the dead.

An eye dropper pressed back down in to its rubber loaf or block.

And the manuscript this is the paperweight for, instructing the
several actions of this fuck. A tremble. A wristlet. Something from
the nether coast. And a taping of further trials, this will to extend.
She was dying to the others, but to me extends a hand.

A m ica backing to the phone we need. This fucking is hands

down the nec k of a semblance.
Something damp to steer by. Even
a Wad de d nation
under stretch con trol.

�aybe I should wake to all these wild pushings of everything?

he car before
the bartender. The code, or cab, of ethics, and its
s� arer , the Lord
suu ati on. Acc om
of the Realm. It's plastic though, you know this
panied by marvelous, or whatever that hand has

85
turned. I light the fire, having no respite from needs, weeds.
And all the time she was moving away from me in to a balling
failure. The coke bottle of fog horn vacuum wavering to the
last.

Hot reptile. It'll help not anything to sandwich these praises.

Raise a flag avail you not at all . Fires to occur now on in the
mantlepiece, not beneath it. I lied, and in so doing revealed
everything. Spin of the planet releases a few inches of paint.
Each turn. Her elbow. Her other. My turn to tell the time. And
its reptile advantages.

It was summer and we gathered what had been left out on the
moon. No fuel. No kind of blue. No notebook. Yes, notebooks
but already blackened. It's high time, noon already was. A pin
in the bunker gleams. More lies around to tell. Than you could
tell in a million. Million sundays of warp and fuck. As she
reached over the arm of the . . . . My last remaining wish was
to . . . .

All fucks are failures. For we have always kept being educated
beyond the moment. Which is... Tums on a witness to shame or
glorious. Which way, tongued glown stroked sucked thrown, do
you manage now? The unutterable velocipede of the single
strap. Finished? N o thing finished. Proceeding north they
noticed that something was dropping back. Whistles of water,
and that man with the artificial pigeons was a genius. Recorded
many albums and came loose finally from any sort of tape
systematic at the null point of moon or noon. There being no
noon of any sort at the pole. Where we committed failure,
where we enabled pleasure. Where the night no longer moves
on. No larger than your finger moving up the nose of the starry
starving whatever, listening the while to encapsulations of the

86
 ether bunker-sourced, ion-particled-out, or decanted
latest wh
Remove that paw from my page.
slippi n g p ure.

The N ex t Poe ms. She wanted to keep her husband's minds off
h is mother's lemon meringue pie. In such a sense she did use a
tongue. Wiping sticky little fragments off everything in sight.
Marvelous to have passed this sort of failure. Small sponge
breakfasts in locked metal boxes, the flame of which kicked
back then. Oooooh. Prey on fresh seafood, a good travel agent,
lacklove, Sumerian ankle bracelet. Let's get crazy, happy, with it.
Cleansing of the passing water. These cows sing better than any
of your mountain visitors. I shaded my eyes, the laws, the
upkeep of your chest.

"A flexible rod is given to her that she may keep herself erect. "
It is easy to see that she doesn ' t want to move any further.
Pressed into the hand, the hand pressed into the other hand.
The fist pressed in un der the belly. This is of a slowness, this is
a rest piece. To reach the point beyond which the hand moves
beyond control. Look, there is a fur piece in that tree, and it
just moved. Push the button, move the curtain aside, shove the
big lever across. You have done your duty. Disgust. A choice
only of one or the other. Not as it always is when flesh drapes
the floor. I need to come back to this later. Philosophy in the
Big Room. Quivering with indignation forth into the oblivion .
The Wet red leaf tips, their berries have long fallen, pass over
th e falls ' lip and demise. I think then when I think again I think
of kissin g you. I
think along the line of a certain uprightness.
Tears.

!e�engobjec t of happiness, within its flesh was death? Proper

� next to propp ed-up being. It' ll all come out freshly
P a1 0ted In th e wash. ·

On the wreck of the Medusa confus1 0n,

·

th ey're
all in volved in drawing up their stockings. Bright

87
enough to imagine that the in terest will be quick. Then the su n
slipped down and the top came off. Popular figures lost in th e
papers, awash in this night. Newly penciled in. A famous picture
crowds standing in lines before reveal. I wonder- if pain t could
shunt the geometry of these figures appropriate to the fucking
mind?

88
0

I
I
The Gallery
 I THE ESCAPE

cracks in the ceiling, the farm was next door. I ' m

There were
you waiting fo r me? Later this'll all look great i n
scared. Are
cl ose-up, things to make you drown i n , peeled off and able,
about to lie on the hook. No, not my corridors, the sound of
the newc om er's bird 's legs. I 'd've had as half the chance? Then
he slides my string all the way to his seat. Did the holes only
attach the thing? How could I know about corridors, or the
kind of mirrors your head falls off when he sees you? I wen t
down and it was waiting for me. Only a comrade's spelling. Yum
yum. Where the leaders go to bed.

Tongues less warm than ultimate depths? Drag each other along
in the ribs. Good to have tits in the sort of country they won ' t
be misunderstood . Where the pulled-down silks find under­
standing. I ' ll call you if we' re coming in unison, against the
ceiling. He pulled down my scarf and I wen t down. I thought
each time myself a ghost with him, nailed to the edge of a
razor, I was so led with pleasure, peeled into the unknown place
of happy people where it's damp. This plot may thicken the way
my ass will end up being, bending, now what?

No, not my legs. A splash of blackness. Then my old man turned

aroun d, empty glass on the slag heap. I was the one whose slip
he held be tween his knees. The other sort of mirror I covered
�
h s face with, when he was
in tempo, when wrists and I empty
hi s th u mb by the
�oose. I spoke to
pocket. A nice red puddle for this brain
it softly. It's not someone screaming. it' s being
orgot th at way.
Take a rest, landing again an d again. And when
he Wan ts to
stop I emp ty my throat.

You n eed
ero t1c1 sm? Pink marble shoulders, blood here and
· ·

there, up
an d leading in a crochet tournament, virgin as a door

93
in the garnet grass. I ' m not one to water my reaches, on stil ts to
the mouth and sweat made out of town . I ' m deathlike in the
middle of a bedroom. My friend with the handles and left arms
alone. She was being asked to study me between her feet all bu t
one. Comfort of those lovely whites with jack inside the gen tle­
man actually brought. I took the leap of two tiny rooms to the
silent heart.

For life I'm ready to pick less than call it quits. I laugh, whose
belly, no time to ride back from depths, the roses clamped. On
walls of red carved wood my blouse stands, a bullet between
sobs. I'm to make up both your minds while this maniac is
looking me up? I need to get over any city with a thousand
fountain s, lose the hair up on my head to a drone of motors,
my diaphragm to dig up snow. When I look back on our
friendship run to the wall with innocent commen taries on our
tits, I open my raincoat to see if you keep holding on to my
arm.

A sheer madness of eggs among the planes taking off. I roll with
the change, caress the shiny nails, the kiss the man would suck
off to look for. I 've been disapproving of cotton in general,
what I give you when we reach our love, it's cast loose a little as
the moon rises. D ry land is sensed in our still room. Be on my
han ds, stick a good cry, stream with ends, breathing in shi t in
peace. Why are we stuck in this cell of the dream, a dream
that's so basic and tuned to the drops of our print dresses? I
look back on this world of ours turning out two cigarettes.

M ight be I'll pop to sleep in another day. Music and white

blouses in the midst of existence? Deposit his still warm
dominoes with me. I 'll be breaking the streetlamps in a lea den
sky. You must at least keep your husband around to squat for
bananas. I flaunt my youthful yawn silen tly, dollar bill at the

94
 with champagne. You' d think that life was slowly
i n to bulge
gr . · ng th e o utsk irts. You think I don ' t avoid enough staring,
o
d ra10 1 .
som e cigarettes.
I' ll stop fo r

Ju mped righ t
into driving so fast or your skull at the door. Is it
with vinegar this demolition site? A monkey wrench
too empty
or bitte r mouth,
understanding with bells on the blun t cock of
the m ale. Per sian rugs thrashing tongues, flashes of cuddles in
mesh . I didn ' t know the vodka screeches, electric as the pin of
her clo ck or I wouldn 't be long. Cat's cradle of the phantom
legs all down the hallways or I'd close my eyes out on a thread.
Slug legs. There 's a bell embedded in the wall velvet. In violet
up with my shirt and he smiles at drawers like a man without
suspe nders. Nothing to keeping too dry. Look inside and see if
it's bubbly if we finish, or is that too kind a word to give me the
head end of? Unbuttoned his cardboard by the railroad tracks.
Do you make of those tips a cane or velvet wings? I look inside
and see why he'd hurt.

"Fuck me the way your lover fucks me. " I hope you don ' t take
their dicks out to listen. Fuck me once it was good and I 'll
come and see. The room keeps slipping its net, this performer's
li fe. Now they' re all ou tside of their streets like intestines with
map s. The n , door open , looks in at me, it's back to the hallway.
Take me to the upstairs with n o questions asked. Did we inven t
a story about throwing open this world,
one night w e take the
gl ss off this disma
� l room? Stick out your chest and plan for the
� ill en iu m. Apartmen
t of dreams humming flesh in the hot
h gh ts ' gam · 1
es m overa ls, cold trams, pulled down mght. Ever
• •

tal k to m e a .
dr ugstore
bout further trams I ' ll frame my bed. I stop at the
.
bnn gs we dd"mg ti. ll daybreak.

Bu t th en
my blo use largely of buttons. My face gets heavier as
the b l ous
e grows ligh ter. Till it's white at the least, my

95
expression, not a twist of it, look at my hands' fingers rest frorn
their applications. A thermometer, or spring hair device , in th e
other hand. It's alright. No wall but a mirror. One of those shu t
mirrors for my softening. One of those slow blouses you can
watch. You can close with.

If I want to fuck the person who sees me, then his look answers
yes. But not yet enough work to tum around in . Let autumn up
on the table and blow away all numbers that follow. It's the I've
seen it sort of thing. But I'll keep a heel on my bra and stun t
the reports. Signals, charming, nobody asked me to change
enough to talk or sit down . Many feet, then the walls. I look at
myself in my face with my hands. An d there is something to all
this in one of them. What. Simple enough to do it up again , do
me. Is it my bag? Or an eye length just short of that wall? I am
the same as you only hunger. Have you my n ame again down
there? I show more light on one side of one hand's finger, and
hair of use. But am a catch, and is it kept? My novel to come
out any more than flowers.

I look at the camera it's like looking into a mirror, a number,

all those bits and pieces. How do you snarl? I might disappear
for a while because I want their night. But violets at that time are
wild, wide. I worked them in as if I had wiped off my mirror. All
between the floor and ceiling I began bouncing my faces on the
mirror. Wild mirror I ' d reinven t if I could hold back far
enough. Beneath my eyelids on a small snooze a grinder looms
in, dishwater without a sound. Then I'd just as soon belt but I
feel my face rush off. It fears the mirror full of wall water and
cement piles, bottles in the blackness for guys without hom es to
crash against. But somehow, as with anything in salt, it doesn ' t
limit this face. The razor balloon floated through my ceili n g.
They got dressed, then they didn 't, still as in my beginn ing.
 tes later he dropped me on a little pink square. It's
'fh ree min u
e of my face, and underneath are the words:
the sun ny sid
th e other day, my face and phone. I can ' t bear a
Si ttin g up
my shadow like just a comer of my cell's
thing. Tearin offg
rges?
threads, do you thin k it eme

97
 II THE RECEIVER

Slightly more than this was your what do you say? Blo5some d i n
a V between folds, slab grain against do i t lips, a block for th e
eyes without greying or slavishly interrupting. She goes out in
the black with no hold. This is the angle story of she, a golded
fish, a distraught place to land. Open hard with some panc ak e,
could I place my finger? I am here too but she speaks, with a
brush. What amaze for a face, what lies, what tack, take a care
you ' re aware what the cigarette draws. Eyes of the prompt
dilution , a rigid portal lesson . And the numbers referred to
above drain off down the blouse.

She had a mark of keeping all ready in the young darkness,

heaped up ware to a sleeve weaves before a bosom hidden to
lock it. I ' m small and I have it all stun ting. Touch my crusts
worn in twine and look in. What is the placement on skin of a
white? I knocked him back, j ust in passing. And what is this
stage, j ust, to distress? I would place a n ormal palm to his brow,
but in passing? The threat is that something then will open out
your margin beyond strips intention. His papers then open
beyond a breast shed wall. It's always that she's so complicated
in small.

A ridge has risen for the balls to be placed. An d oh strap, as the

writer had it, he looks as if into traditional eyes her strap. As if
it pulls wet into place around the night she's keeping. Then all
I saw at the candle was that she was asked to laugh. And wh at
do necks have to do with selfdeception? A monument to oppose
the lies of this century. A posture in grey tones fondly style d th e
Neglect of Swans. Is our harmony exclusive of any external
tren d?

98
 ght the liquid at an avenue turning , to the fossil of
Her n eck cau
st my n ib. A n ipple, is it possible? Then she crosses
race I ca
�efore it is she
aware of the cancelling potential, or of any way
re what' s logged to sight. But it's drawn on later
of wi n di ng befo
n ' t know. Or does she ever in any way of show. Slant
an d sh e do
of bl onde strap in a march on envy showing in the room of
meets wh ere it wraps and calms to a weightier savagery. Does a
black of crin klier plastic-rubber school desk immersion cover
her knees? I would trim her eyes.

Nothing more public than trim flesh, more puff and volute as
when her eyes raise her chin. When it's not a mask we read i n
books. Any longer. A dwelling inside the cast down flesh under
wraps a slung thing, her role in a film. I don ' t think anyone can
remove her shut eyes from the emulsion . It goes that way. Then
comes off. Is she looking at what you, as the film curls bums
repeats in snacks of the literature. Lower than did ever salvage
dawn, etc. And her thighs grow wider over a mixed handshake.
Do they agree with her, whatever she lifts? That other woman
has more things but doesn ' t cry as well in bed. I didn 't know
further I'd have to look over into the light. From which her
dark books will rise over the crinoline and glueless circus trade.

I n tod ay's show there will be no answering that pant weight

of
lace m ore than halfway down the thigh. They just wo n ' t hate it
en ough to sprin g words clear. See the night. I sit
on a fence
an d am thin. Have
I loved enough?

�ook at these lashes. Is it clear? I have no idea later at joy, a

arge pool to
eat. Where are my claws, my tonsil become a sort
of echo 0f
.
Wi thi n my
so me moon , or other anger stolen from hag, blood
fou r wall s. It's a sort of embrace withou t the breasts
Wall where the shadow wheels. I ' m bound to see it
or alm ast.
1ater, y
ou r hand.
And little pissy l ips that fall later out of a frank face, eyes
pinned in behind the skin, garters i n blank of cheek implicati on
frozen . The stairs that will appear beyond in her stories . Su ccess
as image an}Way of the people of the dark eye. And little else
,
struggles with what to say at your gaze. The point is to hold no
gaps, over and over, nearly true at least as a youth. When you
could hold up I didn ' t know you . Ice Capades, they then said,
and wrinkled charts of coiffure. Hand me back that big scene.
The darker ones, do I know to wear things?

And lived together behind the skin . Take it down, all that will
have flown . Did I put on a difference? And then he is always
asking me to carry obj ects, things in the sun or in a room, I
don 't have time for your hands, your clasped attentions. Where
she is lying back in the light that has her darken the antique.
All coiffed in rolls of bindery, she is pulled in the strings of ink
that pinch, what lair does he pierce? Is it her hand in dangle
that keeps? And what other furniture in intention? I could call
long over these bric-a-brac labels. And the shadows asleep of her
own invention .

Then against lacklight she seems spread to fly, what do you

know of what those shoes do to her thighs? Encasement has
brought to nimble flesh, just the simple placement beads strung
down across each nipple. Birth of all the colors. The squeezing
of the parting flesh, below eyelines, beneath frosted cuts of the
tendril , the show snare, gun location rampan t. If I sit up on you
this way you will love then to take me away, ladle my tits. And
then is she accompanied by sufficien t of the proper othe r flesh?
Those women who haven ' t enough to handle, as her eye brows
slice, as her political gum is managed. I am very meticulou sly
pain ted in this one and have the wider thighs. Till every corn er
that I lived was set.

100
 III THE PI.AN

set in most carefully comer. Leans. Topical

Di d go there was
angle of a blade that lamp. Leans to catch. She is
rn eans, th e
Jed. An d round er than skirts, lean when avid. Throttle stamens,
n0 , a sh ove is banned. She is not as light as protected when the
tap as le ane d is flat. A plant, affirm. It catches at its edges. The
sli ce is found, terms of wall gone beyond, snap. How many
strokes to box her walled? Nothing to what the animals then
played .

I could have my holes to hold her more solid, a latch. The

latch is here a coat. Fine out the things in their motion. The
meaning of patience is that she leans, the inners by herself to a
clutch. Horizon space is here rented. The beast is old. But will
there ever be a street? Now is said, can it pass? Long browns of
the held up thoroughfare. Is forever to a wall. Repeats, where?
Is thought gone when only turned. I live along boards to hold a
stick straight. It's luck. She turns. To have a whole hotel on
your nerves.

To light her whole host of a glance on the face opening twist.

She plays a vast hole on her nerves. It' s so low, this sill. And
the n is she brought open by the first twist aside? Belly lie, you
can ' t tou ch. Ven t where even light a smear. Hand fall at the
end of an arm down and she is ou t. Nothing perhaps is going.
The demon that presents merely one duller member of the
family unmoved. But her lights to the gate brought this wall.
And the fien d that faces carnival gaps. Not even a choice of
pan es to th
e what is it viewing. Solidarity in cross of the lamps.
Wh at is
· h er name?
Not to show yourself at such a clip of shade
here Res
. ts lik e the body open but it's the weight of the studio
Preten ds to sn
ap ? A mouth open dead and her digit is tickled.

101
Backing into shade these things are host of her painted there's
nothing going on. As this day will sharpen will you race back
turn friends?

In all could be weeks when she doesn' t rise?

It's in five, still five, then too much of its light as she happens
back, an opening in the rock, where are your habits? Watch on
the roast? The floor is then carbon , they will make you? But I
thought I had hired the white bra. It folds her arms. Am I had
to point? Wall come up as the impossible points.

As hers are too long, she is too long there, too long at the fire.
You could hear the folds snapping, sandpaper of her dress before
opening fronds. The weights were hung in haste like chairs. All
lined up then for recalcitrant she. So bolder grown to bore her
off? They were sent in aid but she's a ghost, moves in a map of
herself. The rug for her shoe place a shock. The hung white silk
edge requires how much black? Grows complex down there,
though nobody move.

I don ' t know how the hand helps them, stood away, flat as thus.
She is a moving belt. Did they say her heel is raised? That the
sun behind what of her clothes for the night? In the center of i t
all a sphere, lain. Or fish on a plate in a sky toward a green .
Everything is turning open and she has ladders on her mind.

Heavy sill, her leg up an itch for what is seen gained. Both the
trees in a line, the breasts placed. I have it to tell your hands,
no known thing. But her lines are racing. The plants grown se t
in their glass, sung flat as air weights. And it's normal in th e
heat to be searching for a stick. She admires albumin roofs.

I have never seen it as high as that, have you room? While yo u

move over just sketch that sky on a notch, let me up as later as

1 02
 Then I reach and she is huge and pink in her
th e twi gs align .
her pissed bells, in her strength of poised soles
blue h ood , in
lly off a bit above the plan . Loud grit await you, the
li ke a be
lamp. Then throttle the offside thigh to light the
stockin gle ss
upside glass. It is night over backwards on a guess.

Stringency in volume stuck the hairs. Plangency at volume rests.

A cat volute, and then on a whim sands. They place it chair
back not the rest of a spread rug. She hurtle, she tong a stand ,
she shy, release o f lead bound her hems. I meanwhile i n
advance, the sand ankle to drop shoe. As if a thread to the
breast that rose, those airs arranged above a cut. A marvel what
her hand wears down . Stretchers, perimeter of blonde fang, a
catch to it, checker in silence. Is this his partition , hers to mar?

Nobody's mentioned it yet hanging at sills, perhaps the dog is

loose, i ts laddered roof, the cabin lock in a case of green ice.
Wait for this wedding, permit the pet to loom in advance.
Where she will wait to the light. Ice going by on a mile. Are
these the heights from which to watch? Reads a book in the
distance the sound it is of she was. A nice, and then the light
cuts.

Not known her name in advance on the window ' s yard. It is

night the n to feeling. The wares of something not to wave
before the light comes sill. Someone is there she doesn ' t. Small
cows th e smile carves, the lamp in stretch unattends. Position of
feet and above inside is what, is reverse of nape, scope damp in
� rought shad e,
brought to a slice this slanted pitch and she is
�n ner by th e water. Her helm I have watched when the kitchen
i s aftern oon the plate is on. But she is so, no dampness she
stre tch es .
to. N o uncle of blocks and the straight
th.I ng n
.

back mk of
0 e l eg 1 s too.
.
·

103
All going over and thinking the sun, its patch at your very gre en
velvet scrub as the hidden lowered personal, a rung up on you,
she a tug. In trim, the hold of all clothes before, I am admitted
to waiting. Blocks are clear to the wall dress is shown, fine,
limbs of the link come wanting. And outside there are skulls.
She shows at her glance what is spread. Frustration cows. Coi ls
in hills. Lit mold to the body up nogged where the tips reach.
Has she sunned the own body of i ts stic k? Total aversion to
the tongue nods the h ead is pressed. Her skirts, her high and
then her eyed low shoes. They had to tie all together to keep it
fine beyond her. Breast tapping lessons.

A hydrant? The way clogged to her hair in dress hangs.

The breasts pointed out where he darkly sat. It's n ow my notion
that to be seen is lost. Under, felt all the limbs as wood. She
barely makes the smile horizon. And marveled at a slant what is
tipped? She shines her shoes beyond a cat. Moss to the river
and open it, forget. Window opens as he is slumped beneath
her hands. A small smart thing, the foot in the hedge's lair, flew
beneath the stars a chair. Fret, then lace back a pall of hands, a
reef where the meeting chips. It might come to wait for you,
this release on a lighted clime. And if so what has tipped her?

So dressed is she going out? Made off into somewhere with

including her chamber's wall. Her name a wall, and with it di d
she also name a horse?

But it's more like physics, when you're hounded by things like
that. A spray. . . .

The date, a space, and then the dressed date.

104
 IV SLEEPING

ghtmare came the milk. She counted on the fingers

From h er ni
blood. Do you expect to sleep after my breasts
to tell him in
have been called beautiful? I have entered the sleeping room
where I h ave had to do with such things. Are these repeats that
you h ave felt? Glass in place of flesh? Whole nightfulls of
families that kneel? Her lower lip thickened at that, so much
th at I could not see her teeth.

When you enter this house you enter a room. There you will
remove your robe in the direction of the harbor light as shown
on the closed blind. A married foreigner will bring you gifts to
look inside. There are such things. You will shake yourself and
pull your material through. There are walls and there is their
flesh. A narrow angle between the differing smells of hair. She
was childlike when she drew asleep and wen t out, her fingers in
sunlight, all nigh t.

They want to sleep me and draw from it my hips, but hastily

and every time I have gone aslant. It's she who wil l pass in the
street has slept with you. The distant sound of her h uge close
breasts sagged sligh tly as they were. And the silence that
followed, the chasm between the fingers involved. I overturned,
she claime d as she rapped three times again.

Each mouth one by one. And what is your tempo beside the sea?
Even th e flowers by the walk would overcome her hundreds of
possible bo dies.
But he seemed to rise to breathe in his own

:
arm s. A vo ice
it was possible for her to use, whose body with it,
hose h an d on
. 01
. the public latch? Stop it, said the girl, I 'm not
i ng a thi ng. Bu t in bits and fragments at the base of the room ,
is an ds In
.
her dre ams, a sleeping girl on her hands. She turned
away an
d turned away again, strongly at the knees in the course

105
of a night. Her hesitations made a strange beacon, the sle ep of
position of character. I thought to take these old eyes to th e
n eck but I was too near.

The red of her lips partly. My other hand clutches myself

beneath, the rougher skin brushed upwards. The other han d is
deep in her hair. No, I no wake, I spend, I care. Gradually to be
sent out of her mouth barely brushed. At one center, the eyelid.
At another, the long n ape. No, you are too soon to the touch.

If you sleep you may die. Look at the size of it. Remain to be
removed, nothing but a sample but perhaps sadder, rustling less
fain tly than its darkness. Then wanted to be close to the ground
but the sheet had stopped . In the sudden sleep you will not
even know that you have become cold. From which milk came
the finger and in nightmare even the house i tself.

106
 V LETIERS

H er mouth is but oil and she makes me see the little girl of it.
I-Jow I wish it would hold, in the way of love an invention. This
escent silk suspended an inch off your breasts,
is th e rosy irid
h ow th e waters do run in comparison . I wish in the way I
might see those groans the very walls come up
clasped yo u I
wi th . Why m ust we even be restrained in madness.

I fear lest you may see merely into this passage out of
politeness. There is a judge of outrage but he does not open his
mouth and so we do not know him. But I admit that I am made
of granite and still waver. If I promise I can do nothing.
Tighten yourself and stop seeing only what I present to you.
You will coil that lace off your breast above your head as a
greeting to me. You do have the liking for thick cloth as well?

My flesh will not come back to me without the placing of yours

before me. And I would see your proof, as with a spoon. As
spoons clasped we ride over the frightening texts of flesh habit
scri bed badly. I refer here to the white marble cask, as you
know. Oh, hold me on my back and eat me like Shakespeare
with vin egar. My writing must be as beautifully cast away as your
strap that day on the grass. One must do it as in one flame well ,
from chocolate to amethyst, a thousand liquid breaks to the
� reasts. Do you fear so much the loudness of my room? I will be
In �oxic ate d before your slightest
cry becomes melodic. May you
bnn g you rself
to pose in all the windows that I love.

�erever the source of your name, I kiss you in that place.

di e , my han
� d in bed, my dream of this world that hangs from
the h ght
of a dream, my sweet staring thickness, my hock.

107
 VI BEAUTY

Gilded gloves at the thrust of all your crystal playthings . Di d you

think those lips, and only then enjoy them? What have you lost
bond with, the swallows of all the deepest in teriors? This is the
stuff of which to stay. Locked, so I may smile before I snee ze.
How are your wishes? I had to feel some force formed into my
pulse, left of the organs. I must. Tug until the unfamiliar
sounds. It is nothing more taxing than a haven for fronds.

Where you are the master of creams, spy I. A strap around the
honey and target unfettered. Tin things, ebullient arms. Of
course I can not, I would not, I will though. Unspeakable to
conceal anything so certain. The waiting wall for its slash of
color, as if. Dou hie back, do the gag of his clothes for him. She
will hunt, as you say. The miles one must go to lay awake
certain of such a going on yet. Stop messing with this
atmosphere of porcelain. Any louder and I will crouch.

These the further erotic adventures involving cruel little leather

things dropped to the floor, and what I thought and what she
meant spitting away. The leaf of a plant into her belly, then the
gloss shaken out. We were all darting at her distensions from
the hallway. Be pleased to finger back such peaches. Good girl.
White lubricious windows with dark blue centers and the one
who whipped looming over all. On whom the glance told,
wooden as whippoorwill in firelight. So as he delved .

In such lavish rooms, could there be a chin toward whom? Street

like a mount to such sculptures. Place he might see the stren gth
go out of me. Her will, stinging fingers, brass snaps, good size
touch with a leash. Wish I could be as surely borne at such a
thrash. The violin hung to be pulled behind and beyond them .

108
 n er hip froze and I knew that it was gone. How much
The h
down could we light the rest?
fu rther

the fi sh of royalty a tug of the hair, the garden i tself, d oes it

At
per simmer for this cock to perform? High raise
ain th e pro
;di t toned of the long sands, march trills, encomiums just, a
ous hair. We have set these averages, ledges
part to the fam
really, holds for the parts up before the coun tenance wakes, the
populace actually, a fuss. Are you hoarse? The complain t was
that in a squat I saw some of the many. Do you blur, and then
do you have welted flesh?

Braised brains to a cold bronze of the fluids of other men.

Open the bits and bend, supplicating sound an d a cover-the­
cock tension . They have taken the weight away to allow it throb.
I see whole decks of it past here, she lies to the hips and so

muffles her cries. It's research. They hired adders to in crease

the stare. How can you pass the sul tan ' s palace without h anging
in an afternoon? Perfect balance, salt on the rosaries.

Have you any choice, bow down . I had heard that any heat left
through a tiny hole at the bottom. Such white teeth to keep the
resp ec t for in blood. A long daze for which special cries would
h ave to be picked . Long crossings
of the d isplay-lighted room,
then put back.
I shared this opening with the glare of the
hun dreds. Whole
room pulled from my cock, her cun t the
an swerin g
catc h, the ceiling a highway daubery. Trunks waving,
eyeb all s,
stamen s. It was a treat the exquisite centers of dark
yes, th e
nu dgin g balls as part of a great silk gag closing i n . I t
� ad
to get elab
orate. "The clock," h e whispered.

I tried t ·
0 tie h is
"
face and his lips, some to each and throw him,
Prec isely the re .
faster u .1 .
d ness therem , but the open mouth made 1t
·

n u it s topp
ed. That powerful l ittle sash growing brighter

109
in powerful little knots. Where my hands and how his he ad, sl
ap
the silk, grow dark red above his can. I removed the silk from
his mattress as if highest ski n . A robe to raise and then I jerked
i t. If the door was in your own tongue could you ,help i t? He
bolted the cock slowly in powerful little blinders. Then the
damn-you was pulled, in straddle, smacked an d tipped out of
any light. The sounds were a pleasure but the welts were
closing, and the world. Now and again I viewed the cock in a
machine.

By now the clothes had become very oval. A great fragrant cat
locked in tropical bloom seeking oils an d metal from the head.
Her girdle always carried inside a casket. The secret ex-beauty,
armor encasing her veil , we waited to be bound down the
broadest corridor as her slaves. But, came out, she kept asking
between her legs. Though distan t, this was a beauty of
tremendous importance. A tan ring aroun d the genital pond.
And she was sound at first though had tickled other feathers.

Heard the first whipping cycle sob of an oil fire masterpiece.

Lick me forward as if I were holding him. Strafe back in as the
silk has taught. A looking luscious between the eyes at love 's
compartment. His eyes judicious and stared into each other. I
took the fist, then the nex t, or n eck first, then the other on the
off-chan ce. I t grew night under his belly but I was by then a
good gag drop away. Hat whips of the mou th are almost beyond
me, the sensation of having slipped past all their rear arms.

H ave you foun d the oil man? I felt my tears get thicker, then
the floor into the corridor. The ring had grown too hot to w ai t
and so closed i n . I saw then that she was largely blank to the
nipples. Golden holes where should have been rubies place d
poked back at her breath gone hun g by the barest shou t. A rifl
e

of laughter beaded. Did you have the saw to felt purely? I h ad

1 10
 vice to the toe pried broad d iaphan ous. Then ,
on e over
�lip pin g
on their inner thighs, the pair pressed fmward. Took
ut, just managed to catch the lips, the pillow
the pins o
g also.
ex plo din

The result being, such a n ovel hand to raise.

111
 VII COATING

If only my throat is thought of, prostitute of lungs, a gre at pai d

out undressing of one ' s carriage and made as if to feel an d
think on it, cherry whistles stayed to witness. Free those lu ngs of
their nails, make me see the undressing you. Paid out to th e
trees outside these windows, your dress as nothing is to think
on. Though what could be more irresponsible to move on than
you holding my hand, lin ked brevi ties?

It's salt in the syringe I believe before hired win dows. We are
melancholy beneath the venetians, a red begins the glow of my
house in your arms. And finally, as if to piss again on furs,there
is a piano.

Can they afford to scan t what's not walled in? Are there
ceremonies you an d I could try with pain ted ermin e? He said
back up after, it's over for both, room with a pin k dresser. I
didn ' t see what you eviden tly saw falling from a shoulder, the
shoulder's the l atch, the wall at sea, the yellow that comes to
the hand on reaching around on e rose spike after another
plan ted with the crystals of an other older speech when any
matrix is mistaken for tradition .

I have unflagged your speech with a winter short one field ,

shouted this into the metal mirror placed where the
population has made a great deal of random atomic
representation . Like a hairy flat deal in bright pigments. Bu t is
there a slipping liberty to your image? I slipped on her bra,
turning absently cool as permission . The l ining of this g un two
windows width of azure. It was a sunday lined with other on es,
and there lies dead her story.

1 12
 eping pills arrived in March. A tight silence of formal
Th e We .
, breasts tucked mto the plush metal at the back
n gem en ts
�= sp oon s. In
reddish blank billows a more fatal come. And

� e silver of
such books, waits, errors in bed under thighs, the
ver of a summer carriage. Plated in rouge this electric
small shi
re the pai n .
pon der befo

the pleasure he wants t o pass. Then what tastes

But more than
is what the female eye adapts. The pounding material a leather

paste lifted from Paris. The Paris of sure errors, the others exist
in a chest. Where deep i n rumour we arranged a n eckli n e
exchange. A hot brush, this speech under curtains.

Is it on the plain of zodiac he holds flat so that i n hours the

pendant slips of my mind grow bolted? How often did thinks
break at that sort of smile outlasts the stroke of hair across the
temple to the poin t the eye? Then it begins stabbing down and
they go in ?

Like statues of milk in the creamery cemetery as a leather skirt

pulls up, we wen t up in a hill that day and got as if the haul of
the elevator turned cold black beyond us. The butter a mere
likeness, the strawberry denim going sour over the wire of the
lin geri e's forgotten repetitions. But it will boil down to fall later
like grammar. Meanwhile we
laugh an d I pledge a rain ' s
allegian ce t o
loosen ess and the forgible way m y marble string
boils down .

B en eath
gauze, n o. Is the end of it all ever an exposure? The
rnakin g of
h er grand attention to others madder and more that
a CUr ta
. m nses m color as memory of M ' s knuckles beneath a
•
· •

river T . . . .
o be aware of cease d speech m the act openmg up VIVId
·

� ew san c
si nk s.
tions, sodium could be poetry in certain behavioral

1 13
Between cup and tip, I keep breaking out in bleeding u n der
this bridge. But in the dark to l isten is everything. In sex I
thought I heard of marauding women called Bands of Fu r. B u
t
I moved the wrong limb in this bed of pavement and now hav
e
these bled into your argument. Like on overnight panels
deranged by buttoning design , i t' s too late to speak when
masked. Took off some marks from your shades in this ball . As
if wherever a piano, marble the border. I h ope you do not wake
too famous to hear.

And after dinner, as at the piano, the bra filled with water. We
were there on the couch to say what would soon secure i t in
history. Realized that nothing between the legs would seem out
of place n ow.

Hum to me then the arching of veins in a common wall. The

coat already fel t to hold too prismatic, place your hands at my
window.

As in punctuation go for the button in these games of the swig,

of the made entries, is there a better triangle?

So that nothing tears at the h eart-shaped bust, our linkage

sooner or later close enough to fu se. As you ready your
defenses, I suspect charm.

1 14
 VIII TENDER

made it a sucking thing to tred on?

Jlave you
g at the doorbell to do is get silver ducks with a dash at
The th in
e globes that have given to gaping holes a swish of
the top . Th
abo ve, between which are not holes but the show of
the lob
friends arriving. A top load pelled to the frieze. She opens his
always d oes. String those flesh , then snap
neck like a cock
pl ump lace couch twitch to slivers. I thought her key to water

was naturalistic enough in the silen ce of where she kept it.

Wavin g. Like to take a pose an d squeeze the flat plate beneath.

Above the kingsize bed a long gilded razor. She was trying to
lose weight off the memory, or draw of her sex. At the edge of
just that that I shook my head. Does it stay the warmth of my
body? Tum to lay the old cigarette d own among scraps and the
odd octahedron given to me to limit, the flesh to the blue sky
beyond. A transparency hardening to greyness just fi t the palm.
I t hangs from a red plate so I don ' t fuck up my arm. Bursting
from a wool of the never mind. I ' m smooth, I wan t to stay off
the cand les.

Was pronoun ced DNA, layed next to a fig newton beside the
pain ter's brush. With the high steady valve, we kn ew its smoke
with our spe ech . I was raised , I related in time with the strip
between us
to love stalactites, blues an d death. B u t not in the
ord er that
pop s ou t of the oldest you . When I ' m in a mood, it's
�
t e color
d ifferen t.
of any box. Hold it up to me while I ' m looking
Sen se? Hell, but it doesn ' t work. You just bough t that
gu n for th e
onyx black un der its copper top , n o?

To se e y
ou , to see you . Open the block, half handed body,
m oo d t
he sh adow , do it to. She
likes them to aband on the
arm p it
's gram. to my sticks, the crossed relief. Do you if I ' d

1 15
care? A relish to snap back, cancel the shoulders, the blown
eyes, suspenders in a sack, the latch damp of the last ste p . H er
own n akedness makes her. I borrowed her small roll of p ap er.

He watches me keep revising my history on a landing in the

dim small garden on your h ands. Give me half a morning and
I 'll lie in bed . For you like an electric map of these states,
burned the black chemise in the sunglasses' flowered rays. If
you 're sure your skin is already up? I have revised my shoulders,
pure cream that glowed in a word and no morals. What is that
hump? Lies while you were away. I do mean to say, put aside,
the make-up on your birth. She lacks the basic show like an
underskin , a tow down the street lanes of dominoes. Is there
l ipstick juice anywhere near that cat turning off the whole fan
of the Chrysler Building? You won ' t get anywhere bobbing by
them. Ass canceled , hurry up girl, be prudish and yell. Fucking
brand concrete sensible, wi th a siren ' s murderous rise. And
type.

She lights a skull, bump of a razor blade. A certain violet line of

writing will break her mirrors back to the original leather. But
because of that and under cigarette those pages themselves
become legend. Where they've sported a thick sun , go fuck
yourself. Would so if I could pull harder. Then it's goodbye to
ankles, mottles and eggs, decided against the corpse. When they
make i t that she feels the slide.

I ' ll stroke out my hair for you like crystals or the material lo ose
cubes of clothes in a canyon. Have you ever thought to have m e
dusty on a pile below a tower? The polkadot slip has two
separate metal parts that light all the meals to come above h er.
But the glycerine of her light has me pinned and I ' m like a
dream, down .

1 16
 .
dy
00 take a photo of all that's beneath me? I bowed till my

Di es were insi de my palms, that arch of the bed. Did he see

kn e
hoW
I ' m holdin g on to the underwater fragmen ts? A sharp look
oor. Fly through the whole body in suspense. Are you
to the fl
gh at the bottom of a daddy's belly? I ' d drop that
still a thi
win dow if I were you . Their bed at the
bottom of her shoulder.

An d that slump of the mirror, the body itself.

I le t my stuff take him, be ripped . Not to notice all the work on

my earrin gs, be sobbing. My pan ties i n to the glass of iced air
ought to hit him soon . Come down , lie slender, be how bad i t
could be. I sit o n my closed fist. He feels eyes a s ear drops. I
take the bathroom glares in a notch, put the elevator in the car.
Hand creeps up hand, every bit of her, an avenue to tease
widening at all the red lights. But the way the cock turns
female, in certain slots' heats he goes for the book.

Lounge blue night. Nipples occupied . Floor, basement, beneath

the edge the wall area laid, papered. Blue facade with deep
purple windows where slip baby blue flakes down . The blue is
cu ived, lettered and u n d erlined, small inside, long harnessed in
nickel strip s running out. Her breasts crowd the lining. The
lo ng oak is in a small square. This is just a stage, separation , an
entran ce from within the
hide for the curious passer. Their
p arts start to
show, a double bag of sequined numbers. Two of
them small as
empty rooms throw a dim glow in spots on
dressi ng mo
tion s. The tights of some show. They smooth
�ogeth er t
he chose n skins in shimmer. Does it feel like circling
In her tm .
y cascade?

B u t we .
stn p ben eath , leaving heaps of asses, only asses.

1 17
 IX FORMS TO THE GOOD

1.

See the coat? There' s a man in it. All the types of anim als view
and race to draw drapes over where once were holes for th e
buttons on view. A crustlike drawing style, engaged to the lamp
in fluorescence. So study the reflection bowled flesh must twist
in an envelope press, the nipple pulls the mirror forward and
down , a profile at that. Let's wait for her meters to read. I t's a

chain to cut with further metals at a scald, his head with it, her
choice of breasts. Half-shod at this bol ted doorway? But it
almost is now fit to burst, an d at the base three female balls.
But she was angry at her spoons, I had l ost my eyes i nside a
trunk. Fit to come run n ing at, aroun d the budge of the long
avenues. He falls from the enlarged blocks for the crime of
wearing her hair. The other entreat while the lamps. He is
h i tching u p past my, and it is bold that wick, drain rabbit,
skeleton under brief mate of boat and tongs. He has
approached us, she claims, square of light and all grimace forth
from the dark of a cat's facial scales. We dangled the salt selle r
cameras from a dainty run of flesh, iron haggard the spirit
cream dines standing breast plate in for. And behin d the wi cke r
scarp, l ook what hangs from the fron t of her slightly turned
aside. She will be back.

I said Garsh around a rim and walked with her depending.

Larger flanks grew vague as we kneeled for the pavemen t
curren ts to settle, into freedom of the acrid promenade . Bu t
parasol failure draws clarin et success. Her body played to th e
heart's cun t, in terior bundles showing in the thigh, the to p
d
ripped back a kiss. There is meanwhile a baking bag i n to wa
on the step. He has rustled her ou t of the rubble, n i n e coal

1 18
 high. And there is a hiding on, whose salt breasts,
olic em en
� hose squid
H
, wh ose opening nut. A cleverness of motion hides
ave you gotten out of a sen tence the ground? There
th e b arn .
erefore drawers. For the tent a vegetable spine to
are layers, th
hands are now in position her dress. The froth at
be foun d. Her
the fron t of the meat in the drawer. I would imagine the light
obtrude from those hanging but pacing still limbs. Upside
roundhouse. Her prim flat of upheld statemen t that face now is,
unseal the message, the heating flaps beneath paid out ceilings.
It's such a noble bowl in here, general heads, lion card towels,
her open eyes in a gag. What turbulent lessons, gales of bright
sud, enmeshment windows to be seen not looked from. I tied
her tight upon the frameworks of my name, the one my
neighbors. Chambers of the trunk above the wire tusk and
empty solace she faces. Faces meaning an inability of the l imbs
to change.

Is there water below the nerve to speak this history? She is

waiting poised on glass with her dress caught to striped
backings. Meanwhile his band is sloshed. I will hold my medal
to the window and hum up a crowd, a turn ed dawn beyond . Is
there a need for women's heads below the gas lamps? I
purchase her bone, my pelvis on her girdle, a dream that in the
sk irt fl oat come bananas. So much bosom the face a featureless
orb , fans pro trude and a box, i ts lashes holding out, raising the
glass from the squirm of her base. I have remembered nothing
but her fl esh, I would call for nothing baked out further.

�e th ere pictures of your tongue in this tiny? She dressed

efore glamo
ur in the flat and a python bath taken. Knowledge
U p a ' dge , the
backgro
n nose partakes? I would marry her breasts to the
u n d , ' .
. 1 f su ch be lace ruff at the tassle perfect p1Cture
win d ow a
n d you see nothing but a yellow in the higher, a
r .
eg1o n from wh'1ch .
the pomts of the spheres. I keep the cats

1 19
near for that reason, kissing. Nebulous but nonethele�
blossomed. A great crate of wake flood will meet our drops.
Adder and tow at a brushed avenue. Made a Chrysler of h er
bust from which medal her hand hangs front. ,

Do we piss spice, naming such laps of bulk. Do you potato on a

pin snooze? I could like her hair from here. I could light up
and press in the belly here, whatever further cancels cou c hed. Is
your spirit of the smallnesses achieving redress in the battle of
hands? She has made her place of a mould so brash, a tonally­
committed vomiter on hold. Could you raise a cup to sing? A
breast fell out of her bed . She was jump rid den. Other clothes
were tied there, from which we tickled the strong, the wrong in
holes. I could match her in ink with my cattle £lenser. Displays
too many organs fallen thus in a corner. She waits for
reassembly plus a general drying.

Stop shooting that same thin image of the legs. An aisle of

nothing but keys would prevent, but you scotch. Much meat to
that cat, nothing to these cities but height. And a large opening
at which the man will leave. She will hate to raise any image of
his head besides. Nothing but statues await you all. That and
injectors on the squared-off lifters. I 'd rather she drop a limb
and I erase something.

2.

There is too much water in my room. I know it already from

the style of these things, the enormous advantage of
endlessness. It all goes up in a bridge and breaks down in to
trains. Plunge, attain plunge height, then doctor her li mbs.
Monuments broke off in silence, massed nudes at the bases.
Crowd hoards to pickle her. I could have made my way ou t of

1 20
 y. A pathetic breeze over the clocks, especially those
y own wa
in bl a
� ckface , le ane d on , where the terrible face will be washed
w my stri ped tints. Waters in funnel make up a blown
away belo
glass.
say with that shell for a face between your
It' s too m uch to
th ighs. Things thus add up to cavernous beginnings. I could
con duct the wate rs with a rod? She cannot tell, being faceless,
but nevertheless perseveres naked beneath the waters. It is my
friend I haul oil to over there in broad strokes. Beneath a body
all out of birds, did you crack yourself on the rocks under
there? Their permanent place in things, grand haunches await
nickel-plate use. She was hovered over the colossal caves in meat
circles, the waters used her, she was out. Wagged legs in
stocking duck soup, raised before the pant braids on ledge
waters, will not amount to what could have been seen of her,
between her and the last place you'd look. First tie down the
fluid, then smoke it. He waits. She is enfurled. The bed is rising
away. A waterfall of her could not be a real human in chamber.
How did this chamber form? How did her? A figure waits
beyond her chest.

I would hate to have to drag alone all the rest of these humans
out of here. Would she wake to the tide? Stone poles. Sauces
made of the vege tative backing. A furniture kick. Will she press
her bed the fabric turn to waters? As if she'd
fo rward out of
··
await an 1c1cl e snooze, feet turned down , statuary emerging. All
drawn away .
��
.
m a wake of hght waves, phosphors for the
�mbin g's chains, iris white in the rock fire. I'll all go up on a
t n gl e, she a plate, washed asleep at the door. I didn ' t think i t
novel t0 li. e off an
" ywhere. But plen ty of human seals at the edge
of thIng s. Penetran t waters, and in dislodge her piano has come
u
nrdon e' t00k It. o
fo �
d r t e bod ic e
ut from beneath her phones, a tooth too large
to shine through. Icicle twilight and we await the
essi ng 0f a
dark brooding.

121
This room is now upside her dress. Tied down to her dre am s
she trills and the station waits brought down in beams. T he
floor a bracket loud of the central station. The man will allow
her rise, float at the smoke dart of one candle t:orne r. T h ere
are engines of light destroyed to the floor beneath my be d's
dream of a cabinet solvency. Princesses find their rings be low
the sod rug where aquamarine glues and visiting prisms. I
would tear him from my house and out the door in to stars,
wouldn ' t you?

A banquet we must discuss by these waving beds. Amazing to

close the whole of your dress by h and pulling the wall totally to.
My cap risks the size of your chest. It is longer here at the crypt
point, boats loose and just past dressed, for the one breast to
rise, waters tiered to the slab to go down . She is slow at
embankments to let slip the silver beads, one by muffled foot
one. In her tale is a rug, and on that rug a part of i tself flui d ical
tubers and the chalk waste of birds. The door admits the light
to a box. Only. Sanguine.

But she manages to have a tower of her inventions, her self, last.
A pike at sea, dim. Praying among shipping for the ball to drop
indeed, the microphone of marble to be felt, and the sofa's flow
to stricture in particles' dawn bind, so does lallygag the medusa.
There are no frozen assets. And everyone comes down silvery
with wreath fever. Even the bandaged femme just short of
slickness and the stayed fires.

3.

But i t's capi talized , this rag heart in space of bronzetown , th e

naked in carriage all capitalize by. They run off at the gate as
e
brunettes. The hour is long and the humans are captured. Th

1 22
 re of tin . Are there those snakes where you barter? That
hou rs a
· mart for the headless. But she goes past on her wings,
gate 1s a
Sh e Is ab
· solved and enters n ew halls walking with birds. The
��
are a lake. Do not penetrate these doorways, the .
way bolts
Hi s saw hand on the floor blade. All careemng
are left.
urge to sit. Persons overturn, pictures
wreckage meets the
remain th e same, retain the identical scene. It's humorous for
the dark head to tum away in flowers. We have these portraits
th at are beginning to heave here, amoun t to so much more
they topple . On the guests' black rhombus. Excuse me, I must
let out the serpent. All things being two, being more, I
adumbrate my appetite, settle on the sofa to think for you. Are
there no adorable drinks in the glass? The avalanche comes
with the wallpaper, sundays only. Leave that bird person on the
screen alone on the floor. She has made of her chairing nets.
I'd have half an idea at bedfall to prey on myself. Remove my
win gs to the ceiling.

But here is Father Hate, he is thought up at the ecritoire. One

mus t here bow to the rhyme pictures, the set of cabochon
chairs. The floor not to be held , beyond belief. They remove a
kind of silver plaster to come in and waste it, special servan t
B erb er of the Muttonchops for that. He stands then in a ring
on a spearmint pastille, prepares to latch his bowler, think with
the j ets of h er dress. Is it time for the kissing with wings. Wings
all poin te d in a way the stick
could not? Very light time and
Wallp aper in this ream.
Install one's arm.

B u t in th e ce 1.1 mg
.
.
u s nse an d su
someone's stolen smoke. It has left. Good, let
rrep titious load
the door and go. I will read the
score of your
ba
rem nants on a special slanting slab of the
sernent tones. The adage goes that caterpillars are vegetable,
� te n . on sp e
cially-spiced tines, grind with brake shoe in place.
ornin gs d nft .
lost on upward smoke, obscure the armoire.

1 23
Bring me just the nails to finger this haze, put out the long an
d
the short. A tweezer of a livingroom rug? These chambers the
afterthoughts of adders, spell me a basement of your will.
Spearmin t, mandatory, she's made a whip of her bare-legged
skis.

Approach this couch with fear and hatred, and spare nostri ls of
a porcelain clink. Drive out of your eyes a spare. The table is
loaded with ink, of a whi te, and in a trice the monkey's paws
hold it. Ice your diamonds in leaving on trek, butterfly in a
bootcase, lovers on the wall. I couldn 't imagine so many hoses
on one screen. Something looking like a head of penis blurred
in one frame there. The well-rehearsed dressers get seated to
not notice. They are turned out of gum. Notice the floors.

But she still holds what might once have been a ball. It is
evidently lighter than the puff it shades. Many humans to
wrestle snakes in mirrors over this. They have made up a rug
grouping. Back to the Berber with his candle. It is the map
hand that troubles, hollowed, in edges of a cliff flaking down.
As watched as ever we rush to embrace beyond it. It is my
carving that has saved us. Back space full of bottles and with
weeds and inside then a notion to be discovered mating. Gang
by the pictures shouting. Rats in clearing spheres at the foot.
And she is darker than the bat she ducks.

But they have all forded together on firing hooves. A cal amity
living space all forefronted and gamboled, skipped to th e fire in
one frame. Have you been beyond Bicarbonate, beyond
Hamburg? I am sorry for your blood-blocked rug, passers
toward the stairs. But we are all engaged in pictures the
00 ·
skeletons like, they paid us to climb the stairs to, add ers or
But hush, I have met statues in firmer places.

1 24
 4.

h b ut d id h
is blood sing, oh but did?
� he i nterio r
logic of a map was on his front. We deal it from
insect. Enter at the foot. Enter dress opening as
thi s day. Enter
a stage. Th
ese are flattering things, the hand drops flat at the
side o n a top.
And though it's frontal the legs walk back. I have
iven yo u the breasts now come the birds. Calls for a fallen fire
;0 go out and you to come. Prison bare and walls of droplets,
the sta tue holds with one hand pushed. And he stands looking
out from under zeal. Twice at the gate, once at the lance
bene ath . Not too many rhomboids for this bird head . He
shoots, his puffs blow seed.

And disc away this Chinese hand, has hung another writer later
to be sung away in flattish and the bushes close her edges.
Hand take breast. Will her twin eat the fire bird at the end of
this show? A hardness is gathering shade to these vistas. Falls on
head in blackened fire end below her tweezered gathers. And
out of the space above them in the walk comes something sharp
to hand. Hoses, meanwhile.

Could they open her cunt balanced on shoulders at metal leaf

bank side of jail? I prize your thighs thus will let you out. I
would op en the cage but the animals are us. Strange dilemma
of a hat l eft out in the moon
, for which cattle have been
? li n ded. Tru e space. Take a whip to the castle barriers, to your

�
in ner co stu m e, as wheels roll by your
stiff legs. I then open the
oor ho le to
him ignoring at the back that grunting exerter.
ave We qu ite
finished this floor? It's a lodge, this cage. No one
W11 I no ti" ce I'f
.
we carry her saddled. All caught like bottles in the
cu bel ik e
pi nc ers. Cotton gin to mandala stain , one jump then
the b u lg N
·

e s. aked feet on the list. She goes out, we meet l ater

in ai. r.

1 25
A spread of moons. Laurel will come out when she tun es the
lamp's head globe, the one with n o plants near your fire. Gian
t
face, less table space. But we will not dine beneath these
pictures. Take off your mask and glass-in a bram deli riu m,
matter of melting the footside hallways. She takes terrible
transparen t trouble with her hand index, broken crystal in two
tries, clasp knife bolted sandwich of bless the perime ter an d
never think of cheating by sleeping. The bed work is at han d.
At such a native point glass would catch fire, even if on a
dresser. And lower than night this shadow.

Her dress comes open at the top. Below a waterfall. Beyond an

asking about hatred and the dials deeper. Woman 's brain of
fruitrocks on a train of shake down the plain drawers for the
black albums, the nature of which proves birdneck, eyeball
through broken space of the lace twisted fuck mere glance. Is it
all strip and chemicals where you are? We wait meanwhile on
the elevated lavender, where a sphinx of the schottish comes
in to view. Table manners of hounds climbing with straight tails.
Somebody should number only the real faces on this railroad.
And she takes it neat. But she takes me.

Isn t it all clouded up again in a hair piece? The tree ignores its
,
own salad possibilities basking on birdhead in electric nettles. I
wil l carry the wrapped body further as something small looks up
at me from side hole. Amazing marzipans of this palatial wade
to the fuck. Who proposes the hairline of status? His hands are
a part of it, of hers. Some kind of body has beheld the knife.
Drop her in ways from my penis coming in that have neve r.
One hand one finger alone above the floor gets me off.
Slumber club, pianissimo tart basket. Every floor provid e a
e
holder, up. Her thighs to smooth back nothing but lin es wh er
the ink, may this be a Victorian stroking? To stand say at h e r
throat as she covers perhaps her crotch, is it any won de r th at
horrors come in at the chair?

1 26
1 rnean th
e door or chain. A remnan t where the last two strokes
· a fl ame . She has caught me flaking the doorway
have ralsed
with what
. h as she there as parts of her chest? Going away
is. As if I had caught her her posture but my
wward me she
bo th h an ds are full. Will we see the eggs are skulls as the basis
of n ature ? R ocks from the trees, an avalanche from her moves.

5.

Brace yourself at the blue rock, will bring your arm back. In the
silence the room left. Just up to the nipple no more. To bring it
in low enough makes a foot of things. She feels it at her tips,
just in spin lifted off. Nobody would bring such eggs to a
gallery. Sand lot aven ue, glares in the talk after actions, radical
liners of tonnage. Sand lot blouse.

It takes birds to, and other dominations. Bag of eggs a

distraction, a moss on the back of your thirst at the implication
that you might have to tred an edge for it. One, Two, Zuider
Zee. Blackness as an example of laughter, its tonnage. The king
wears wings as he straps down the women in his festival. We
presen t parts and their clamps, in rows and on solids stable and
clean as served wheat. It's novel to have a retort, always close to
what's indicated. The block could be ice or street.

Swe etness of this

fireplace, vanity sink or grave. There are
revela ti ons
that an open book won 't. I come up on the side with
a righ P e
t. op le then had feelings of me, though my head today
Was novel. U nwrapped things, the angle of lying bare and still,
o. n exch angable pallets
with pencils and hats. The floors were
involvi n g an
d a flame fed your join . Wisps of total palace, the
w
1
ornan ay face
Wherever beh" dow n. She was playing a game of stains
m d her we would come to face. Fools have no

1 27
authority, plen tiful here. And so the angle you take to you r
wardrobe is wrong.

What's coming out? They idle meanwhile in a·win dow where

n othing is eviden tly drawn . Came flooring. Vague oth ers
drawing off in a mesh background, n o fault. But so mu ch
material, it even doubles the sister who merely waits in the hall.
That the flames have guttered, the family of skulls redi ce d. I
can ' t tell you all the paraphernalia we then partied with . It was
sentimental, thus whirled in shadow. Deposited all, as usual a
single shoe was left. There was no failure on the tables, just as
much nakedness rules. Though the usual threats of a sort of
black shatter in the background closets. Those nudes blemished
in the waiting merely. Those bon e now stone.

A ring, with which I tie then tire of thee in chambers of a most

simple mathematics. One and one in reversible flame. They
ought to all coun t at each other, rhyming in double ochre,
rhyming in the torn cross. But soft, those backgrounds are
leaking i n . The one to be shot is hung before its mirrored
ratchet easel. Animals of the lower form even view it. But light
cut him down in time to bed . Some sort of animal form
involved whose sticking will cost me this leg. It's the pe n n an t
not the bosom that's winning.

6.

For example, cancellable waves. Nutrition that's variable i n the

waiting, inside which they plan to club themselves with th ei r
own limbs. It's all in a catch, a hide, sling of lungs an d bl o n d e
within hatches. All the parts are numbered . Well, some . You see
it somewhat growing ou t from the base as well. An d th e mo re
she examines the more she is observed by the boso m, th e

1 28
parce I , th
e pen ny weight. These are reversible steamships,
nn s on the desk of vanity dry sink oil patch. We are
wedding fo
sim plify our pictures to the point of insanity, gallon
nabled to
�
Ju gs of dott
ed lessons. Whose hand thing is this? And where do
1 go back to from
the wal l?

H e en tan gles a whole en d of this tale in brocade of both dress

and prosce nium crust. Nothing we had done made a shadow in
the sli gh test. Nothing left but pupas on the floor. Did you move
your ann , the wall , my breast? It' s a peeping at the old head,
the one invoked here with no redress. As you remove my lace in
truth I gaze beyond your hair, retie the snake had been remiss.
He told me to lie that way for hours, developed a clock I was so.
The lubricious parts disappear in a while. We then have pills or
crispies on the floor. His eye to a vanish, my lip to fin to stick to
wall hole. I wished him now the parts extinguished. I 'd guessed
I'd lie back expectant of more life, one carefully hosed foot
depending.

The rain and now is she waiting with very little, or being sold in
a stee l background before which the broken glasses? Shoes
there have matched the panel, the insects in trim removed in
flames . Idle perhaps to remove your hat with your hair. The
peace of the throttled in puzzled backings on the craze and
with taffe ta of a peach the nodding lights could gain from, his
h an ds aro und the one exposure
� t all. It was a paraffin
of any meaning beyond the act
parasol, bone remains of a dinner on the
ens . T he twi
ns now dance in ink receding. These breasts of a
type , th in n ed spe cial
to the point. Leaves the narrator mashed
at the foot
of the specialty wreckage, bone find missed, lamps
am.ong h is .
melon colas.

1 29
 7.

But there remain no bone handles, only a map of plant life in

all its lit locale. Poin ts downward grades to machine. Antennas
bud beyond one horizon . You have captured me, that' s all, in
graphite risen on toasted rhyme. It's so simple to have body,
n acelle, treatment in ruins. A skull that zips up, line of the back
held true by crab or larger. Comes out with which the larvae all
line. It is a stone panel here in worship ends with cunt of
vegetable day. Stone told to hold until it's through. She tops
him i n the mammoth of living heights. A glass of ovary. A
phlegm of sealed lime. All this will flower to the bone of no
head. There be provided platforms for it.

Hands to plan for. Radian t laughter slices to a head. I could

believe it mathematic, this trouble with serpents in a marked
sky. There is n othing. Plant statues on the marsh, big ones that
sing through ston e, on which her major shoe will perch. Cut
grass trim heed, till the masts are ready. It's the moving of hose
and much choice of footwear.

All across the map, changes to confront the eggs with new eyes.
But they all remain corridors. It's tense. Fragments of the
former body hope in hanging, in teriors where the breas ts mere
circles or what? She has another head but on backwards,
increases our haste to tie and line. Perhaps she has been
chewed to this end. All simple in the folds of the throttle brin k
bed . Hands now vanish into fingers. Clouds of the space wh ere
you grab yourself beyond his hat. Night of water sky, bol d fi rms,
encasemen t of limb in ratchet deity. It's suddenly sum m er in
her chamber and evening yet and I'm mad. Better to fe el it all
e
collapsing returned with the one toe in ascension . A fo ul wh ol
heaped meeting of gatherable dress, all the materials le ft ou t
late and scudded in that drawn sky up to us. Melting h er off

1 30
 to
own e ncl osures I don't even see, I shamble so. Hair after
1�1
.

so is rai n. The sky in which beyond her body, ring for the
:�
a c elled pe
ncil cracked on the stairs. After all it's not as if
you 'd be e
n tied down to witness. Crystal broken back in lust on
th e way up.

131
 X NAME THE SAME AS MINE

If there is a duty to be done it changes you.

Rude relief.
I polished the shell of every note, the virtues of portraits
I don ' t listen to.
That shock was of simple beauty. The bottom was out.
A rug survives. I didn ' t know I was on anything.
Tuesdays are mazes. He is the captain of your chest.
At low tide the sand could never be anything but.
He sees a woman where sliding is. Knock to change the door.
They eat. Pilgrimage toward the sky. I could go out
through a crack in the wall. Left needs. Sample
till it changes or she finds it.
A woman is sliding to sleep along the ruins. With her head
down unless dressed.
I will be safe inside the rock of the door.
Is there a story where the woman looks down? Somebody else
entirely, like man.
Is she a child or a source? Smoke, huge gongs,
Wilshire Boulevard spilling his drink.
Opened her window or blouse to the flock. The starfish
we find under volumes of Shakespeare.
The men just wan t to be with the men . The women were
forced to clap.
He was brash, insane, totally plowed. I got him from E ngl an d.
Then I 've got to cross the critic with his soul.
Then I cried to Balzac, off volun tarily grinning stupidly.
I like it when other people finish off. The silence fro m th e
dream, the dress from her head.
Meet my family, the daughters.
I felt as great as when she knelt to group the coat
around her. Proud of shining is not my pet examp le.

132
 shows is patience. White mould on a type of
What Godard
green b r ush . Gagged when got engaged.
A lot aft
er the compo sition, I only wanted to fuck.
e birds lounging off the head of your body.
I saw th
1 stu ck in a
sho rt male figure.
pens when you hide behind skirts and jump off
Th is i s what hap
the c liff. H eresy of the black dress dreams removed.
The great winds pour, only take me out of here.
What you master wi th the whistle is less cool and more hen t.
Pu ttin g the banner together with my band, with my life.
Up the slope of womanho od a jolt.
Who lives in between and goes to bed and lives in between .
I could use the bottle top, the secret of my arranging.
The dress stays on . Why don ' t you be more cool.
Bombs playing over and over as the manufacturer of clothes drops.
What am I doing going back and picking things out together?
I'm more critical if I really think of someone.
Figure the trick of the telephone surviving.
New every night, amplified Cert in concert. A time
for what leaves brushing the physical .
Has she my name? What does she play?
These in my life arc the kind that come in cheap years.
Freedom was turned on in inching our way back.
A sensation of time' s blackne ss in the nipples.
Actu ally hot was I not sudden? Crosseyed

�
to the b elly of real secre ts met
.
oul d you practice
the option of interest in the mysterious bed?
.
Y� te n cal is what the normally light room is empty of.
�
T is can b
T ese th
e heard in the music of her wifely duties.

�
Th P ic .
in gs that I want were never to begin with in the pile.
asso a little hair was coming out on supported directly
e songs of the
BU t th e n
explo its of women.
'" I Was the re when he was on the stairs.
vvas th at 'my
firs t pie ce?

133
 XI LETIERS

Dear Long Battle Creature, attacks are possible, perhaps

insurmountable, but dangerous is as dangerous does. I will meet
you in the door.
Dear Bad, my lights are well known . And I climb. I am hired
then gone, bruised all over by a weather as radiant as your eyes
when you speak of a change. When I think of you supple I am
adored , nearly overreached. I go to bed with a lot of shameful
things, shameful with a rope or other instan t access. Hot pills,
flushed stockings, the proportions of a cold cigarette. It is
understood.
Dear Mop Bone, I am too tired. I try to leaf through the
stockings but my room is too long. Your dreams as nothing to
think on, a white fluid.
Dear Integumen t, sharp as an illness crowded as my life. I love
your crudeness, the green value of no leaves.
Dear Over, drop your drawers if you want silence, your mouth
to the glass.
Dear Blood, it's in the wood. Do we measure each other there?
Your hands are in my rhymes, your play to end at the sea in
baseness. I have to nod off here an d cover the sperm. Where
there are eyes in your legs, head at all costs.
Dear Acquaintance, there is variety, a book by Freud. Is your
bite a tunnel, do you misconstrue my whole face? The limp of
your crush, I'd eat the sex open to some hilt, some trouble with
the light at arch breasts. Your hem is a cover. And with that in
mind , a container, I kiss you all over. Will you come back safely,
and to this house that would speed bu t for the gel i t con tai n s?
Dear Carpenter, put the far away lights out of your image. I see
your body's photos an d I clap. I wrote poems of such back lit
glances that in the blan k room the head is ill.

1 34
 r
oea Cl n e
· ma your elastic souses me and I lie up in the grain of
'

hope to love to leave you and will phone you

u r geni us. I
Y�
shrn · Use
my hea d as it hel ps.
. .
I'm gomg to see the doctor next week. I m commg
,

Dear De ath ,
to some dream rooms, lightly rounded and fumitureless.
stick in a pile of hot American junk. I got
Th anks fo r the pretty
our licen se and a bed with a very good mattress. I saw you
irom my window but you were equipped with windows.
Dear rm of Love, I'll have to go you one bit further out to
Fo
not be so alone. I adore the fracture of your functions. I ' ll put
them on the wire. Are these endurable days? Of slips in damage
and every need a gramophone tune to understand. I ' l l take care
that the eyes of this sex be forever new. Cover your hand with
the larger part of my letter.
Dear Address, I wrote some poems too, frankly of this damned
apartment of the domed pain ting of the bumper cars. Good
weather as quickly as you like but where is the other hand? Can
you bend at the join and always be severe? Is your hair as naked
as wings in the snow?
Dear Figure, about what street corner is the telegram that
brought me nothing? I have arrived at the wire of a bitter
dream. Make sure your toe is bolted, a sweater for tomorrow.
But this work, is it executed near your sex?
Dear White Place, she is gaining strength.
Dear Animal Delight, I was a child myself. A whole bottle of
dolls ever more sweetly disturbing. But now there is a tear and
my ghost is so full of you. You should take a red cloak and
spend the night. The black ones are old and in utter disrepair,
�
t ough stil l as disturbing. At your breasts I resign myself to the
diffi cu lti es. If I could only speak to the population that is
escapin g. The
runs toward shadow in the wood where I live.
Dear He art' s
Face, our sights have scattered in mistaken
distan ce . Y
our cherry as good as anybody else's. Spending your
d ays for t
he movies to cease, an alarm of blossoms. I see you at

1 35
the bed to good effect, but was mistaken.
Dear Pay, you are the title of my little green house.
Dear Cloud of Poison , put me out on your rocks. I have a
picture of your sex. A bird will laugh, nothing will fall. Are you
anxious for the money above all?
Dear Foretold, please be so kind as to follow the cloud of
kittens to Spain. I leave tomorrow, but the horizon has wings.
Dear Thoughts of Sex, abandon those colors. Everywhere I look
I see it empty.
Dear Fire's Been Lit, dear still in pajamas, dear let it get you
down. I have papered the walls of your room all filthy to the
good.
Dear Fuck To Be Stopped By.
Dear Helmet Without Its Head, bullet strikes the severe
overhead poppers, numbered exactly to pile. I don ' t imagine
anything anymore and this is not for you . In pencil added to
your garment, a clutter of which then disturbs the letters. An
oiled nomenclature left behind, trying to write on muslin in a
ward-taken temperature wind. Leave it up to Gerard which
mountain stops beyond the film.
Dear Leave Which, the lair is off the avenue, all told subsided
from the snare.
Dear Such As This, move.
Dear Threatened With Loss Of Garments, I am your creature.
But I 've quit smoking and it's still very cold. Then yours will be
a poem, I'll love it and abolish you. Or vice versa and I 'll take
both, till we've worn down either end of the wick in this wind.
Dear Endless Banister, a cube driven into the sail we depend on.
Dear Out, even more.

1 36
 XII THE CRYSTALS

Sheer win dow. The pond by the stream. And lap by bridge. Do
you kn ow , where is i t, do you know my? Hands held to hide
sides with head holding head. What is the told d isparity? Depict
as dead. Lace against my teeth the lips.

By the wall held by the hand, I discover that it is a dead face. I

had had no north left by my west. He saw the way I stood, he
saw me pain t. He saw what I wore on my head. He saw just how
little lit the chamber. When the pictures jostled, the lights were
bandaged. Black nooks and cran nies we were in a crouch, a
large and dark against the grain . Your hand on the sofa towards
another one. Plans away the stones tear by tear. And reached
away to seat our clothes a crutch.

Do you stand in it all? It curls my frankness, stuff. In oil , the

match with windows. Nothing beyond her, nothing full of body,
of what lapses away by it. She cannot be, by my try. Furniture.
Waves a full deck of the land. And she is bent by the picture.
One by one we reach the salt. A made of ice map of the rest of
the room she leaves.

Tip s, who is together in this crowd of space? Death comes to

th e light. You might spondee it, she comes central . A trunk, a
rac e to the march, bu t still as if leaning down the room, skull
down the row. My head back to my hand's line. She shoots the
red un de rgarment, the forest has no teeth. But line, shower,
scallop by pigm
en t, ashes for your telescope, I find myself
coll id e d. Bu t
is doled in the room, circles.

;his all came after the act, storm of trip, ash of beckon while
ost. At a
dip we hang. Post figures on a knoll moon . I would let

1 37
her see the pine of my name, the pause of it in red chains to
come. Then is she toward, and it stops you between in your
room. I had taken the proper cane toward home.

That the deepness of her head began to wither, I took it to

stop. Earth entangled us in felt, tomb as the tree. Around me
across me my heart disappeared completely. She feels me a sea
in invisible twines. The last time a stranger came away between
us. A table grain in which the jealousy moved. At a cry could it
smooth and be one of ours.

The boat got smaller and smaller, no influences. Much cost in

the way the arms. But I don ' t think you know where the hands,
and in all what does it matter? The foot remains towed between
the legs, the key to the smile be lost, the tongue in place of
image. He has got her. And you could believe it, there are
flames.

Is there a ledge, where? It all comes around in a place perhaps,

the word to slit coasts and the fluid taken. She is gone off to my
mind for later, the stream burden of those blooms. Here I have
knocked back one name. And he in fire is, in her n ame. Plan ts
what she lures there, an insect. Great budging formals, and in
the rock the dark glass paw filled. A grand as they grope
crystallize. A night when heart, when the same, when the bowl
fills a moun t. In the back though they know where the other
hand.

As if in the flesh a window had drawn them. The hips are a

ledge. If you thrash enough in the way you will grow hair, on
the place of visit, at crease of the monkey's arrangement. We
have blackened so close. It's an invitation to between we 've
gone. Brine rose. He peppered his house with, and it grew ou t,
finally to wait on the light still at the box room. Stop it goes
tone.

1 38
1 these trees will wake us, but have their little lights
don 't th ink
on e at the table, stuck at the latch. They hum below
caugh t? D
where they are gathered, slack as in chair no need of
th eir bel ts
felt to the glass a little sad there would live. I would
a mask. I
sneer an d take the place of sitting. Was it blue and pharma­
ceuti c al whe re you loved? Packed and halt in the room? Dyed as
the clouds when blood came to be.

crush as we are an art of flesh dead in the room it tangles? I

scratch but she is n ear. I run out but she devils. The great
distraught broughten mass is clean at her shoot, blue shadow to
line the hands down witness. Eyes overcome loop it there. A
short mist of knees, the surge parallels. And nothing tougher
then to tie it tighter, where nothing painted to pierce beyond
the hidden palm. It's this waiting that cancels the stamp. I took
the lock to the death in possible waves. Brush up to scour the
light gone by stuff. Been stood never again to put on. With eyes
cast down the pictures passed through scream past. The picture
paste.

1 39
 XIII AT THE GRILL

I.

She lay there in a chain. It was rehearsal, blamed beings occupy

a largely emtpy house. They have her dress, undress, sleep and
wake in streaming patterns. A narrow past leads to the top of
her depression.

She has lived to a golden skin skyward , eaten in n ormal

position , velve ty red thick formerly raven-black paint the shell of
a hanging box which moreover the doctor. Has she never heard
of me? She turns. This is where the Chinese mutilation takes
place. Hovering bedroom, expression serene. The rest has
already happened.

Is she elastic, she begins to scream. In the photo album her left
leg is slightly bent. The sudden speed of torrential canvas
pajamas her father had been dipping I overlooked, alarmed.
The wall had been changing in number, she had penetrated
that part of the magazine dark down the stairs.

Have you been padded? The young woman is asking, off

camera, near a ferry where a cafe is situated. It has gotten alon g
from picture to picture like pauses on the stairs. She has to
keep the scapegoat, or headlamp, from covering her dress. Th is
was at a meet we had made, did not keep.

Is she the one angle murderess? In crystal, in thought dee pe r

than any isolated range or locomotive pattern. Did she jum p at
the brazen discovery or find at the control button on the
armored panel a heavier leaf? These were after all forward
movements out in to the dark. And she repeats i t is him bu t
here I am again.

140
This afternoon shows more than her husband, more steadily
than what he fails by. Dramatic toss toward musical steps than
The costume arises over the louspeaker.
u nderstand nothing.
Sh e stri ps then dozes off. I reached behind her back, an older
access to the vagina in its attached metal frame. She cannot
thus eat without recovering the insides of her breasts. I would
take to get, or crouch in case of caress.

Was her little body suddenly shut? The golden apple shines
immense to her hands by the scan ty white cloth of her books.
Does she submit to the equal white coat? Withal its despite, she
cu ts its cabochon, waves her elegant palate in its similar metal
frame. A little round mirror, skin, then the pure tail of the
whip's simmering highlights. Then her pink mass at the folded
pictures.

2.

Nothing a t the window but the gate of a window. I f felt h e i s

said to lean to see, whole body and table covered in a light. Of
the monuments she comes to that gate, that gate her posture,
lap of her costume gone by, fuck among clad of stones. There
are leaves and the pictures, as she in wait, lost her avenue lost
th e frie nd's covering. Some of them have poin ts, some of them
th e rest. I have a won derful burden and it sticks. She removes
h er brights. And the hill is cancelled to the gate in crystal of
fern vei ns.

Wh at are the
totals of those things you must wait past? Only the
rnan balan ces. The chair he hires away. The ship by car slows
Wh at to the side
does not move. We go by it in waves, they are
seen to go
so waving. Up a hill inside the entrance hall, street
of ggard breads and shingle layer to the point of minaret
la

141
silent as when the velvet catch just drops you in and you r he ad
still metal gains volume in its case. We will match tales here,
never block up. Blinders the inner openings of these houses are
drawn from. She clicks, her darning shadow that' is.

Gone away from crystal tomb to carfront at a door, agai nst, last
oneon list, nowhere to slip from but a robe. I cried a lot, in the
Turkish manner into a screen. Great face but a head too large.
She is in my, the hair too watered. Smile at the wood. Fell at
the rope before trunk, a mild ou tfit this afternoon 's costume.
Could leave her laid in sand with purse-folded skirt extends, loss
of waves, n umber on slate at hand. The boat, the tub
overlooked, the smell of gloves in these leaves. And a part that
might be anywhere, a window as its basement leaves. You see
the reverse of what you just passed . These blocks between what
you did and what you are. An d this is not remedy, and she does
not lie for access. Where they remove the tongues.

Thoughts to the side of what. The angle springs forth. Shadows

of removable bars. Leads to the castle ruins the constructible
gasometer. Nobody will wait on her there among held tones,
scout shacks of lap stone. We met these monkeys in our own
hills, look down at the smile by car. Shoulder was here by sun
stone and all kinds propel , that sort of cake n ot ever missed.
Risen white things, moments when the light is on the couch's
room. I lie and head and do you join and weigh? Copper
temple domes, spin dle risen chairs. Back set to be tied, slat to
air, each to each, a noon press. Is she discussing a cap e, te rrace
cut be sea the subject so tabled? And he is always back. Th is
fades to rain, her skirt. They avoid mass thought of her breast
talk of her skirt. She is barely covered and the alcove thu s
admits them. Are they afraid to speak before the portrai ts, th e
ones not so dark of the elusive liners? She steals to feel.

142
 about narrowness. Lend me your nail file. He
Pi c tures is all
she is stable by the pictures. Allowed that they are
hol ds th at
n ot h er , of her next to her own wall, forget those dogs. She
h olds th e only neck in focus. Cap of the world , mild treasure,
bi ll b oard of the fake Stalin. Something has crossed her, one not
to be saved. There are reasons to a twist in the morning. Sand
in win d and the blown-up hairs so she waves. Never tum back,
turn my back. Make the mirror move me. It solves bu t the light.
What knowledge?

They make crustaceans on this world by the wind. All brought

up in a lip to the boat. The boat as the glasses tum dark, next
the less than half her stripes and another in between . And
another, and back in again and nothing to the window but a
gate again. Shut glance of lost pitch. Metal ceiling that the
figures grow lower through the pillars. This is the chamber
known as Reach. Thin thoughts at the center of screened
streets. She lies all over the map, a fucker in furs, in velvet
swatch, in tea rose, notch tubers, men tioned darkened mesh. A
lamp of brass too long to reach to the side at the end beyond
her, cut to the tongue stretched beyond it. I have a life of
pillows lift and be beacon. Caught in own eyelash, chain of the
indecipherables, she has gone down under looming and cashed
to de ath. That drawer con tains pictures of all my own knives.

Lic or ice, or something like that, garden gate. Could maybe

ma tch up her bosom weight wi th something in marble but in
s�all like lizard hands? There are none such beyond this gated
Pilch , dark cloth within on her, ligh t campanile in plants. Who
nk ows whe re the
car goes. Argument folded neatly among
bed spnt p
· ·
ip es. And what you could cover in rug, her tubes. Is
th ere so met " . .
h mg to this come fallmg? Argument soft over
pock e t' s
bo ttl es.

143
 3.

But he is seen from between where the boat is heard to fade

in terrupted central window dark blaze sharp tone of han d. S o
th
slat not move from the post, windows in sections all over th e
floor. He is referred to in the text as stands motionless.

The stonework is good cut ground for her breasts. It is wound

around the neck to set off, to freeze pitch so that her breasts
stay slightly twisted. Further still an d lowcut to the hand. Little
as she is still, rather fade. The body would fairly hang with her,
stir cut the column in motion behind her. She is growing but a
blouse black against the sound of music, the music flared up
tightly down beneath her in the distance.

Port Nothing, but the first floor of sandwiches in diagonal

bands. She puts her hand, her saddle, her lapping of a cork
against nylons the ston es. And thereupon sits disturbed in a cap
by the steps. There is water round her neck tied to the shirt
behind her back. Water across the picture in parallel threads.
Triangles of asphalt stand for the corked-in houses. She is on a
leash. There is a chair, and below it her choice of watered
stones.

But now you've got to settle in. Because of who it was. Is

passing. Trims, precedes all that can be taken . I went from th e
door. Now lands. Do you like what I am looking for? Spo ken
back the shot takes speed. Was there noise for a mom en t? Wh at
arm can pass the poin t the shots were cut? I resume on ly wh at
fits to be seen . I begin to tum around bu t am spoken and
preceded. As if a car's voice drowned in the passing scream.

Where has the music landed you? Cocktail dress take n righ t to
the bottom, right slender bent to the hallway. Are you wi de

144
 ?
i t shown full face? There are two sides to every
open . Is
D oes she walk quickly and does she then start to
eo trance .
. b? Why do I keep cutting back the light to ask?
c1un ·

An d what con tinues to climb her leg? A steep. A basket of cats.

en trance, toward which she dresses in bare
Shale ledge with
should ers c rying. Is it possible in walking up to notice this
icture? Is sh e in the while? Normal dress, holding hands. Large
� ress, hen in the background. She is taller in these same clothes
than the background city. Round to look at them but the dress
stays motionless.

Fairly and still the same, continuation is small. Are you for the
most part then forwards of hers? I have heard it peel through
the glass notwithstanding. Window fair, window fall, the woman
small in the next. They are bent at the shoulder and mostly part.

By the urn, at the standing flowers, she raises her hands away.
There is a ceremonious fear in the eyes at the hands away.
Tro uble at the same time presenting and lowering. The body,
followed by the double as it moves. The body presented then
again st a full-length door. From her body which stops. Moves
her body spot of fear. She tried to escape touch at lower right
at the same time as he does. There are heads to be tied
together here , red helmets and right profiles. Give me the
name to esc ape.

Terra m
�lad mno mind.
· ·
h
er large eyes. Thoughts of a salad in a salad, at the
Dark against her cushions, spread with the fever.
�l•ge large eyes edge knowledge, do not spread it. Larger loaves
s
u Wit
�
h y par te d as
in the air spread out. She is lean ing from high
p h a gre at look . Must kne el to see.

een e ke eps gett

T he s
live? ing tom up. Do you see where you wan t to
Wh ere to fin d you already and know me in place of,

145
intendant. I have moved back against a trouser pocket, tom
paper thrust into a crumple on purple leaves. I have m ade of
such ugliness an investigation. Construed a tree from its rock.
She from a glance, he from every indication of myself. There
are arguments to every ball, rapid movement as in unde rgrowth
upon the page. Take my word for her. Take her off me.

What kind of condition is this handling in? Still a contin uation

has been shed. Submerged breeze in water's reach. Her
han dbag afloat on a ledge, her skirts gently with the small
waves. Sand in space at the tops of her stockings. It does not
move, she does. And in same not far away from the place a slim
town. The position ofabandon, where her boat has been shed. I
remember her back, a tree in a rectangle of water. I remember
her skirt, blown about with dead leaves. That it all continues
staring.

Get her up. Stay the same, with nothing left to show. Do you
see that garden within a tunnel background? She says so with
her eyes. Facade rotates in order to look at the house. What is
this showing? Is she moving? She lies. In a direction a house not
hers. Evident the windows cut off at the edge. She is central,
her shoulder, to all these windows.

The house increasingly in the background you in terpret as

yourself being eliminated. She does not necessarily agre e. Th ey
are working class and on the same street. Troubl�s but n ot of
wood. Of tremble the unsupported notion. Then the opaque
facade falls obscuring the collection of opal violins. I had j ust
fallen back to look out into the room. All I really want to do, I
lifted it back in , as a window from a street. Does it cre ep? Di d
she say? Iron bars from wooden lines are cast. On the same
street but not a house.

146
 c ubes line the foot of a wall. The background has
Very small
the backyard of a tower. Down that is huge and
been restored,
Jong. Her arm over the sound of hammers.

A small boy moves a driver's car off at once, leaving him leaning
but not looking at the women. Are they young? Paying no
attention to the hoods which are down. Up there is the fortress.
Down here we are close to one side of the wheel.

Have the crickets been photographed in the order of their

singing? or are they darker? Nearby are white stone cylinders
more appropriate to chickens. Louder and more thorough.
Surely in its displacement will gradually preserve the birdsong,
this ongoing impressive cancelling form.

He is lying motion less i n his head. Above are the nerveless

passages of the lamps. He does not see her approach, though
he does a moment later. Another car passes on to the wall. This
is all somewhat about the leading of slats.

Bars, steps, domes, blocks of stone. Esplanade as a waste of

ground. Holes covered by soap. Hands on walls. Chairs like
isolated blocks. Domes of stone don' t fade away. The further
ground is a wall. Chai rs close up high in a desert. A prayer in
the background.

H el lo, how are

you? Of course I remember. The tall one soon
leaves. She had
been stuck. Inaudible, that exchange of words.
An ac co u n t of noise. Has she returned toward her glass wall.
: ositio n is p ictu
re. The glass is dark, the woman is half sitting.
oll owed whe
re a woman 's back begins, en tered opposite each
other. Per
haps he too began with his back. Ground glasses. So
that I cou ld answer
. myself, her question er. So that her hand
rrugh t gestu re
p erfectly well. No look. No somewhere quieter.

147
They are frozen at each other but not exactly the same. Arms
in
chairs, walls to be looked to. She is wide open and she is n o t
laughing. The motionless moves made by eliminatin g bo th left
and right. Anyone that has turned towards them. Then the wall
s
are slower. No longer talking. Cut to the moment and almost
from behind. They are not even facing each other. The
directions of a gradual freezing. A battle to stand motionless. or
all audible directions the nearest. In the n ext room they have
turned toward diamonds.

If she raises her head she can see upstairs. Leaning back dumb
to the walls. Come to this place with the mouth half open . As
she is, back a complex design of incomprehensible designs. I
don 't wan t to see an other descent of madness.

Another long broken street, lips moving about it. To the north
more paving stones. To the south a dark blazer. Background of
ship 's siren over flann els. And very narrow where she turns
slowly off again. Imagine that the axis can be heard .

Block where she is wearing a dress but in the same direction . At

the beginning a wall alone, then neon sign of motionless shawls.
At its corner again she puts one over. The buildings have
disappeared , with their dogs that move. Have you now the view
alone clear? Then pass around so many more magazines
without obscuring her.

A valley below her dress. She shows neither nipples nor

annoyance. She takes in intervals of pleasure, each at its
e
turning. And as she blinks the neon is illumined. The lan dscap
shows slowly in to reach.

A face, whose face? A head, some shoulders, a backgroun d 0�

n g·
rifles. And not dreamily in the staring but the positi on is setu

148
 n ot yet vacant of the flinging of nails. Some
A groun d . . .
oli c em en so froste d m th eir v01ces as sh own .
p
As to th is, the woman is wearing a building, or are they long
has on? The iron motor that passes between
low clothes she
her. A tug at such nineteenth century dates.

Woman in the dunes ties him to her bed . Her face in a serene
half-circl e complete in a half-spun movement. There is the fear
of surprise.

Night in a light mirror, prepared for the outside, the realm. He

is cut in both legs, she positioned in a stall. There are bandages
in the water here, indulgences. Almost as dark and full as one's
reflection in another one's face.

The voice continues. The motor of your largest boat is taken,

crumbles and con tinues. Strongly built at the water's edge, she.
The water will not be taken away.

They do not con tinue with names but numbers or letters. You
have the volume but cannot tell. One point of the seated thighs
a mat ter of deafening concern .
The moon landing at the bottom of the field. Has the maid
made her descent? Has the temperature returned along i ts
no rmal cu rve to a
place inaudible in the distance included? It
depend s. S
he selects an expensive bat from the lot and at the
w
fi ais t. To the outside of the
chair there is nothing but fronts of
1sh .
Facing
0r sh e
an other part of the same column , she cannot read them.
. d oes read but cannot con tain, turn, or even less term.
li e is
ban daged and she is facing the same dark suit rejected on

149
the last pass. I am afraid to be free for I might one day choos
e
to go motionless.

Courtyard surrounded by waves, she signs in French. Or the

Du tch door opens at the base and he is wearing her dark
blazer. This is where the packets of postcards are always
returned . The French was broken.

I don ' t see what you are wearing about. I'd have a more
suggestive view of the whole body. Easy top, lower lids. She is
taking as if a picture at this level of caress. Lace her thighs
apart? Toward which the diving hand grows increasingly
weighed. Waving hair an d visible eyes to fill with water? But she
will turn, not remain. Stocking the thighs together?

The face is upside down. The chain is motionless. Bosom thick,

eyes narrow and black at the head of a divan.

Bandaged hands, open drawer, a knife through the deck, a

great many iron rings gradually closed. She is in a pinch to
occupy the role of remnant. Very much open arid though t alive,
the drawer of the cards a mass flock of curving erasers. This
from the doubtless angle.

Are they dealt ever more slowly as the window seems to pre se nt?
Her thigh 's behavior, almost as if that sector burst into its own
fits. Composed of shale the levels of equal days exaggerated.
The woman draws nearer to a series of poses, absurd as the
radar a dealer's disturbed . Must draw the curtains and the
music drown a moment. Tentative divorce of some meanin g.

In the case they dress against the cage. What is the nam e th en
where are the steps? He moves his hands over her eye s an d fa
�
c
fix e
in a stocking gesture. The strokes are quite long, lin ge rin g

150
in th e
. same direction. Where her shoulder and then the glance,

�'sheaseyife thmust be timed in such a way it cuts to show what it

. e gro und turned round , the look of a care deceived.

sees.

It takes one of several openings and presses them against i t.

This is wh at the dogs were trying but unable to do. On one side
of the woman a cry, on the other the time of listen ing changes.

It is big here and forged since the last stop mingled together.
Sh e is beginning to try the end of this. He is hidden , vanished
by the car's edge. The bedstead remains hers, lined by iron and
changed by the speed of its cares. The way is now motorless,
weighed against its stops the passage of leaves. She to remain ,
his hand in all this con tinues to be placed, never quite as far as
done. So still of its standing a rather empty sampling, eyes hung
open to the same sky. She leaves the field beside the door,
motionless without stopping.

151
 XIV SUN AND EGG

To a certain extent eroticism fell and don e, blood in its train.

In that blinding sun the nose over the right eye dangling. Have
we seen the molecules without age? I have no chance to bloody
love in the eye of the police. He comes to invite me, which she
reads as follows, Booth pale enough through which to help him
levitate. It's just possible, carrying a jar of grey anus powder. Do
not lean me toward the apes so decomposed, so wooden in the
region of swords. I have no sense I have felt without the mental
mechanism. Are we aware of our animal sighs? First division,
rapid elevation, no period worth i ts usual ditties. The crack he
provokes cuts one's throat, language on the side, an organ of
flowers. What does Amadeus provoke? A clay death, the
meandering truth of an enduring cult. The anus rope to the
word egg that is now religion. Remote till it sizzles, is it wet like
a bed? The scientific curse is an insect's course. Are you
insulted by abuse, or in the study a wasp has landed? We go to
the golden burial, a ball from which laughter revolves. The
razor used to judge the eye a liberty being? Eyes of dark wood
in the egg to pluck as petals and eat nothing of. Bu t the anus
through which disasters, the anus back up in another form.
After a while she guided my pearly pink seat through a wake of
her colored cloths. What else could quickly make the void ? The
course was mainly finished, in the exuberant American
un derworld eroticism. Dizziness at the fundament and two stars
in redundancy. What did you climb upon? Her egg is now a
broken eye. Her bounce provoked by a whole wardrobe of
roosters. Is this a floating weakness? We mumble now out of th e
levels of this epic. And so manly but killing the can t with a
pistol shot. She ties the toes, juxtaposed that the love organ c an
make stamens. I have the long enough right to my eye's
brightness. Damn your birth pleasure! Books to the de ath .
DeSade denies war to the universal groups. He wears th at

152
 · d own into sinister caves, he is in spite. Can you force
stOCk1n g
game to open its heaven? There was a rumour
tha t h u man a
that a red clo th stuck to the body. Draws along the paths of the
etal p lace an inert particle. Therein a difference of sex, a
� elin g of self. So they giggle in the grip of abuse. Even Icarus
desires su bli mation. Seen inside, the skull has favored the low
Van Gogh? It's Jesuit, this pearl eye. And facing the anus will
empty th e bleeding nose. Clung to above the bare cunt a small
cord will rule. Pedals pumping the madman 's text itself. Bodies
in step with water? How could this will supreme in enormous
denial? The highest element is an open valve, carrying her in its
arms, tail black with soot in rude modesty this modern age. The
workers down no longer but erect in the streetcar rails, from
which one proceeds to erect suitable animals. The bite on your
face thus established, I leave by bicycle. Fully transparen t thighs
landed on brass, is there such a Marxist down the canyon? A
patch is always ludeness, wetness worse. Take the garter belt
into the church where you'll feel calmer if more comical. There
it will dry.

153
 XV WORKS

Passes his head through her breasts in a series asse mble d an d

disassembled. And slowly the pile sits. Is there any through
which she pushes? Crotch backwards at the knees and get ou t
the hands. Slow as a diving clockwise circle. Her legs are
slapping hips. Slow and hard as in a dream a glide will pul l. Her
shoulders push the embrace. Puts his hands on the shifting
arches. Hands hold hands, pulls roll up. Any bend slid down
again all the way? Both straight feet, down hips, her shift. Note
the inching over the other's face. The floor slides in again in
time.

You are a waistline, that stage falling away. But her hands are
both straight, and slide. I t happens. This time down again on
both sides. From the waist to bear his embrace. Pull the knees
backwards, then rest. Slits at the top of the slip or shift. On the
floor sways, feet until the face. Arms between the hands. Thick?
Who is?

I turned out. The body is on the floor, have it. Shift of its own
under the top feet. Kn ees grasping around legs? I have half of
it. End up over the face on the floor. Could sit at its crotch,
place over the swings, the hold repeats. A stage of hands. Then
the ends. He eases off through hers. They shift waists. More
hands, and weight falls away. Low holes, standard labels . In ch as
far as she can. Bend all to the very squats.

Her face slip off? Make it well and happen, stable. Quick
dialogue of legs un til her legs. Pushed out by the breasts, please
advise. Hands end on the floor. I t is raised. She is a lift, a sn ap,
half again as backwards. They have lives and they are slapp in g
toward totals. Grasped then scrunched away in squat. H ard as

154
 rest draws the crotch from the last grasp. Are you
table , the
ckwise in each?
cou n te rclo

Careful and hung. Down on

Th e li mit here is to go slapping.
face will hold. Moves so many more
toP · Belly over hands until
tim es the shin s. Odd link anchor raising there. I am young and
si t. You are told to sit up. We kiss. Shins by means of weights.
Put breasts. Put this way the genitals. Cocoonlike drawn
togeth er fire. Down again in the light. Other late and out again
by the breas ts. There is a fever, then languid and slides to the
rear, blacks out.

Are we offering spoons? She sits by the pictures of how love is

resented. We are reseated. Is it not known in duration of black
all mattresses? A growing irritation hasn ' t changed a bit, grey
eyeshade. A stalling moment, vacuum cleaner out of sight and
mother in the middle, dum dum dum. Take a seat in the now
heavy rain. One half of the face must remain visible on the
stone, the slipping face. Or nothing happens, vacuum chair,
through the time sense. How fan tasized to kick him clarified.

The time is gone and I have nothing to say about it. It is left of
the cataracted eyes. Dark member hard as the phone is ringing.
This is for art, in other words contempt again. Unthinkable
other person reaches. The face before the eyes. How differently
the clouds before her eyes, a confrontation . Formation of tanks,
a d eath reme dy. A death enters the sky beyond them, holding
up th eir dresses. So much I never knew my breasts. I knew I had
the m . They were having a fit, the downstairs then grown dim.

�0• I' d do it differently. Lie down. Bed chains. Have you

anded? I cough though and it was written down somewhere in
my sune ase
·
. He wanted me to go there. Like a fool I got the
m essage, r
ight to your door, silen t as any moving around the

155
cigarette. Purse me. Listens intently. Electric light. He doesn ' t
listen but moves her knees. But it is late for a total view. Are her
breasts younger in his eidetic snap? Sensations pass arou n d the
cigarette. Black out and he continues to listen to the sp oon s.

It is not comfortable, open door of the truck. What colle cts in

your mouth. Orange seat of the hotel now a scaffold. Her body
gropes to relieve a huge gas hotel. From the sleeping town a
bitter saliva to terminate being. I could raise and be glad. These
are my notes. Are you sculpting to the back of this car the city?
He continues to read the clock, her caressess close with
pleasure. John 's reach for gun. Child's tight ball at the wall. We
will never close again. Do you want? Whatever did it. Whatever I
did for you it hit you.

156
 XVI PARTS OF POOLS

Where are the things?

Is sh e exp osed?
even the surfaces. Tautologically her name was
I t is soft here,
Desk. Are we fam iliar?

Minimalism bores me? Pose me a familiar station, the Vatican .

Profi le playing in the heat, a full trunk, nipples a trophy, woke
her.

He bent down, confused. Her back with her breasts, a

monotony lapsed from the mathematics. As the river stretches
so does the mouth.

Mannequins on the approach roads, my hand in yours.

The evening of ventriloquist ducts and is intercourse possible.
I looked down at his sill. Nervy waits, clover in time.

Immature body under glass, arm over pedals the white car came
with. He realizes the couches. There is hair, salt, galoshes. The
name is not the same in other postures. I ' d like to get one.

H er body to say, reality is this very role. She took the bored way,
lips, so-c alled moves, the gone geometry of beach pumice.

Strode in a bored way to avoid the gravel on the drive. Her

g�stures resulting from accident grow their equivalents.
Vio lenc e for
that matter, suds, breasts within sex as elsewhere.

ias h e playing
h ere Were
in tercourse? The cubes had been explored .
wei ghts. Her translucent parts over the exposed
Ch am
.
.
river ·
s, the breasts were my own.

1 57
Pulled at her shirt and scrutinized the mouth by a burn t-ou t
dam. We were encouraging. Planetarium slipped down th e
slope, had he followed her?

Bathed legs, lower mouth, scream jerked to a standing speed.

Broken resurrection rose at the cylinders and cubes of the
clock's dislocation. Another beneath the water had drawn her
dan ce.

Cubes superimposed on this Venus? Unique clarity of the jigsaw

balloon on this plateau. A neural wall and ceiling, no floor, no
longer able to mime an act of subtraction.

Given up, since coma replaced windows on a morning.

Removing the jacket from the news and looked down. At the
time of the dunes it didn ' t land. She stood looking at the angle
between walls of white leather. A sausage leaned there then .

At the bottom was the notion of visibility, lingered, stung her

skin . I lay down. Nights, packets and a few bars despite the he at.
I took on the body, suddenly pink then flashed.

A cigarette taken from the eye. Her door, his wife, thorax and
algebra, a neat array. Some panels of that serial matched. Join
the gum at the frozen traffic. Reality is a nut.

Pink vehicles in lines, with overhead wings, with overboard

christs of the breakdown . On the hot sand the dead child
smiled at the man in red trunks. Fucking we eased in th e way of
these glasses.

A syntax of vomit, wasp labels, just the sky to set off a foot. H e
worked till the violent wound around dawn.

158
 achine from a cadaver, looks familiar. Radiogram
differen t m
A ks at th e last bars, the bomber landing in Mahler's coma.
hoO
The sex
now drawn through reservoi rs.

An d li ngered. Syntax of stolen stones in Dealy Plaza. Her hand

on his lapel, bronze still of the blood pressures. Pleasure
directed against the walls, of a chance case of freedom
invol untary to the erotic parcels. Preference of a pipe to sexual
arousal.

It was not safe at any speed ever heard. Liquid ash from the
odd-shaped mill. Unsafe body took its own headroom from the
packet. Her head in a towel she lay a wet cigarette, her head
with which she lay.

Aluminum columns, in all a few taste buds. Was walking around

her waist, in the region of clear thighs by hand. About to
program her breast just as they left the projection.

Have you had parties where the dirty white patien ts drooled?
The man in the high insert tweets his shake into the textbooks,
erotic standard bolts on tiptoe. Leave me a seat.

Opp ose thin gs to things, to you. To me it's all a matter of

cli nging fast to the roof. Whatever posture, it figures. Some of
th em have been rolled from newspapers. A skull for minors,
faults between spinal glasses, trunk picked at random.

S�bj e c t to org
Cine m at1c m terf
asms from a major optical exhaust assembly.
· ·
erence thick, remainder of the face removed,
one to a death.
This film was to hear. I know the way the
openin gs
go .

� Warehouse interface at the thigh. This is in Capitol Row.

espon ct
. I haven ' t the time. Where is your lot? Finity.

159
A gargantuan immobility becomes traced. How high? Bu n k. I
had let the evening air all out of the terrace.

But are we pleased by the water jet? Lower your lower lip for
the water jet. Pink in the middle and flashed where she lay.
I mmobile wanders in a pause of fracas care.

Has she left the hot cellulose stuck to her skin? Access. More
than glass highway point, more than the pin at the end of
things. A current bu t blurred face counts into the darkness.

Hadn ' t the woman 's wood been seriously miscast at this orifice?
I have not to scan or scald. The letters are all correct. A limited
solvency to the tune of figures little more than exposed figures.

Is this pressed to you? Innumerable months to join the mouths.

Then he slept and I watched the cars.

The mouth of my head became the rectum of his penis. All

sorts of light are scored in death. The height of my lungs
became the length of his overcoat. Every sort of body woke
against me.

Will this be held as the walls glowed? I slung his anus across the
foun tains, gold leaf coming glue in the watered sands. Others to
be seen dying by. Loads in the calm.

Atrium of the last glimpse. His head around. Thun de rin g past
to collide, the penis was hers. Is this the head-on zon e? A few
feet behind me lay a block of themselves, a conde nsed universe,
the corroded sparks. Driving a mirror through the interi or.

d,
She was half in half out of the bare cloth penis. It was wigh te
we were warned. Have you closed up as a group in a si ttin g

160
IJlOll· on ?• Organs plastered with expressions, wind drove on the
glass.
mass of fragments. A sort of metal nylon
Be r sm ile at the
my parade of hard mind, semen blade of a cool
deformed by
ow I was unpleasant, I had articulated my crash. Awful
rose. I kn
ette pouring from his palm.
pin k cigar

We're to meet you here with half of what was waited for. A
familiar tabling of body ties, the squeak of a familiar face.
Docile stepping from the hotel, the staring plates out heavy
rubber sperm crushed through a body of my own.

This is not listing in the way. A bubbling triangle curves

uncapped and in linkage salvages on the terminal hold. This
was a wheel to her strength. I opened a cap the blood had
peeled. Remove the poses of health.

Where fenders hood the pillows, have you a few seconds left for
emptying everything else? The legs look stronger in plastic, wine
succeeding a traffic deck through the roof. A hard jazz. She
watched me tie the telephon e behind her back. The key to
which the name Catherine snapped.

E�erything more oncoming, bruise peeling the world from its

hinges, my mind to her legs in another's blood. Her lungs in
figures of pale assembly dread deform the oils in the wind.
Penis in m
:� atrix, cunt and the card for it. Needle slides, acres of
p s warmer than the pumping mucosa, all the mad figures of
Y Ife at a time . Her sex, her broken .

Th·Is is
the story of abdomen and thighs, carried across this
��
U e of a room.
p ere o
Random acts, coincident falls, sunlight on the
f M on roe.

161
 XVII RUDENESS

Was it any more than a look before sleep?

I couldn 't have been hurt if I rushed till done. ,
I didn ' t dare, but something popped along the lines of a m aster
flesh. Had you seen the cock begin to crawl? Hated as a ye ar,
but had spent nothing but. Enough purple nakedness in this
neck of the woods, aroma of the craze greeted though ts. I ' d
had . In the middle he'd've had some too. A safe in the best
little morning, actual socks and ending on the desk. A lot of
more unstable people got home safe. But I was able, I could
repeat my thighs.

Jewels and sit in the box. Nothing as saddest as the one to trust.
I rest my breasts. It was the maid that time became too happy
laughing. Why don ' t we go inside?

No real timing though, pink gin in iron hoops. Whatever the

children thought their cauldron. You wear your hips like a
guitar. But I told myself to be putting it you were there. They
came in the way of wonderful bodies.

All books out of little paragraphs out of the last cen tury? I had
fashioned my aim. Then I wrote, My body as old as that dre ss in
the bedroom. On a very plain neckline, will they chase us in
half? Betray the lamps, those open folders, the betters of your
hand?

Art about as delicate as me, a little bit in those years. In stead of

u
cost the airport some privacy, a remark that would de m an d yo
straight through the mattress. Perfect, these stiff shirts of th e
year. Motorcycle twilight with a han d up, instructio n in be d of
the running wig.

162
 m , I try to break the picture into its component
Bu t I tell hi

b:
d that laughs under the unheated needles, loves
easts. Th e kin
mix er stranger like breathing, like an embarrassing
t make a
its. If I was lying prepared at first I ' d have to
hri ek over hab
�eep worki n g the days in
their snaps on and on.

A migh ty cash up with the head, and so was my love. Matter the
flesh so much as film? And so we began to save time. A lot of
my love was on the watch and somewhat guessed up. Set up the
corset and began to receive.

As if from the legs a separate part. Then I knew down as a

matter of breathing. Stop each nigh t un til the next morning. I
felt like a person had ever done. Funny one as well till death.
Lines in an iron hand till.

Another panel. They were all watching me. Something delicate

must speak the way I like or throw up gasoline at the oil fields.
What I was born like fear came out of me. I was wild about this
wretched impersonal something awful, garage floor come to
thin k of it. And yet and but, it's all in front of the proper place.
Avenue of elms and steering mechanism loose to the exclusion
of air for eighty miles, I was built upon it. I had my head,
clo the s, rakes, impersonal afterwards everything into the mud.
The rotte nest rooms were on the top floor. After which he left
the door in my heart.

Th en I le t everything go. Drums in the electric chair, n eon

con diti on pus
hed into a girl's delicate knees. I went down then
an d knew.
Outdoors it all smelled of reefers spinning in the

�
Inu d, no thing
but dyn amite in circles afterward. Otherwise just
oared bu t
I was left awake. If I was too big forget me. The
on g er I s
crewed tight, not to slip when I'm dead. All that I had
£elt a
n d yet I'd face it. Fade before them, stood on the sidewalk.

163
Fell then. To be perfectly stiff I had presen ce, a polished notion
running through period absence. Life where coffee, led by their
watches.

164
 XVIII TOLD

We lay th ere and slept where there was sunniness, oil.

Later came the carriers, but that's not quite a memory.
He oil ed me rapidly from my bedside in his hand, hot, a joint
an d priva te venture as if downtown as if beach tone. Or woke
up an d put on some, woke my face to the day, my body later,
my hands who knows? They say we each had a big straw, one of
those cheap ones. They say mine was round. I say it was
central, awful, between that great bush and some stones she
had. We waited for our faces to come round, you know. A
sample of this would be beach, legs, hidden sun and jumping
sea. She was a peach, and all so high in our blue hats before
they arrived. We waited for the two figures to peek back into
our lives. They say it's crystal. They say sometimes flesh turns.
Perhaps they, as we sometimes, were jumping on themselves.
Could you bear to wait? Let's let them look, she said. And I
thought, who's wrong here, us or the ones? Now and then, and
it might be a venture behind or above the stones. Look at us, I
said to my friend, my omen of a strong feeling. Would they put
theirs on ours? All sorts of calm. The whole time the little
breasts absolutely still but closer. And not a bit of hurry at all.
They fell over by the great bush of hair, by the great bottom in
the air. I had hidden myself on a couple. So I waited for this
bathing to come back up to my stomach. It was close as a robe,
this fun ny feeling, this hiding of the breasts in a bank. I must
never talk to you of that. But the closer, even around mine, the
more in clu sive until you might not tell which from whose. But
�
t at's the bea
ched matter of another calling. This telling, and
Wi�h thi ck thig
hs and all, they needn 't have been connected.
Wah the
day, with the closer look, with some higher rocks in
�hi ch to hide, I couldn't have come even to the bottom with
J U st my h an d .
. Have you seen this? They both stood there where
they cou
ld thi nk. And in a minute is this your robe? A cigarette

165
on the breath, on the light almost as if I could see hair growi n
between these boys. But courage, turned over, hidden down g
under my arms. I was so ready to come they might not have
waited at all but stood there arrived, looking at ns the wh ile I
should think. By n ow a friend, the breath had just about
obliterated her head. But she was busy with a foot which began
to feel all wet. Aren ' t you positively beside yourself in all this
poking? I have always been able to travel. Even in all this handy
shaking over my head. Then I heard her say, Why don ' t you
squat down under my face? But the hat though pulled still
wouldn ' t come off. I told you and would hold you, veteran as I
am of a boy's hand and its pulls. Why don ' t you pretend to
come be pulled over a bit? Then she was suddenly helped, but
something about all this hardness was off. Tiny sun of a red
centimeter swollen ou t of her. Me? I called for it all to float out
of me. Too careful and you'll get a hint. Can you believe that
you were all ready? But somehow it fell over me that I was too
hard a one to get laughed upon . When he came before my
shoulders were too tight, but this time I hen t backward arou n d
his balls from behind. It was a hot twist but we managed to
salvage the finish. It felt as if he came at us but she had made
herself scream. The other came unbuttoned in several serious
and frozen seconds. I would never have half the self but again
and again. It was a very dripping bit in the sunshine, hopped on
my toe, landed my breasts. And he said, why not, as if the baby
had shot out of her and over my shoulders. Then we laughed
beneath the lighthouses, and I held his cane to quiet him in th e
sunshine. Then we all looked confused because only his balls
came up as he rested his back. Was it time? When I gave him
her breasts i t all began to turn very fast, began to be
unbuttoned and all very serious, back in a flash. And had us a
swim as I stroked her head for him over all this fucking. Same
beach, different posi tions, never again. I saw him van ish in th e
f
sunshine as he was laughing back at her kiss. I watch ed on e o

166
 breasts pull back at the single kick with which he started
�� self. As if she had taken something back on her hands, our
cloc ks all w
en t missing. They were serious but her hands were
goo d . 'W_e l
eft. No, they left. Then all of us screamed on each
othe r to oth
ers. Not a bit. Such a swell that even the rocky town
had vanish ed. Then we never went to bed. Then it never fell
betwe e n us so well. So light the
thing is, it was quiet.

167
 XIX THE LETTER

But still must everything have a flatness? On the table was the
vise of constructed lilac, the obseived smell of it, plu cked
certainty. We fel t we moved on embroidered feet. But still, I see
her neck and it is comical with that white horse on the step
trimming it.

So far we have reached her shoulder. Does she have the papers
for the man? Wrap bed and lift foot down from off. The only
element I can see mounts in , the certainty with which she is
standing bare. Then the man says, as if white vase certainty.
Opens loosely at the shoulder. Both slowly to gain on the
window in swinging moves. And a return of pain as if the past
never exited. Bent at the elbow with a single stroke.

Enough of a softness merely to move closer. His head like a

peach belongs to him like milk. Shut up. Is her indifference
alive to him? A nipple in calcium retreats past what comes
buried in his face. Where are the chalk deposits on which she
was peeing?

The task has him held, has her pressed in hands up brigh t on
the glass. A mistress of changes, and he accepts that skin area.
Sweating vessels, then trees in clothing. A dark degree of
drawing left off through her smell. Absence of the trian gle of
hair, the saw next to horses. The gland itself to seem virtue,
advance across the carpet naked and having seen these
drawings. Then a limping impulse, she revolts befo re hi m. H er
two breasts astonish him. Is there another?

Finger breaks over the day. People previously insi de a viol et

ligh t. Tree lack penis and testicles. She was seen by th e m
e
drawing. What her true breasts are inside of, tappin g wi th th

168
 out the gate. Then it is hu� g up, her nakedness. An
liqui d ab
tn_ angle and we are off with the horses.
altern ative

Di d he make discoveries and was she thus there at the piano?

What have questions, acting like the sky as a brake, to do in
this ci rcl e? A moment before the male poin ted down, now it is
the wood that rises. Brown as if she would prefer to ignite two
pigeons. What the dead place once dropped had prevented her.
Bored h er, this excessive and musty navigating sense.

I would use the accordion but she lacks heat. The man stares at
the bed. The penis installed there her head hanging over.
Whose word supreme in which the sperm lies crouched. Leg
hollowed enough I saw a white arm had reached the pit of my
penis. The heels of her cunt through her words. No throat was
ever as hollow. Then the vessel of no needs fills the air above
them.

But the first sperm was tran sparent, did you know? A stockinged
foot at the foot of the marble and I left. Then you become light
as the thumbs in my brain. All are there despite what may join.
That I was your vagina as you looked for me there. Absence of
the swollen goes hollow therein . The hairs on the back of my
meadow the carpet. The night place he parked and waited for
th e morning, lit husband in the press of time, where the
battlefield didn' t comp are sexually.

H e di dn ' t hav
e his penis with him, a god on vacation. But was
stil l in b ed
with the two rough triangles before him. Too late to
see or bre
ath e in the skin's content. It was after which the line
Of bnc .
ks, the sand in her hands, the palace of savagery and all
�lo n g the lin es
In Wat they liked. Swim, but clumsy and white and not
er.

169
And speaking of limbs, at the next bend you will be flooded
with light. Apparent breast on a baking ground. I cannot sever
the petals of those clocks that keep saving time. Penis in the
forest grows smaller through the miles, even if golden miles.
Perhaps her penis is all in the head.

1 70
 XX BLUES

The blouse was perhaps a ghost. The body left me.

Then perh aps, as love is, the breasts as left are ghosts.
1 c o ul d turn it over and tell you about the latch to this but I
could n't hear about it. One of the breasts was a shadow. But I
refu sed to go hard in any direction. Do you think this is as good
as its surroundings?

The breasts backed up before her body was seized. Her mouth
had been nothing but lips. And the shoulders tissues. Dart it in
highlights. See if you can take place in hand, the thing up to
meet you a little more and it will be lost in the cutting. A
jumble of absolutely the last pride.

But she was moved. I mean , if termites. They go all around the
house with a big blue tube of skin. The answers are on it. I
could jump in a laugh and put your skin on over the cock. The
kiss apparen t, but I think the legs of this are boring an d I ' m not
going to come out. It's as if the streets have been missed,
changed color, pleased in the meetings.

And did you bow? l's an answer, of sorts. But not a good one
like Edward G. Robinson as Genet. I think it's a lower book on
the tu bes, the hairy legs in the mirror of one's first jerk-off
di agram. Just between the head and shoulders, drawings of the
name we had built. And it was creased there as love would have
i t. Mounted it
out of the very name of con trol, its shadow, thigh
to th e lip in
a blue wrapper.

Ar_e We level together? There 's the ladder. All holes in the
�Iddle of the lip they took ou t of my cock. It was a hurdle, but
atrn
fe eli ng my way back like a bee going nuclear. Will you look
rn e l ate r as if we were talking? But in between sips I wished
Yo u h ar
der o ut loud .

171
What was her perimeter? One of them holding each on e of her.
I ' m not sure I can penetrate the music for this clock. An d met
one of the members on her ladder. It was as if kissing a twin of
each of her breasts, very fucking close and on hold. M irrors not
true to the same body. Require what you ought, you bon ds.
You ' re the one who's rooted.

But the finger of the one who had it done to you was blue? I
could have farmed it out into chemical greenery. The awfu l
smoothness o f the crazy. One of them held then said to me,
wait a minute, suds. Sitting there amused at the linear
accelerator. Harder than what? Big name services in whose
rooms the orgasms a matter of plan .

Sit down to show then draw apart. I have removed the tissue
with the light from the limb. The body is back. I can 't get no,
then putting the arm back up. Tissue of light in which the
angel is switched. Figuring the taste and blackness of a
medicine box. A sort of tentative purity, let her put the parts
back near. Move where she can hear. Shivers, something
gradual in the middle of this cock. This the only blasted
something with divisions that people can relate to. Nothin g real
left to her fuck.

A relative brute tissue this, not wide open in mood . The re are
lines and there are snaps. Can ' t get under this. It's a loan. H av
e you then curved off into something else? Still bodies h an gin g
over heavy heat, j ust put your finger right. And it was join ed in
blue? How is your hand? Hard only when beaded? Maybe stan d
in the light for a moment?

172
 XXI A DIARY

nothingness, then the lamp fell on my breast.

Bubbl es of the
the morning glances of people, this period came
fragran ce in
etched but haven ' t slept much. Period coma,
as a gift. I str
nights of risi ng idleness. Felt her blowing away beneath me.
Little laven der bags of pain, born in love and spending it at
home. A shot in the common run . The marks of her lips but as
if written on, a battle of nightfall dimensions. Reached so far
down the hand was on the pole star.

I was trying to resolve salts. It all licked from my lap. A taste in

my rest and then I slept a further hour. A shooting pain for my
infernal schemes, she cannot receive me. Dreamt of the kiss,
safe for hours. A terrible hand on the chime to be so kissed. A
board that met the clock at the dining room. Could think of
her hand as unopened about now. And back to my furnace.

I have strung bubbles on the lower spheres of life, a mock. Did

you once list it as I have? This love story is a miss, a red run on
the spare. After she had gone good , then I had the sufferings.
Pears with peeled rims. The sulfur that I removed myself from
like a bed. There may be better things that I will prepare. Brink
leads and samples to be closed. Piano locks and drawer lessons.
I reach my hand to a lower light and hope for the complete
harmony. There are wrenchings of some sky.

Was her w
edding ring hard? Approach to the dreams for a
divorce . An d
fly so seemly but in huge print. She dreams of my
rows. That the
child will if you could feel i t. Dummy trying to
keep its blue
beam on my destiny. The cavern 's face of roses
sh owin g th
·
e date.

173
Fine to drift in her alone but later I couldn ' t remove my han
d.
The couple of months in the mirror for a night in be d? Sh e
used to take the cramp out of my n ight and into her arm s. I
feel so heavy, so many times the street. I know we stre tc hed th e
ratios in our breeding. Then an oil painting of an up right pal
m
fell from the wall knocking her stocking, the pause to fill.

Then did the pain edge larger. Peoples' pillow faces illumi n ed.
Nothing but a large piece of gold fell this morning, easy reach,
her belly grown brighter? I breathed on you and left in a hurry.
A large transparen t horse to lay on top of me.

More deeply a stupider darkness to break free of. Tobacco

dried to a white gelatin. I have to bring her back here in fro n t
of me with large nails. She is clad in white then how am I
thought of? Female turn the electric switch to kiss. Tomato
colors in town toward the future. The letter to cease to arrive in
dead furniture, a love the apparen t sound saddles. I am reading
her leg out of the street to keep out of it. So great and sundry,
this kiss the double life.

A liquid lens discovered we were newly decomposed in the

morning. In to the room on one arm, into my bed of the one
leg. At this moment I ren ounce the beautiful, if not always in
the same words. Whispered in my ear of a worthless toy, th e seat
beneath the palm, the achieved verge, a paper mental
ven tilation. But for the clock at the center of the mou th, sh e
will marry me. The wind in the north is only a win dup toward
the birth. And she begins to seek me heavily.

A kind of excitemen t that madness but I responde d. Th is was

s
me in love with that photograph. I had overlooke d su ch spo rt ·
Palpitations in the loving evening but not in love. And s mo ke d
till the whole sky had been set free. One green natur e, th i s

174
 of tears. Or blue in woe. The furnace roars so I c lick
possessi on
an d l o ck
it.

The heart in my breast beats as hard. I think with your breath

as if a common
warmth results. I deal with the bodies of other
peop le a lot and I water them.

175
 XXII THE OPEN SUDDEN HEIGHTS

And when she was refreshed I wen t to her. Anyway, she was
headed my way. Stormed out. Sippy. Stop it. Angers come .
Lights take brush to task. A revolving on what she said desk.
And half of what you heard me make of, light still blue al most
black from the half door. It was made a single word any more
than could. As if on the grounds that a kiss could be heard.
Sealed in even shutters as the ripple said. Their hands to
happen at once, and the established folded look in sleep. I have
cared and at once have made. She is listening at her lamp. On
the shouts their bodies don ' t slide, they warm. And at the cafe it
was summer. That hour, closes. I had a despair of my own , light
body, well as the big madness. Came around her arm, motion
noise in the face of pleasure. The breasts out from the body.
Amazing modern desire that you don 't know. Is it half when
you bend but bigger still? That silence outmoded. Silk, he says,
you see it you're tired . Speaks French still in perfect noise.
White in the often arm. But is still, then dart, then careless to
be middle, then hold me. I forget if I were children laughed to
fit. And moves on the terrace sea's a long way, body without a
ripple. Her legs parted against the thing within. And she cries
out for a rope, and to see the blood. Almost touches to the
win dow and on the flat. His hate, her way the pleasure must do
it to him. To her, who knows where the clothes go when sleep.
Sometimes sound drops off the time, the storming of the place
dark he thinks is usual . The house is empty proves it and she' s
gone the light. Black silk she sleeps under in the mirror till
daylight. Other nights hurt in the tire of seeing. And th en w ep t
again for the area of light and stays as she falls. I have not the
time for hands, and listening to overusual exposure of forms
made whi te. Or is it slightly electric just to pass the time? He r
hips invented the circle, the breasts along opposin g pa th s.
There is a tide of n udity though spills, offers nothing more

1 76
 to leave her. I have no face l eft, she says and smiles.
deeply th an
Bu t in l on g sweep the body taken hold of to turn, and she
body from her one mind. That white was once
reaches th at
black b ut long deserted . And yours is thus the wrong sleep, I
don' t recognize it. You 've looked everywhere, everything at once
to stay. Overc omes and she says nothing in the pleasure. The
li ps fli ck er and the eyelids swell. This arch is a mouth which has
open ed under something. You have just looked to see done, as
if blood height, as if closed shapes more quickly. And stroke the
woman you don 't know you' re impossible. Arch lights, shapes of
plant back, told rows, the grace here of the dead like yourself
dead. She is the stroker, the looks and rounds, the glamour
capsule seals in a flesh ben t, don ' t see anything, don ' t feel
agree. The motion is of the whole body, its grace the shape to
profile death. We rolled away. It was summer in the cafe. But a
fine black drizzle was the form of her sex. If you touch the high
tide what noise? Ready as the body in her room to be slept in?
You 're already at the wall perhaps you get from her. She goes
back to speak, to sleep to the sea. You watch her watch her.
And so muscular the circular, are these underground n uns? She
pours me a lost glass in the cabin the thoughts of the rim are
delicate, one sight removed. But is that the place where the sex
at rest is known? She has muffied me along the track she has
taken of my ocean back, small shrill winds then waves of how
that breast is solid . An alien is formed in sheets of such a white,
perhaps tall failure the love of one day. I have been told of her
but she's heard herself too often, if the breast fits. Begin . What
We have done, a monument to rest from. Ability of dares and on
th e strange thing, have you ever looked dead, looked dead at a
Woman, dead to that woman? Hard to desire what the woman to
h er kne es
might say? It's chalk, to do the dark parts, the room
from its wall s.
But what brings her around from the other side
lets h i
m. She is waiting at a cafe of the same blue, the rest her
eyes . H
e re members her frightening seaside clothes. Bu t no one

177
is getting sun going loose together. Love by the skin of th ei r
room by the heap of stones. Where people could tell the sl eep
from each other. I found it novel, the possessed look back over
life. Loves of this stranger to carry your night backover hi m. It
was god 's dangle, as she tells it, as she falls and spies. Do yo u
say you know the body, perhaps you get from her a saying ,
nothing parted from which the opening noun. White fast and
in gaps, the further the eyes sink shut they open, the sought
back bed sinks tighter to the face, she tents up from the sheets
an alien race. Do you fall intently? Is your sleep to be killed?
Are her lips the first on the body to be thrown? Strokes in that
still abode, strokes of a smile? And who ought her room to be
for? I opened the terrace of her swell under falling rollers, as
across it crashes you can hear the sky. Her self still dark so
close. My wish though in sight so light. The abandoned body
could just thin out from magnificence. I say into the hand she
sleeps with risk. Wherever the tide is stuck, you won 't begin.

Perhaps a filter, then the greenness.

I can ' t do anymore than live.
The crack by which you came to the room toward the body.
My salts on leaving the body seeping over a sky.
You cover it completely it is your own, it's regular it never stops .
You look back at life with diffidence , the dark shape of your head.
Is your presence moving across it, breasts to temples, the target
each whole part bears.
Then the bed , protected for her by herself, is understood.
The barrier between her and her color given on to sleep.
She smiles, are there turns?, but she can ' t say yet.
Gotten back that of your bodies shu ts your eyes.
I have seen it snap, stretches with the passage of time.
h.
Beautiful black rectangle, the sound of the sea, a long draw n pi tc
Death can be lived but not loved from the outside .

1 78
 of you by black water, the rising dark shade of
som e thin g else
the bed.
Then , ligh ts up, sleep seems strewn with the hidden sex.
1 have seen the wanters in a closed sun hinged right up to the
height of their own lids.
Sometimes this silence goes white and rattling with pleasure.
She comes, perhaps you get from her.

In fact where is the touchable sea, like a boy's? She lives this
night as she teaches it, with razor cuts at the deepest levels. She
acts as if sex so close were her real time lover. An absence to
love her with the mouth, black silk slowly entering the blood at
the tip of the toe. Because this is what it says of her, the heat of
the universe? She is like a child at the eyes. She says, turn, make
no mistake, drain the light, come. The image is there, bu t the
words for all time very faint. She says, soon the silence i tself will
be strange.

How it echoes, nothing but scars. Have I found it winding down

about you? We were both waiting to be lost, by the window, by
the windshield's amber dusk and absence of fame. All they have
heard has been in terrible periods. Broad balcony in summer
with only the back of a friend. Does she remember how their
union was constructed , come to the worst, dulled to the light in
the trees? The women passing imagined the women passing.
She rejected one of them alone.

I brought her along, remaking herself to the end of the world.

An d like ice the clocks there, they still do not. Abili ty to move
backwards in to your arms. There is a loosening, a temperament
that is silent in private, in terrupts in a half-light the lowered
e:es. From which her pupil stemmed, she acts directly to the
Violence with her desired body. Roof line trembling, I would
have half the harm in that room. Is it salvagable, turns around,

179
bolts this food at the speed of incredible buildings, spares us
what every ntan must have felt she asked. Her foot is like lead
with the light on . And if he is pale he has not seen them. Door
open, grown louder and shaking.

Is she here again? and by a road driven into the grou nd. In her
advance she will beat him. Happy are the twinges come
clattering down. From between , filled as with poured pain t, she
dances. I t opens, we see the cotton down. But the part of no
lights here. Aloud she'll go on? Told end to end? Cut foot gone
green. Edge temper stalls in the time. White hooks open to
outstrip death. Blue as still breast sought the same.

180
 XXIII BOX WITH CHARM

I look like I haven ' t seen anything, visuals backing up, tongue
righ t next to the lungs. I ' m in a chair, my robe as flat as my
n i ppl es. The desert is now closer to my flesh, a helpmate in dire
an d harde ning rub, the cock feels like a tongue and my lungs
burn .

Going to pick a bra in the middle of my sleep, a luxury tug,

su ch low wind of myself if I touch it. Shrugs, rams, diamond
molasses. Have you cared to get famous? Bug shit out of bed
hotel, you couldn 't tell, say. I was taught inside my legs to bore
like fire. Can you see the hidden hated silks? The shapes are
out where a doctor has to go to cool off, pipe a sandy fuss of his
food. As I wait I calm my huff, turn apparent, right way around
talents in a loud body of white noises. At this point involved in
that touches matters. Fingers of them forming a cylinder up
from my ass. Mound in the building means getting money
together? I get out my buttocks and watch my cunt approach
the ocean.

Do you think I care about bothering? I ' m born late. Just over
the river, my childhood happy as long as loud. I n eeded to keep
my parents up. One of them is tall among my dolls. I watch that
safe an d feel the die. No one can have me excepting the one to
whom trees. They all promise my likeness and then turn . I
don' t. My name, but just in time, being cut wooden cries.

I on ly rem ember the sister who was married to a battery. I

halluci n ate the black leather motorcycle for the fuck of it. I
n umber my days so I don 't spend tomorrow. It would be an
a�cid e nt that
falls in that way, the remainder of my personal
n igh t a m
orni ng in style. The molds of motels, the spaces of
brought
u p j ackets. Personal lost to the call until anyone who

181
sleeps with me virgin, china cycle of Reuben Nakian on my bed
stand. I waited for a tomorrow in water. Adios, spen t morning
of the good time.

I'm absolute so I wait for everyone. When people touch me, I

have to do nothing. Is the time physically sick? Do I know no
way to fuck out of it? Then I'll try to do anything you don ' t.
You know how I hated the girl who stayed out of all those
books. The grabbing of honey and you could be sore the same
way. Intelligent and dated, sedate about money and the cocks of
those things those times, I'll touch me till I can 't do anything
about you . Then I'll stay out of the brown house, kiss books on
water, lie as the right hand moves up the lips. We've tried it, it's
blood, as will tend then stop.

Are you as burn ing wet as I wanted to be insane? Is the moving

circle slamming yet? I had let the light on late above the door,
he wan ted my mind to work starting with this motel. Mirrors of
an old star he was beginning to wan t me to come in. Then I
started to open toward the ceiling. Maybe I could come around
the mind arranged as clothes. He left the bar and started to hit
the thighs. I 've gotta go, gotta have that cunt put on at the back
of me, something applied at all in grown roll.

Then I went home and spread the dates, then I got out of it.
Knocking religion ou t of the door of your insane research, I'm
only an American dealing with animals and grass. It's a big
pounding neck so huge, the world 's hot. Had kept one day
aside for she's in love with Mister Rogers. Portrait of cunt on a
red ground. Hasty temptation , find me those hunchback
cartoons.

Is it good to pronou nce Persian slowly? I've got like emotion s

and these are my large rooms. Me, I mean the seagulls, rush

1 82
i n to · Is that the name beaten up there, the cunt to be reversed?
1 c ould secretly dirty the death rooms, the baby thin sharkskin
of su ch golden vibes. This rock in which to find that whores are
power? Do you know about that swirling motor of a forgotten
city? An d the more brilliant, all those tricks have got to go.

My father's name is Christmas and I walk full through him on

the fantasy pile. But my mother pulls the world out around him
and dials more thickly the working stains. Are you amazed by
things? Do you hate them the most? I 've run the nipple over
the skin of your tops, the iron on your rugs. I would no more
look down in doorways than act at the corner where the hairs.
Does she follow him along very wide? I hid a jellyfish under the
liner to test its staying power.

Maybe this will come back that I'm too scared to understand.
My life is what I ask. My death is how I leave my car. Where is
not even a window of all this to be added , I have covered that
photographer's earrings. She puts them on for a term like fear.
But such language like one half of the china was empty. A dull
thudding and ou t of key, I have made myself a speech from love
all holes. Then I wal k down into the babyish poisons.

Is the amazon body as sharp as its darkness? I could be going

the most to have it be sexless, a big drowning note the slut said
Was stupid of all that happened. I could lie the details of a real
fuck on the stall. Entailment mental of all that happened
through my glasses. It was an engagement of tiny parts, like
clock eyes of wheel glass, to return my feelings. Had it gripped
the girl's hole wi th the one eye?

� have no retreat and wear flags as sexual cover. The civilization

•s down by law, reactive darkening and stood with ingrate
Pep pers . We stand by it an d clip from i ts hairs whips too stale

183
even for the donut catch. I have worn at this society with lash
apparel, marble sun fish, a date with the hyperindulgent
gattling individual. He has no skull, only problem. He buys what
he encloses in staple boutique and sundry glad manne r haven s.
We couple but he is drilled to the point of dull everything.
Unlatched the clasp and dropped, saddle flattening and the
goal whimpers. Is this place's aim a nature of plodder engine
vitamin match? Careful, he will hear your gears. My mud, how
he stakes. The reason is felled. We are stymied in the butter
colors. Reagan phon es Holiday, hear those enclosed gulchs
teaming in me? There but for I go you gladly. The sun comes
back on the flakes of its stamps and we carry each other to the
terminal, flag over plates over haste. Cunt having sized up your
cock comes in sizes.

But what parts have to do with which parts? Alert, brick face
and stucco. The limestone I want with me to the death. Then I
went on torturing her cheeks. Is this a pelt past? Maybe humans
are always too fucked to think. On the moon unable to walk, it
is marriage that changes on everyone. I stopped it because I
didn 't love anyone, the fuck with the roses.

1 84
 XXIV NIGHTS

Hard in the way that time itself depended. A slow rotation, then
flee. The knees like meal over the fingers like blood. In a patch,
th en the severs. She obeys the wave of glass on her chest, the
full slaps, the thrust to abate. His hips deepen she depends in
flan ge. But hers are deep colored, clad in one small breath. It
has left. Legs a part of the comer of her waist. Fluid to his
knees in the pants. Sticks in which harms rise. And the lower
part green as the nipples in her vagina. This to the remains of
running, as if her fingers a wineglass for the blood. Help the
nipples in a low cock. The explosion had started to be inserted,
the head to roll. This moment in time depends on the hardness
of her broken phrases.

Metallic penis, glass the breasts seized upon him. Once has
come loose from own wrist he admits to the spread there in
reaches, appropriate delves, cancels. Had of her glow of pain at
the elbows, a rocking watcher between fleshes arched and
standard. Soon he would sink the length of the sky.

Burned wax for the breasts in cups forth. It is very thick to

accommodate the future. Are you silent? How are you reaching
out? Where does the world come loved? Everybody laughed as if
these mirrors held powerful percussions. Are you sure of the
iti nerary in her gaze? Throw yourself face down and think of
blu e eyes.

Her ap petite for deserts, a pair of cooling tenders cut to the

groin, ele ctric replacements without permission. Loneliness just
so much, but I'll have to tell her back. And here she is twirling
around the shambles. Senseless pink studio hope, of the pills, of
the sensation to hook blushes with the hair of a marriage. Wire-

185
reinforced stockings inextricably bound together. Cry me a
river, close her eyes.

She took off her peach. Red and yellow and muted green
marble lamps taken further and into the same water on the ir
return . It was this semblance that had chilled her. She wished to
carry away eveirything that had an own er. Blank at the en trance
to the car. Thirst, a daily and musical reality, like arms close to
the body.

The crimson lips come to a halt, the body to sink to the lungs
in red bulbs. I had not an ticipated so much door, to have
missed, waters to lead further. Pulled down breasts with one
han d searched, kissing off the body in one tongue. I had
branched the hand out in a cry, she is too the body forgotten ,
only the bare skin of which could have stopped me.

Breast, of tobacco jotted down. Penis, a topless tube had stuck.

Vagina capped , had minimized the partition . Deep halves, of
breath in the mind that had taken it all down.

Her mouth an d tongue hung out hot until the knocking of the
phone had opened . Sheer thing of glass caught wide while not
entirely on the page.

186
 XXV GOODS

I open ed the package, which was inhuman to him. But my

m em ory was I could keep her, name her Vagina. Which were all
walk in g through the rooms like a brace of love scenes. But cold
orchestra in the brains, don 't do it. And there was broken into
glass, but which part of my body would float? I hollowed and
thought. Is it possible to wear oneself so that living room?

Naive tongue in damage garage, the French moralist and bed

player to the end in cemen t canyons makes wide, I spen t and
lost my bad. I felt like a piece of razor when it flies back to join.
But wondering sleeping if he was strong enough to vary. He
would read love to me and then hug them. Leather as the
material nailed to these.

Have you been good? Have you been bad? Have you been
fucked? Have you been living on nothing but height for some
while?

I did not feel the varnish across his body, and the throat
remained unbroken. She could have joined at the tips, such an
extravagan t makeup of talent, bone balls hung from pinched
cheeks. And so many mirrored walls I offered to live all over the
house. We loved, and that was spelled in the bathtub with beer
bottles. Vocal brokenness of a plan . And searchlights at the
points our activities become hobbies.

Bosomy go youth in movies, Grand Canyon to the brim. And

the press is love, handles, tobacconist cables, a few numbers as
samples. Means going to bed and going around that world, key
positioner. Holding a drape out from the wall and making
Donald my toy duck to lie in a negligee on a deep pile carpet,

1 87
mean carpet with a twist. We go stamping on the ball u nti l li t.
Let's go get good in back, a sunken come-on, in pine.

I would return in a busted drape bu t American sexual desire is

all over. The men are reading a book on trying to raise my
voice but I cap them. A good job takes banging. I dance in as
little red as possible when I win . Are you ensconced in the
office that n ever rang? To the knee, out and into balance. I
could get beautiful inside, for a moment, on a raft, making
signs from the different stories of solitude.

He married a woman of rapid hope. Such fiery activities held to

a text are nerve-wracking, if not the acid they could take to get
above me. Is it noticeable, baffied so you hun t, what I signed
for? Waiting in a darning vista. But send a duck in my clothes to
Sweden , this is the business that I sleep in .

A brain , all of moist skin placed into a shiny skull, doesn ' t
appeal to me. Rather a carrot there than notice the mouth it's
in . I ' ll have only a few and over your bed there. The people I
want to see can 't work in the other pictures of love. They
wanted me to come in a wide circle over my head, and they
wanted the cathedral too to come. The way books on the table,
but not many brains, break out in films. I got an idea I ' ll use, I
wil l know what I really am. The French print.

A busted organ, a hole in the crepe flames. I love you , run

along now. I loved you right away in the light of one phon ec al l.
I loved the thought, the attention to hiding, the hook-up. I
gazed into the bottle of room or table. I had a flare. Do you
love the demise of going to and fro? I wanted to retu rn to th e
.
bicycle. The hands on her body like her tongue were ve ry sm all
A disturbed but peaceful lake in stiffness, attraction very
expensive, touched me in a body at the nipples. I wan te d w h at

188
 doi ng to be thought very small. So I said, her mouth on
you' re
rnine, I wouldn 't lower. Please do it down on order of my easily
broken French. The opening drawn to a twist then tied.

1 89
 XXVI LAST

And sense of, where it is, to not know? But then, I already told
you, a bed in a suitcase. Knowing it's a film, two lips are waiting.
In his shoulder, bronze figures together. A tremendous overlap
is always present, my top with your lock, and then the long
silences. The wall is a beautiful letter with shutter, considering
how closed is half the room. On her shoulders lost in sleep a
hidden peel. It's enough to be able to build a cunt for you out
of hair with your prick. As if a ship were in front of you. You
mean like a hand? Reverse to childhood again to keep your eyes
from backing up. She has almost exhausted the air in her
closeness. The other so-called love of one's life is better? It's
hard to know how acciden tal this flesh is. Made full over again
in a heap.

You fuck and there's a lin e in the sky. That wasn 't there before
you close your walls and there's a hunch that things will never
be again as given.

Do you think it's sensible to say anything? Then he lets go on

the white porcelain . Reality is a light, say, on your pain ting.
Don ' t you know where it goes? No names for anything could be
fuck instead, flesh , tongs used to milk a cow in to a tobacco
bowl. I was the last person you could have misread. Get out of
my alarm field. Do the Doctor. He has a beautiful nature, skull
full of the traditional snipers.

Leave something when you lie on the floor. Like he pu ts his

foot in the toilet and flushes so his face lights up. No luck.
Winded and profane. He hears water running so he leave s.
Goes back, turns the water off twice then he leaves.

190
1 won ' t remember to kiss if you leave. You better han dle. She
m akes an embarrassing triple gesture. A whole corridor or so,
comes loose, acted as baffle. Where is your han dle? The man 's
shoulder seems to emerge from his embrace. Stairway leading
to just those few seconds you couldn ' t see his face.

For several mornings she puts the mirrors in her old houses,
removes her hands from the drawer. We will always meet and
not say one name. For anything, glass or hat rack you used in a
wrong in tention , like fucking in washed cars, I made you out.
But the more exciting the person the louder her doom. Follow
her movements in this explosion .

It's jutting in on which he's sitting. She says I ' ll come back
when I wan t it less than I do now, i t'll be better, we' ll have to
rest less. He agrees to sit on the bed and caress it, suddenly
timid.

I won ' t be able to lead you to the door, I ' ll forget on the way,
I'll lose the advan tage of position like with furniture you have.
This will be novel. The light will hang over the stairs. Her arm
in hand. Her eyes will carry it up to herself.

I won ' t be able to learn everything till I 've studied it till I can
forget it. The names return to you meanwhile and separate you .
That is why my area, we don ' t wan t to know it, can come
without touching, can slowly clean the concentration exchange.
He wants to make me say something, doesn ' t he? Not a n ame.

The cock's coming is its failure. In that slow a world molasses is

the answer. The catch to fucking her, the curve to having her.
You remember to take the rag a lot. A white thing lying out
there, its goal? And goes then around the end of anything and

191
sees it. Where is her watch? Resting j ust where the pig would
fuck. And you 'II see it and the body is hopelessly wedged.

Sex equals death plus youth. Does she have an answer for you?
She is waiting. She says I see but I cannot say. The door bl ocks,

the breast blades. She seems not to wan t but waits on you. Sh e
has it all in hand. Rush of limbs through duds, I could limp. I
wonder how narrow she said. There is an entrance, how
salivating, in keeping, on the roll at the top. She hears it all
mild over her hands. It is made to be but she doesn 't say. Love
of one's own, flesh of one, time to turn, n one or numb. She
raises an arm. And I am then afraid. And then the press of all
centers release to spri ng. She opens her doors then, opens her
old windows. She springs enough of these old stripes to keep
you awake. At the door in this land of wire can you come? But
only she will go. As an end has left their room like the iced
vine.

192
 XXVII SLICE

The sublime penis is growing in her brain but there is nothing

ben eath h er. Is she in a rage at the ordered flesh? A pilgrimage
in store of the willful in terviewer, an atheist in a tree, getting
the right hang of what are these costumes? I would have her
followin g me, any build and every stop on the rise. Where they
have survived the taboo of consciousness, these blondes. A
brigand who pays the rest then bares her principles upon a
male surface. No longer. Mutilation in a creamy spilled
innocence. Pulls whatever is in the service of preven ting us.

What are the consequences of this most horrible way to be seen

without room? She moves it up and down, then back and down.
The actual scars of former operations become visible, stretched
in her final pictures, nudes which pull a reader as a man pulls a
woman. We were over the tea to visit and then this n eck.
Apparent beads a handful of empty words. As he says, the penis
in the orifice then the world vanishing.

Cool are the cabbages, the unique in words, a body's pull on

the woods. Or a starched entrance as having us? I live in a
world of stools, said the apparent fool, the one we would be
having over. One single harm to diminish what levels of
argument and then is the dusty body figured? She would
approach the well just as the fool , the pitiable and feckless, the
nature of the met and so decorous pages, time for a flesh as
good as money. The fool rules a building project with mirrored
statu es in the gardens.

� pen is is growing in the cunt of her brain. How may we

in du lge, unhook, this deluxe western exchange and football
b ed? M ig
ht after all enhance his impression of spring, dull
approval in dim rooms, self-feeding trace effects at a told rate. I

193
have removed the film silk from inner protective space . So th e
lunge, and its partner the separator. Do you live near the
volcano of archetypes, shrunk to the vest though thus
moistened by her jarred breasts? One of them hangs in an
historic time. The ripen ed brain its own desired object, p enis or
no sheer removal. I have divided this sodality in to i ts very own
victims of the glans. Ignoring the bric-a-brac of one's sexual
mocks, an earth too dear in wood and base metals to be denied
her.

A yak was present at the birth of metals, of this we may be sure.

Dissension of the glass and lavishly body, fly for supremacy,
made a womb of all this kitsch. On the road of the penetrable
vagina one at last begins to suck and sees it then, the skull full
of necklaces. Her breasts then to preside over the one chamber
of a desert world. The motto of this woman in exile, Leave it
alone, this fuck one was born to.

Raised myself like a natural beaver. Then inside the stones, then
insi de the clothes a lawn for the penis. Which must give upon
mass boudoirs with the uniqueness of a club. Where the whores
resort to reason as soon as passivity, she's so lasting in the bed,
gon e so high in weight over a head there 'll be all threat to pay.
My han ds are elsewhere as versions. And not a lab or movie but
she lets me do anything in that climate. The sentence as
standard, bu t do you mate as well?

I thought I had caugh t them coughing but then it was you

coming. It was on holiday, this house of stockings, this lan d
where even the ships are cradled and then coated. We ran ou r
cymbals down on them, a gone train of dusts. I thou ght I h ad
found just the thing to remind. I thought I had as in a be lly
:
fallen. The jolt not to be any of the breasts any more. O r on e s
burden will change one's overbe aring apparatus. The breasts 10

194
n o way out of time, or water either, or steam or the bearing of
any clockwork. The woman in them holding the change. Most
learn to fuck in the only world. After which which gland will be
left to gleam?

A thread's force at the breast, the fem ale dressed to begin

again. Custom is removing. Custom abode of the hole through
which fall gains, even their skins have become. This flesh
wherein the drama of death, play. A case of first hole anxiety.
The use for it sheer dildo, last place of the meal. Let us be
broad and big. An unassimilated aversion practice, this
unfettered largeness, the castle wrinkled at the hot object. But it
is expelled as a fall does when it comes. The practice pleasure
robs. Then she screams too smooth to hold the heart, wears the
uniform whip rigid as an unlocked god. Come, pale the crisis
and blend this emptiness. Beneficence in jodhpurs. Taste as
becomes it. Resort to that the woman is gone.

195
 XXVIII FALLING

These pads have been placed so as not to work. The rest is cake
and ice cream. That I can eventually find, a wall from which to
walk. So we see all of what can be known. A can on a seat. But
to go beyond this, I want to go where if it is something it is th en
also nothing. Car seat. Whiskers attached to leaning planks. A
tone hope robe in catch released to the fence of light.

Did I have it too rubberized? Read the second sex, a catching

toward that. The woman wriggles around the hole in the cen ter
of the stackable rubber. Tight this explosion of its own making,
the thought of cinders in the cider, whatever' s next to the
impact forever. A lance of which has made her art difficult, less
close to the way time's sense doesn ' t last, more strung on the
motion.

Do you naturally feel hurt inside? All this circles. Is it ugly to do

this mammal work, but soft and with cords? Do you find
resemblance in that liquified heap of human grace? But it is the
chaos that this pain ting ordered. Something deepens. I come in
your hand.

But it is very much a knot in the line I know nothing about.

Trace map of small rains. The rest of that summer, pencils of
wax on the colored barrels. I had to come up with every day.
Was not a freeing task in terms to put some legs under that
conten t, iced climber. Maybe it's not anything at all, blown
balloon. Confident flex of piano to a sheer pole. Perfe ct, the
ladder to her area and flexible except for the hose.

The nylon of met strings, the bent rubber hat hardened

naturally that no longer exists. Straightened after bad he al th ,
glass on the map, such barrenne ss a barrier in itself. I 'd be e n

196
colored into a grand calm there. Has she the beauty of where i t
could all b e wire? O r the staying of hung things over no holes?
She takes it out and then mystery is lost in the mirror.

I thought I would have to hold it. Screen it throughout.

J saw n othing itself, but only in those dull bags that shine on the
ground. So I would have to go on to this ground. To approach
her form hard. Wrist in the ground, all day and all night had fun.
Bread board, some timeless forms of that form that moved once
you said. She was finished then buckled down weird. How it's
tonal to decide on a decorated thumb, glass ukelele or bicycle
upside down. Empty and very large then will be made to work.
Piss stops then poke hair. Grind horse then shits its eyeball. Wait
for the stick then tumble home. Fuck every minute then wonder
which will last. See what happens on a long sneak. Trip, then
point scratching at yourself, at the horse that gambles. Back away
at yourself doubling then splitting. Bone would have tumbled to
the bone you use. Small ass long felt the easy way out. Tent piles
and then didn't it ripen? However coming clean the breast from
around the corner and thinking of hurting. Then hone that stick
with stalls at which to search. She just kept stopping away at
herself. The way the crazy great driven will do. From which it
hurts to save. Perhaps at all the rages of my touch there has been
a lapse in seeing? Something about eyes demands you put up a
hand. And there is no pattern, and then they are dark.

197
 XXIX FALSE

I took my prick out of a call girl as she told me that best shows
it off. The fucking nose in to this what could you say? Living
cock lying cun t. He has soap and she plans the math. I write
this wholly in a scrub. Copy girl schist copy any sure gap.
Version of coal boats in the heat of it crib.

In its pocket a n erve I take it that you keep. Douse the name it
with, pound the key. Cock your sender.

Put the couch in pretty lots of times. Effect of shoe on snatch of

sex after many the times, enough crammed up the normal hot
tiny body, blow dry on the measuring ride. She isn ' t talking with
a full belly of paint, a screw up of fingers about to stand . Is that
rectum her own age? I am sure of the squeals back up to here,
perimeter where teat sucked from ass, I lifted the bed past all
such traps. I 'll feel some goosefeather cun t, hand her winks, top
threads. Double prick on the full sniff couch, a melon, a cork
locking off her chest. Put the head in miniature her size. Was
about to cram a clamp but tastes sweet as the laying pins fill the
howl out. Juice grown on balls of the end. That other one ends
the peach falls ben eath her head.

My cock is twice as big as several disorders. Her cun t is a lie.

Rub those balls with balls, get some play into it. Slunk aroun d
in the spring buttoning up his looks. A tiny cunt that is a fig
now, but these are the hopes that sell. The fuck of it a h airl ess
dome that's ben t. I know I did it but did I fuck the look? An d
only then decide this frog has a car to ride home in, a dress
even and through, a couple edges of the spirit pit to mak e it
past. Do you take general direction from the buttons just above?
Toddles right over the edge of her in one dim light. An d on e
chair still open you 'd think she had a leash on my pan ts . A belly

198
as flat as her skirt and too tender to find the future foreign .
She' s ben ding over a tool to remove the dust from your
collection of uninspiring articles. Penis useless as second sight
between courses. Whoever first gave the signal to fuck must
have bee n worried about everything. Is this another hairless
dream?

My cock has as wild a life in its own belly. Long format, width of
win gs. It has and lights. Part me, part the humans fold. And no
bitch among these strangers will have a choice of authors. I am
the hunt. I feel the planes. Nothing but a door to grab her on
the way in.

It's a bitch to pull on the pan ts again . Her breasts are beads
advanced in polymers, a rash of tabled stubs, handled as
roughly by a breath as our clothes. Magnificent that she 's
playing as if wearing it in . I would bribe the bitch out of amber
a bootleg, wild snail that likes to tickle teats, mound of hume
stones. There would not be another cock within ten miles of
this. Reach me anyway if you can and hold up mine.

Bright as the bath we're out to dig? Red as the milk on your
bunch cotillion. The handle between mouth and rectum
marvelous and slight as the trick to take your legs off your feet.
Stay up, pine the gap to its pumped off slobber, repeat the
heights in rubber, pinch off the small. Doses will explode, we' ll
hold.

Sque als. Even if the wick is down? Table to pull out, her right
thi ng, my cast. And strip the body's heft from its pin
im agination. Wide as gate waters and squirm percent as fucking
to be dam ned. Spelled by the end she was. Always had to send
u p the waters before I'd strip her. The negligee's half off and

199
here we are wondering which stone-bled god. Pink things 00
whose horizon now? Send the cell to smoke. Return the past
nothing.

200
 XXX PIAISIR

The reflected body in final working order, all the parts stopped .
Our work i s the gaze, tugs along the lines, stops a s much a s any
thing. Nobody will be after reading this. The top rose, only then
the contents to the tune of calcium in motion and attendant
ruse s by chance of drinking naked the day. The reflected body,
I told her you' re good. Tall as in flashlight, gild in sight no
lapse, one heavy light fixture as an aid. I framed her, I told her,
to the hilt as victim, as light holder, as petty scald. It was
cunning. And ill-lit as at the pool , hair an exploration of poetry
understood as a dodge. I wanted to know if the pleasure could
be still. It was tan. The reflection was to discover only what you
did not hold.

How dare you be quiet? I am cunning. And drank a, stroked

her worse for all that or not much more very well. Breasts
squeezed for their juice. In a faded black slip, does it matter?
Are you capable of giving me a quiet ripening? Their things
tapped are unknown to them, they do it for the triangular
address of one's own hand. But he is below them and swerves
not to tell at all. What closes has come between them, that he
was he told us himself himself. This language now in the danger
of two thumbs.

But then we have come out from under the clatter of the
making machine. Before me I had told myself this prism. It was
raised and I signed it. It told her she was in danger of its being
back. The false slipping together of all this having turned to a
Whole groin of triangles, from which we depend, perform. Then
it rai ns, practically numb.

So that we firmly cured this love of an hour into place, its

trained position, its raise. But a mind as solid as two thumbs,

201
but a cunning virus had of her brought of her. The desire was
an example of plain glamour not in line as yet. We caught it
back as if on a row of skills, the dark-haired pull of silk. We will
not talk normally again . The loose breast departed upward.
Copious bit as if off through a glass. We can perceive their parts
not by unwan ted closeness apprehended. Have you the flow
now of a shrieking space? Let's have interest only in the com­
fortably sheathed, the uncommonly worn. Slowing to the place
of this is the stroking of a score.

My own ben t darkness grew broad , unconscionable my latitude

at the probes of your looks. It's slender, then ample, slowly as
fresh crusting bread. I am loath to drink so lie. The en trance to
such gone wet all the way around, I could not deny it slammed.
You were docking so I missed the map of your plan , few of us of
the head to match such will. As if I were broken by canes. Sheaf
up greed blur, you said almost at the limit of the copious bits,
his style in the speed of stroking a stone. I admire first the eyes
then the came of action . After a while they sat and talked
normally again.

The weight of one flesh, so drawn to me I have shown it. An

undertone opened wide, a pallor that gains as it slows in the
heights of talents. Once put to it cup the chair in your arms,
throw the corks from men finding unclad women away. For all
the legs set closely together I have never taken an apartment.
Let me fold the lace itself which will later be discarded. Is
anything? Where is the body that inven ts its own legs and parts?
Seems I have not so many needs as sleep.

202
 XXXI NEVER

Her breasts thumbed into the sand, con tinued to attend to her.
An d sticking already at the side with loud cries, the wind in fear.
He gaze d at the poun ding from side to side. The pleasure he
would claim was bathed in fastness not to the quick so much .
From behind her thighs suddenly slipped. I am nearness. I am
loud. Thighs that were heard around her, my arm to my head in
tryst. Then the throbbing grabbed upward. Her face alone was
bending her, back of my eye muscles flowing. Testicles
shuttering, start letting the great go closed. Her hand made
surely of the sperm now penetrates. I could feel the glistening
shadow across the desert. She reached to like what she only
sensed. Three hips in a row, another tight to the upward cries.
Her hips came in a series, likening to what was held before him.
Is her hand tight as her back in approach? Body nothing but
empty creak. I have let that shadow go to mold , the opening
wind be light as hair. I mark this moment with its backing from
the shutter alone.

I would like to have sensed her growing upward. But it's not
possible to approach her too many times. As if a camera were
used to react to license plates.

A fisheye lens in the hallway couples with elbows, knees next in

the gorge the sofa the eruption of scald in tempo with blondes
and ale sanctioned. He caps her eyes then , tops her breasts,
li mb ers the slow she's in as if a crease. I was raised in hallways,
she motions the man . His mirror in a crisis, hers in a hand.
Doppler effect of mutual rib tumescence. I care to occupy the
h ol der not the handle to grasp. There are ikons there she is
cl ose to the dressing of. My favorite fountain, the glare at her
rear. Highness of glass buildings removes her pasty charms. We
Wait in airports trying on the pieces hovering in balance over

203
aspirant heads. Would I could cough into her. I will whe n th e
rent on it comes due. Does anyone here care for the lubricant
postcards of Picasso held in her copybook in hope of raise? I
scatter the flowers away from her. She is balanced on the cubist
approach, all afeard but safe at last, she removes from her sid e.
There are cables, toes taut, blinds attached. I couldn 't keep he r
from throating upward. Cancel that approach then list it
considered again . A blur of action only in retrospect blur of
occasion . I have licked her fur. Then she idles, heating.

I still own all those pictures of her somewhere. Few in color.

Grand how close the passages, her darkness of the guided small
smile. Words that rhyme agree but do nothing in concert,
attach but do not match. For these days she is too firm. There is
a sort of calcium to the fire in her join ts. Desert was thought
n ecessary, as kin as bronze paper to the present spill of
engorged lump. These are after all the marks of pressures,
Dexamil horizon in seaweed but won 't care. The door is too
high above the planet to douse. Is there much of her lost
beneath her gaze? Have I much left to do past the thought of
it?

I ' ll never look at that again he thought filing it for torture.

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 XXXII LIVES

Is sh e in the bath with Hitler?

The tips were earlier and tenderer in those days.
I came to see you bu t you were in the water very much at home.
How could only her head have been saved?
There's no thought as it goes through the gl�.
Perhaps a handle of wood enclosed in brass and wrapped with
silk has stopped her.
Her eyes are on the average.
And all in her head it is a thoughtless pose, especially mindless
of the body.
Did you shorten the distance between hand-blown air and your
nipple at ease?
There are no slacker things.
How did Hitler manage?
Won 't the sheets cover you, to a point isn 't there a shadow?
It's included.
Then veins are arcs cast by light through the bubble at arm flesh.
Don 't tell me about them.
After you there was a peaceful body of thought, but the statue still
ruled.
If out the window and seldom noticed you shiver at breasts bared.
After the whole of you I can never be completed.
One is always lower than another.
When the hairs are spent beneath you.
Is this the end of school?
Turn I would my smile and get it noticed for the waiter.
There are three more things I want you to say, two at least.
If you do not tip it will marry the furni ture.
As the rug's edge comes loose at the light on your toe, where are
your hands?
Wm you perhaps be coming again?

205
These questions are softer though more urgent than your bottl ed
things.
We lay watching in the sun as parts of the flesh around tauten ed .
Will i t finally be a failure of the belts or their shadows?
A brick laid on the cement breast.
I wouldn 't see it hanging from anything.
They paid their explosion out in the mirrored window.
Gloves were escape, thoughts a preparation to pose.
In the snow the drawing came loose from the wall.
Their bodies all chains in a bunch.
I won ' t bow for you beneath the stream.
He held her by the head in his pose.
Are you familiar with the drawing on horizons?
Her breast past the wire she inclines to gaze.
There is nothing packed but witness there.
A han d reaches for starlings.
Equipoise of plastic dog before parrot cages.
You stride up in wooden shoes to the woman with hand on head.
Perhaps she is in case.
Then her head turned jet pendan t, then the roof came in.
As high as I could possibly reach the sky.
Her generosity of the lower connections in a corner of the wall.
Is there nothing now to be had but cannibal voices in a bare room?
Skirted we all were then , bu t by none exactly.
All she could do was type beyond the averages.
All but her back fell due, clothes are to remove.
Bare beneath the water she is no longer.
My body to one of your not so dull a match?
Upside breast and down , your edges sealed.
It is better to hold the breast inside, so n ear the edge of one
lingered journey.
Cease yourself from thinking more and bow to fuck.
The glass is in your lips and there are no more bricks.
Said that fuck requires room.

206
 XXXIII THE STORY

1.

H er body n ever completely covered and so i s yours.

Her body spread on the power of the word.
The dressing material con tinually reforming with the sound of
water slapping bare thighs. In the sun I grasped her chain
to keep it out of the photographs. It was on the verge of
becoming her hand. We were all thus members of the pleasure.
She all spread apart at our membership. Her own closed eyes
after all pinned her against the wall. Are creatures from another
world composed of the same stone or wax? I hear nipples being
constructed to be displayed more prominen tly. I am going to
attach myself to her with something more terrible than metal .

There was magic in the fact that she could not distinguish
which or how many of them had taken her. Such ingenious
courtesy would one day reach beyond her walls. That fantasy I
used so wholly I destroyed it utterly. I don 't remember any
more. I felt that I would have to move away from her, in other
words myself. She said, I would also write the stories you like. I
could be the dwell. I could wire up your breasts and back them .
She is taken to a place where she is wholly loosened beneath her
clothes, then the halos of her breasts highlighted in lead . She is
attached to mirrored rods by stiff cuffs of chaff. The water has
come loose from and left her enabled oddly, then set down. Two
peepholes in the tapewhere a man was once sort of. She is now
capable of coming sure to the task of observance, white trees
high among the black she culls at a glance. Her plush robe had
come open, the black gauze parted . Her lover wants her able to
bear an en tirety of loin. I wan t you to kneel down and hold me
as if the breast there was on one shoulder. And freely hauling
on the exchange I parted from any size of entrance. He was of

207
course watching, he could have examined me on any passion. Is
this the long sucking standing bite we still n eed?

Keep it on you at all times, the accursed cap that gave them
pause. Is it winter and will you handle me? With chains fastened
around our nonchalance, we will despise only the route it takes.
My clothing faster with this method. Everything off in a bless.
Or not quite off, no blush, everything taken on the hands or
mouth, black silk to come alight facing the member. When
joined to the exceptional, punish. Think of this sex as something
you wear, in panels separated at the back and free for the play
of brands whoever's. Do you wish to remove your freedom and
stay with us? There is nothing normal here bu t what lies outside
of this hallway. Everything is brief enough. The sleep of no matter
who has penetrated her, and her and her in turn .

We wait to hit the water, that sound. Where she dwells to open legs
or mouth to them. Legs or mouth to. Noise at her back might have
stuck to her, down through her, muzzled by the faintest of tighter
links. Wan ts the thing that when lowered whistles the burning
noise across her back. Cares to enter open at the first comer.
Behold what I don 't understand. I, a host of reflections where the
unknown hands, a host in a long steel pile. The pillow hard as a
match stick. The chain directly into the flat black floor. The chair
directly, her instance. It was a library for her to go in until she was
naked .With which the red cape on the porcelain has long
remained. It takes. Will not allow you to put the dress away, nor to
thrust himself into it as you cry out and the others harden.
Nakedness in the least in tractable will be shown to the least of
cells. Snip her breasts free and then the rest. She'll need what I'm
furnishing to run. Listen, then you're ready. Room for the roll
down from which you're bound. She is seated on the imitation
leather next to a large mirror or window.

208
 2.

Does it snap back at her? I have the time.

Others too obligated to hold it to her, back they yell and bless
oppress engage enfurl lie to the very back end of all feels which
poke and stand the eeriness of the pond canes. Everyone bends.
She is encased that the rod then challenges, goad pretender to
the coals which have bronzed her a skinny spine. As in the
lining of windows churlish, mirrors spun dry. Hand me the
minutes, enable me with her ring. She is in fact colder to the
touch, the opening of the stolen words.

A slight discoloration of the mirror where he had entered her,

couldn ' t let go of her, flew back across the arms in her own eyes.
The sample without loss of a moan, a standby, he allows on the
verge in his hand, hard in a silvering. She allows, is allowed, and
could see herself left a bit ajar. Like puddles of water the sham e
of passersby at the sex of all things. These were the pictures to
which she might hold him in a look, as they were not closed as
well but shone. This was the beginning of him , did she want to
be kept from? She raised her height, he could see her lap, the
puddle not empty. Tears the model of pleasure.

Little more than a low voice, I now am that shadow murmurs.

Have to stand in that mirror, be.

Her mouth and left.

He ran his hand.
Closed upon countless members.
Dress in full bloom upon the floor.

209
When he sees fit.
Way in which she opened?
Parts seen stiffen.
Only is a short while.

Could en ter the stair in this mirror attached. She caught the
globe, held it and skinned it, developing to the thin of right
fame. I had known down the blinds held the arms, it did steady
what moved to fall . Belinda was a name, a foundering. She
thought she could always view the skin just beyond it. Thrust at
her, throttled back into his hand. I have not lived as you have
allowed. Let me.

But am I not made hard and careful to this? The linings of the
girl were. He stored a body pleasure. Necessary then to snap
and have your hand there. It's a sort of avenue all throats turn
from, bear to be born from. I then find myself open to being
thrown on the floor. The eye has underlined it, the finger plaid
in the act. She comes gentle to have her flesh rung on the bone.
I do hear her, as her dwells command in me. Make the thing an
open slash, widens in her thought of my thought to command it.

The nights there a pool of the will to those photos. Armed move­
ment, ligh t as my will on all regarded heresies. Tell her, the body
is open to all who will tell her.

210
 3.

Finally the body is nothing but all the regarded things.

I ron tracings of a slave encampment.
The hall in which Jacqueline is granted a kiss.
Models of the acciden t on which the doctor's secret depends.
All the black pictures on the table and hand them to him.
The covering distance between what she was up to and what she
had to.
The knees apart in order to stop it, then own eyes in the first
place slightly ajar.
The long dry white dressing gown goes grey at his seizure.
Unbuttoned gloves not to forget hec nakedness.
Dark English silk shapes like quivering blue stars.
The cluster of nine o'clock in tiny diamonds.
A wretched turbo Buick in all the hematites of a dream.
The atomizer that only worked on the bosom.
The brassiere made of dry stick sections.
To remain as she was in the mirror until he came.
That slightest of gestures which was the finish of speaking.
The place of green velvet curtains through which her gate was
closing.
The golden dignity of that sink mentioned in their scriptures.
The low-ceilinged room in which they had begun together now
taller.
Posters of the lock skirt of a scream.
The snug leather pole and its fairly slack chain .
The blade he informed her of with his left hand, his other
so empty it was driven.
The name chosen for its fashion to disappear.
The blonde teas of her mother's room.
A pearl given its pinkish tint to the poin t of love.
A large cup to mechanically make with the tips of her fingers.
Loud noise past the apartment where her picture was being shot.

21 1
Completely satisfied by a duty performed in the thought of
whole mornings.
The exposed kiss of the lowered yellow ceiling.
By the walls the insides of her thighs where no one can hear.
A red felt semicircle facing the windowed rotunda.
The fireplace that opened into a closet with record player and
no other furniture.
Acquiescences hard and fast now lie down.
No real trees, a bit of shore, only the walls of a garden, rope
attached to red tile.
No limit on her body in the search for pleasure.
Then to sleep through a hole more iron than usual .
In the lit mirror above the blue bed the matching body which is
consent.
Then the sort of death which is only a second ending.
Her breasts at the level of the man 's dream.

212
 XXXIV BROWNNESS

But there was a rose move before the flesh occulted.

Brown min ions fleshly grown to a normal if medicine challenge.
Could you show us the lips of a secret bright light? Not to hold
up disrobings or disobey longings. Woman of the still photo, do
we see with the same eyes? and will they click? Is the gold
opening to close over your folds? I am engarmented by the
nape of a skid. Coldness brought back barrier of the skin, the
lake in which nights and frozen the cape you left behind. I am
not callous and I curve the flesh. Her body came. Mine was all
in highlights. Does the cause need a defense? or the copepod in
a spool of lame stems? Is this a disturbance of futures? Her
mood is hold, march and slave. I remove her cap that her
breasts be strong to the bottom. Are there sailors between your
dream trees of stirring? The major silver woman has not
cancelled here, the minor just as scald. The sound is of desire
being tended. She has raised the fool, dipped flesh and in it is
me. I have known the enchantmen t of costly loves, the
enchainment of ghostly flicks of the scan, the harbor where her
underwear was purchased. There are sand marks where flotillas.
I come back to that market holding her hand. How remake this
flesh of a n ew food? Folded as the surreptitious burstings of a
new Mansfield model. Lace cops a dank and ruled in web. I
have doubted past the doubles to. Her flesh marks into itself
the cold drawings. Must be seen the inner arm gap of anything
beyond her. We turn , smooth, and it waits. The piano is foxed
to within a prism of her gaze.

Slice the thin things, worse.

Slave warm of emptiness title me. A rock under silk that holds
the spell shapes. Is this a romantic worm? Ladles of told
sameness overturn and mold warm. Your side my idleness. The

213
explosion of gaunt in to framed caress. An idle firmness by the
grate, the hallway an hour, your haunch the wrong term for
straddle so long the hem of the wash to. Cascades your bellies
meet against soap. An armada in the orange fan akelp4he load
tree in fritters of the dark case you sap. Your lamp my handle.
There are consummate twists. The ball to maintain edging flesh,
foam to dance. Her solution has nothing on us.

A mammal dreams at the level of what?

Figures so large there is no size. Figures so screen our cups will

tilt, make marriage of a looser lung. The morning swallow with
calcium in ten tions. A new pen for shade containment, we suck
off by the wall. And there is horridn ess of glamour in the
patches of tone bolt there. Held, I would have the glimpse have
it, buckle stoned. Harbor a river in your waiting for what had
tarried? Escaping breast stronger window, low speed health term
it giddiness of the pads. And stop the movement of, we gain its
cen ter. The room was north of all we had found to fuck in.
Consult handbook.

214
 XXXV THE ROSE CENTER

That they are hovering around a pond where there are

incandescent stones.
Further the novelty ofj ust passing she needed so badly.
In scientific language "up " is only a temporary category.

A flag goes past then an arm, then a vanished arm.

Turning back to the random taking of taxis I expect.
This dust hangs that love wears out.

What had been taken as stopped has vanished now.

No rock falling around the bed has threatened their lives.
Tweaked? In whose sen tences the breath begins.

Cubes of rock salt in one of those blue and gilt windows.

The woman was visiting the closed door in need of a pencil.
In this surprising image the physical is always rather cold.

All kinds of stories had poisoned the park where we were.

A dismal stretch of sand like a champagne cork has a certain
chalk-white charm. But the letter she needed so badly
could not be reached by me here.

Picasso's innumerable copies cross the rim of a large white bench.

The latest direction of these buildings was more sidewalk than people.
An immense red spoon adds a gau zy note to the increasing noise
surrounding riot-darken ed ankles.

I kept her in sight.

Up ahead she turned a corner.
I kept my distance.

215
I kept my distance.
A bit further I slowed where I thought she had paused.
There she goes and keeps me to a strictness.

216
 XXXVI THE RED BEAD

The maximum is pulsating componen ts.

Rose the member from its sheath and then the lights were moist,
few carbons, intensity lit of the backward watchers,
few colors to that, a name and then a time
and the washing, as if a circle the world of lead particles.

He was match at the hinge.

Easy Palooka said of the blood thing.
Get out of it now surface into resin.
How good it would smell to stand down the local sex.
Apparent her waves into him draped were knittings precise and
die. So far for him to live from her professionally adds to the
note of nod. Dropping the flames from your place still mine.
You don 't on your knees it's in color the waiting is.

She was a cool blue wasp in her body coils.

I don ' t care for the picture caller's button.
I need to know you're real as the room 's eyes in it.
Yes you're here, for the room began. I need to know that's
possible and everything close to it. I need to force a hot ear
into her body already there. And to think of something, come
too tightly. You must be here for you're flowing with red.

I kiss it, then blades would you?

Informed possible moves between shoulder blades.
She is moving those blades. Drawing nearer to sink from.
All too familiar of the face felt metal edges the activity midst
of an ordered desk. Several of those blades in hand and they are
moving, a better for an hour safer behind one door. I could gain
a nasty magnetic sweat behind your hard water. Crayons you would

217
close into flickerings in the floor? I take a hand off.
Sinks the melting jut.

Did she hand me her blood? No, but I loved the view. '
Cracked bone, cen tered lumps, a tone to bring the past with you
into ben ch spaces with fittings of mesh. Alive but indecipherable
preclusions, a rash at the mouth of a face. She was there again ,
forehead buried about where the room began. Kiss me, for the
moment. No, and then the room began again .

This was penetration, a tuck in space. A mile of the harvest with

plaid lapels. Do you then insult me, suit me?

Endurance test much beyond the fittings of the bench you saw
it, everything, a whisper in black not for the public. A stain
where in the room you began to. I watched to enable you to
battle forward but you stuck.

You took an ear to make it. The lob emerged tapped into one
of its own centers you could never on ce twitched recase that
emerald. Lower than bread this type of sham penetration . Who
could tip and bring it coster? Stone belt around these repeated
shakes. She lies on the carpet, red briars on cassette, as I open
my tent. You're red enough too and hinged wrong to stamp
violently free of. Stop my toothpaste. She buzzes up from her
blunders in to cast fresh.

Have you vanished? Everything left off back to the bed, flames
in that third story street passed up to join and handle the
sixties. She was so transparen t, fainter, how not even so much as
penciled in. Drew back a catch she caught me out. Drill twitch.
Silence.

218
I thought i t was everything.
I said it was because.

They were always there. They were always red.

She was not the girl. The floor was
always close to water. I bridged over her.
Breath hissed became red. The furniture
rolled against its boundaries. But not
pleasure apparen tly, her thing was wrong.
Her spoons were hammering fast in hand
until the pillows opened. He pried
her shoulders from their outline.
The cold had attracted him back to
what she wanted only for a moment.
He knew her, leaving room for more breath
to drop. She directed his han d to a
small box. Then moaned several inches.
Penetrated a cup. The broken skin a
cork from pure love.

219
 XXXVII LETTERS

After all what underlies my cock but my head?

I do not even dread your looking me loose then dropping the
hot and dim as given to you. I am impressed, I don ' t tremble to
the music of pulled up clothing, the hair in the mirrors. I
wanted to bring you a small thing and place it in your head. A
tenderloin buckle. Nothing you could see. Feel and pretend it's
mine. The spiced prick of a string luring, chords in wind, tails.
And you head up in me, it tugs at you doesn 't it?

After the stiff price comes the light of day.

Again at the secret table, we establish a secrets table, inside and
got tired of lying and fucked up. You were calling to yourself at
first, then when I thought of the letters and touched all that fat
came off. It was utterly cold bending over the obscene words,
the carefully written down again all the world. My heart was
dying all the day as you led the way. The click of a revolver at
the end of your cun t? Turn those long skirts again at the table
in this setting.

Can you answer everything I will ask of you?

The lips somewhere on your body will cast me as if I had risked
it all before. The slip inside then forgiven, raised and kissed
into sense. There is a lock on those drawers, at least for
yourself. Never divine mine. I mean I'd have anything heavy
ridden to a cockstand, fifty poses beyond the little brown
dream, lace drawn tight around the still brown center. Are you
ripe to dry a thing like me? Let your cunt glow some time fly.
There is a room full of faster birds and behind is a room full of
farting women.

I could pick the legs of them just a bit after. Everything rows
here well, in that lovely line of a word's sounds like noises. I

220
wish I c ou l d pop out of your blackboard. The wish then to wink
in sand blocks me all day. I see you r one window go off an d on
like a teat. Want to bet? What's your moment-to-momen t name for
the things I do more than wish of you? It takes a merest glance for
the undressing and I'm disappointed as your room comes closer.

A body bright with a heart? How could I have done this before and
then told it? I live now over that evil show, the pieces I 've dispersed
in my clothing. A grey sky at night drew me to the room you slept
in, but not your body dearest even tired times pure. You are the
moments then not the moments, the deserts with the names where
we prayed for the train . I can 't wait to place these candles in my
head which morning places in your threadbare hand. I see him
smack against the wall, know he will pick up his horn and punish
me. Don 't grow tired of me. Whatever will take me home, a bosom
in an armchair or the cane in your hand. I saw you point to what I
had done and clench .

I begin letters quietly in the dirt. Now I try by your head. Those
pictures I sent, put them up and stand by them and let him fuck
your costume through the veil of that pink mud and the rain 's
needles. I could not be as closed as you are tonight. The clothes
that I sent brought you out? A sample bed with dressing gown
under it, a night without the soldiers hold the balls to their chests.
A scent of your face on these stairs?

This all won ' t let me go, just between yours and mine.
That I bend to the opening at which nothing. But I won 't believe
this excitement here, or your coughing off in the next. After all
these chambers to be fucked back into . Where you have pulled all
out boldly and I have slipped, blocked. Then as I was setting such
dressing spaces you showed. All we could do to arrive bright on the
button. A caliper button.

Now would you back slowly and close me?

221
 XXXVIII DOUBLES

Fancy this bright a sun, what sort of body?

'
Did you push her, where is her weight? A fantastic in terior but
rumoured to have been a house. Once the morals are chopped
and pink. I would believe in Barbie myself for a period of time,
the pain inherent in muscular skin. It doesn 't look like it, no
question . Would you walk over and bend? Then would you pull
that spread on me? I would never do that you might bump in to
and the body go dark but I got it talking and now it's adult to
me.

After all violence is a film. We tum true. It's a momen t of spark

to the dust. Remove your samples and bend them out into the
metal spaces, tones of strip. Like this city reflective of light. Can
it do, can she? Can that do what she can ' t physically? I brought
in an onion, a beacon in its dressing, she spoke steadily from
the side of her head and watches cartoons. Oh yes, I bent what
that word means. Okay, sit down , twinkle, return, chisel. Her
mind blows the room so she can 't go home. Pull blue hair off
tumul tuously. Healthy to blow the skin off film at that. It's
sexuality and I got it talking. I got it shrugged off, smoking. She
let her level best pass on me.

I would never put your look on . A tattoo protruded from her

prurient costume. Here there's too much confusion in
language. That she could even stop for a new metal moon , seen
on the pavemen t two pictures back. She bends and plants a
tree, her tit in ritual glass. Try to stop saying anything for
several hours before you fuck. See what pours through the
subsequent music by doing that. Following wire with exercise,
etc., arms with orgasms. Nothing should lead you to understand
her body now. It's not in that direction, won 't lean up agai nst
i ts larger shadow now frames your member on the wall. The

222
mirror there is a dish, but no water sports. Try stopping for
good, just say that.

The populace places a tissue behind which breasts sag and it's
awful, unrealistic in manner, should perhaps take a tuck. My
longer leg means a lot to me. The way my body goes out at the
hips, my mind, my room 's bed docking in silence. At last, the
working end of these breasts didn ' t relate to my mom. The
business of the tummy's greater segments to be beau tiful,
realistic in sequence, rolled off the end looking at somebody
else.

I have no interest in the way the body could make a business,

detoxified by comedy, the choice as much to fuck her over as a
whore. The body to never seem to show what she means. Turn
the perfume down an d breathe me. But I would take the place
of her body. Have you decided as a director what that leg is
going to do, where wayward harm is living and doesn ' t have a
script? Then she'll apprise me of the origins of a sequence of
shingles, say, or pour herself a glass of some new music by
doing that exercise. I put aside any script and cannot wait on
the erotic. I don 't think I speak as well suddenly seized.

When you reach your double you h ave a hand in this body, the
willing to be enough, the magnet between h er arms. This the
drill bi t is desire mode of underpants out of garbage, ou t of fun
in self, out of whatever it's turn ing out to be. A silent shield that
mocks doing and closes in glass. To live here but not to h ave
the living to do? For your other this is the scene, the scarred
automatic fill ridge that bends aches to the rim and fills her
body out of character by doing. The peremption of orgasm,
where is the dignity, and whose? The other went over so well
the scoring ceased . So will she bring you back?

223
 XXXIX BLOCK

Who could have a better body than the word I will have
disposed of? It is then before me, an anchor to stun a,nd melt,
come from and set off to. Whatever lubricity screwed itself in to
me. Is there a dead ore, or arm, driven into the downright
screwy scald tilt of anal web night? This is the first of all this
written , this is the scald of not knowing but in being sailed
across the anal plate. The membrane is the one not to be
omitted by the members of this fuck. Do you feel, those of you
born of the waste? Not to be soft or to be harder in this culled
state of brawn rims and shaven what's gone beyond the
membrane in stale of frosted tongue fastened jewels. Pulled a
great palm of meat out of his hand in the midst of the act.
Bloodless you from holding self stiff? Not? What is purple is at
the end of strain ing toward the soft, you madman. Me, the
weight of one? I got down and grabbed ou t a piece of hole for
you and now you trance on the lucen t slab between collapse
and run on for meaty pages around the laggard frenzy hole?
Did he pull his cunt out of these pages? I raised a great hole
out of the palm, did you see what whelm bad it had made of its
page? What of such holes and what they're made of? There are
trembling walls there and they are sames. Don ' t come back
breathing over the dawns we're given. A hiatus is con temptible
stuff, that's all . When black is purple that' s when the bone cun t
of basis time runs out of him, the earth the whole way, the balls
in that hole to turn the whole earth. Only bitter misers won 't
handle these circles, these surrounding splatters of a meat
giraffe. At the bottom of his cun t is a mine, a drift of bands
held common to the towel ' s plaster bell come the time. Go
right back to those simple cells raise poison on the lesser
metals. We will have a goal and it is between forever cleaving ,
the ass from its weight, the gasp from its putting member, the
leaping god from the pulse below, the shock from the tonal

224
growth, hair out the roof from bungled limbo. The angle of the
come from its shaft's blast as over all the high echo rattles of
neighborhood exhale the foul points of their stones. He threw
himself down from the start of his flight. Give me what the fuck
holds, give me the rattle of what is sucked livid of no order.
What weeds lie at your lubricate bone in tentions, these
chambers between the hole and the shaft, I screwed such caves
into my madness, the filth of whose drops did possess me and I
roll hairs into the ragged light. What also was rolled by little in
fact n othing here, stove pipe filled with frozen gum of a million
consulters. Suck ass taut to nose gun for their compu ters, the
candles this night gum of an ass is. Scrape, why don 't you?
Come off holding the pen to a sun, the wolf to its weed and
flash packs and ghastly. This arch embedded in empty, this
frame encased in barn , this freckle of Anubis empty as pain t
arch. Or patent orchestra depending, how manage my
merchant torch in the sun? My pecker to launch from camp to
a church this morn ing of strung wire the hunch a tie weighs
shockingly on the belly of my absen tee. Have I parted the glow
in filth where all your old taps died? Break the logos down on
your femur not to cease from the fucking.

225
 XL AN AIRY TRIFLE ON THE GROAN TONGS

Summer was a mass of dark corridors and exposed legs

but I didn ' t peep. I noticed. Her hips were rounded, her
nipples still colder. I reached for part of her belly, her pot hole,
her beauty spot. Then getting up I said, Look at me, I ' m not
that much in the dark. So I moved. We kissed after the first
bell, a bronzed glans. A lot of good it does the bottom of the
belly and red and crinkly hair to whisper together. So she gave
up that idea and did not exchange a single word. I opened an
illustrated book so frequently my breathing grew short. I licked
it but it still wouldn ' t go away. My pubic hairs weighing in heavy
and served in the garden . And behind a wooden partition this
solitary button .

No, n ot the buttocks' cheeks nor this finger in my lips. I felt

juicy but it was my voice as usual was running. Once I was up to
something but now I am ashamed of the parts I 've held. As I
returned to my room, I posed the question mark in a new light.
She was in bed and it was the blood that was just beginning to
shine. Apricot liquid mixed with the fall of my tool. There now,
remain quiet in your room.

The day's events, such as lifting the nightshirt, were still

wagging beneath my mind like a triphammer. She was either
climbing on top of me or lying beside me. I couldn 't tell just
which way it would strike her. Then she scissored my buttocks'
hole instead of my strong back and fell into her room's bed . I
watched her move her strong box. Let's see yours. Much more
convincing under the stink of the dressing.

I brought my head to a slit and laughed under the poin t of

slapping, slipping on her blouse, blooming on the hun t. A crack
had encircled me, the cracker I had opened about to be given

226
speech. I washed the ends of her turn ing to tears. Life is full of
titles. Stark naked as a marble mole. Body ringed with blue,
harder index farting, peacock member of the obsidian
propensities. I am sick of the elastic that has gone wasted here
away from home.

I am saying so, the tightening of a mad transparency.

The broth creaked flush . He dazzled her, thrust it into the first
floor. Saw a horse that as he walked along farted. Fingered the
newspaper to excite himself on a sofa. Slipped in to her only to
cry out, oh how complete this room to abandon. You ought to
remember the skirts on her thighs, those globes that reddened
as she shook a bucket. Shi t in my hands releasing a bolt, soon
strewn as with money's hairy flanges. I'd have to fall asleep to
shit like that, percolated , fingered and squeezed to begger her
big deluge. The ligh t made up entirely from its wick.

His cock just came across in a dying drink, no doubt to be

inclined toward her. She speaks, recites the length of all their
legs. A sonnet covered with whatever interests this company.
Dog to be looked at as log or seam. The longer to undress the
breasts the more dropped. His pistons doubling as eyeglasses,
his noseblow as a hairbrush. Every inch of the handle ripped
out of snow.

A softness of stupefaction had fallen on all sides with others

than us. The actress's body's noises found out below the iron
castle. And once seized the hot sand flowed from the train . At
the bottom of the crinkly black thingumabob the boy pulled,
managed to stall white in the terrible armchair. The cylindrical
home gone empty an d humid in the murmurs of the
consumption of drink 69.

227
You ought to at least, but my lover has three. That hair so
round it may be used in unbuttoning you. Now I 'll suck the
sharp back of your head. That's right, listen to my fork jump.
Thought to go in and emerge a clitoris. Serge instrument,• fish
made of horse. Consoled themselves that at least the cooly-lit
cigar had caught fire. Cambric preparation in pendulous smoke.
Wherever the comer girl sang her long legs came. Her mask all
over. But above are the blonde slates the god protects. Then
potato words for this model of whores. I have abandoned
against this sphere-rai led background an undermistress. My
uncle took me playing the great thing. Possessed of the yellow
marble till I was red with blows. Do you give a desperate damn
for the main room? To offer yourself as much as a shirt and be
crying out in egg. You come from the inflexible spout of a fuck,
lush as the shot of her head, the pushed balloon of all her
brains in her face.

To get on top of her, this thin wall with cannon balls. And near
the van his prick came out of the Chinese luggage then spoke
the word vulva in the ear of an officer, one so mad he had
switched to pears. Then struck his face across her thighs,
waiting for the cunt distinctly to rise. Through the canvas of just
which tent has this semen been distilled? They really were
thighs of a much more blinding white than her breasts. I
assume you as one who has fucked her whose milk · beads your
cigarettes as you rise and thrash out things like slits in coffee.
The trap then shuts like a magnet. The angel utters its fear of
money. And drunkards of the pole n ever stop making bombs
and applying them even. Break this dancing pot across my
knees, ren t a villa arranged for flower battle, undress into an
armchair no longer than anyone else's. Pink lace does not allow
cold water sufficient free passage. I am your beauty and deserve
a dog's bed, so give the place of my arse to some fresh mouth.
One mounted as had her legs a hairy waltz to the utter balls.

228
Thus ended the lay of the blood of stretcher bearers. Thus
ended each master of the flexible cane. Thus end all the
lugubrious songs that have begun to strike. Thus end the
fascinating positions of the Japanese drum major.

229
 XLI RITES

Wen t to a place of the women 's imagination and turned right.

Are they showing through? We remained motionless. I love <that
kind of precision . As later in the cathedral at Rouen , I
imagined it. Those kittenish green things that take their cue
from the object of a parent's basis. Then reddish lamps. More
of those variants. Flashlight, mirrors, a dish of egg. An other's
idea to a standstill. We don ' t name, we drip slowly between. At
the very most I have stared.

She says I am not interested in any of these things, crystal into

shape. Felt herself to be defeated, orange rinds, removal of the
beginning of hair. I stand before her back on the floor,
originality, reflex superiority, help matters descended from the
blue. Who spread her buttocks. Who, once tied together, jarred
their chests. I could not remove such a face from the mirror in
the moon.

And blackness at the edges of what guards. Particularly to tell

her of that pose as she tires of it. I had no choice, thin steel
ankles ripped and in that setting to be touched. She can ' t take
it off the chair so placed. Right through it, the bits to dream
about, faster and take on points of view. Masked the surround­
ings as good as my own . These versions, as glass spikes, I told
her to publish them.

I put the gloves on . Curvature, wax, inclines captive back and

knife. Glistening thighs, stains, raised arms, snow in the pockets,
the darkness to follow her play. His that disarms. Bubbles that
rise back to her nipples in the del i berately left bathtub. His
extra penis with legs, wheels, cloudy costume while down by the
water.

230
Don ' t hold on to his pleasure or he won ' t find his pleasure in
yours. You 've lost without realizing the cross laid out. I just
wanted to bring someone along on a lead. And he comes along
with the rest in his hair, paste pins in order, young crystal for
sacrifices, heavier agates, metal liquids to tip over and hang in
pendants, thicker polyhedra at the solar curtains. We're already
too ready in motion , as the cuts hide one another. Lean one
leg, one eye, then stretch together in the luminosi ty given off by
the ether.

A moaning face, and what else of a similar belt? The bra

reaches the chair by i tself in echo. Let no one be under the
submission to be watched. Who was watching in the sense of
mistreating? Did he depart then to work on the gold lame
sandal? She was talking to a young man with the transparent
look of a porcelain doll. But on the other hand I write porno
novels. Stuck up but quite in order. Intentional bareness of the
ubiquitous light show and rock crawl, song started on the floor,
remove your hoops so naked over the pipes of the vaulting
horse. Leather now will be a little rounder.

This is how it started. Noisy open and enormous room intimacy.

Show of backs in studied poses. There are women. In any case,
clubs, pipes, taken to happen . Tom velvet couch, the steel grey
motion way over. Enormous windows but shut. I 've met the
actress, played out. Closed his eyes by the shirt buttons.
Electrified all the way to a few men come. A recent shower in
vain. Dust due to the eggs or other fragile momen ts. Long black
satin whereupon tension . Certain drugs to make me kneel in
front of my own chair. Her legs then spread right off the
mirror. They made love as I was coming home. Matched games
as clearly played. She has to hold her vagin a in reflection till we
grow tired of it. Her head held high as he licks, such is the
ocean . Which I wear on my woman 's body. Sitting in front of

23 1
the sputtering of music. On the other hand, black spots. To
love wet velvet and sleep by perfumes. Skin of a rod behind
cloying hands. Stasis. Razor head to the original sticking. Lets
that lit bullet into a mirror hole. It set itself some water under
the stranger lights. Bare his heart, decorative as a medal. Slides,
barely lit. Unused women in premature encounter. Flashlight
held to start at the dust. Mannequins brought to life by
u nbearablebrightness. Holding hands, then switched off.
Crushed Chinese mints in cheek brushes. He stops doing that
when I want him. Spurt of semen to the starting fire. Mirrored
egg released from between her legs onto a surface of spit hiding
what. Maneuvers to execute. My stop, your stops, all the things
with drops of water on them. Fabric rubbing thigh skin and the
candelabra start swinging. Themselves in water? I sweat hot eyes
in the gaze of a lost lover. These last sentences in silence.
Where is the door that leads to your clothes. The lamp is on in
the red salon. A sacrifice of lace blossoms and a bow to that
comer. He lowers looking dim. Bath to happen then undress
up. Cheer down. Games with parasols on hills to be tugged
among the salesgirls. Bi tten skin not regretted. Milk white to the
waist. The leash that lets her do it at random. Hidden thing in
blood-staunched cottons. Changed posture to open the wound.
Black scars put to sleep over. Closed cigarette between the
hatpins bent. Knives in lime, painting of the toilet mark. He
stops thinking that when I tell him.

232
 XLII LAST

I t goes there. How does it come to you?

Braided mirrors to their holes in effect. Sight gaps.
Where newsprint surrounds the fuck, the place of full webs.
Could play her brush like a flute, what is backward in the dark.
Haven' t seen you there and then have. Disappears into her
drapes. Head lock, draw limb, gone away and back into. Held it
all down with the head back. Auroras in wait. Do you think I
painted for it? Nothing but blackness drawn in the act.
Trounce, then parade the parts. Popeye the painter, Barnacle
Bill in utero. And holes become jewels.

Could you be doing it while? Lift those things that hold us

back. Where towels are wishes, lights crawl under the bodies.
And what she has there, so elaborate. Even left alone it grows.
Pick it between , the fingers don ' t grow. And then his gaze
lights. I elaborate she says pinching.

They make all these blocks come up in oneself, slots.

Down there where she is going she is already. It exists of her
taking. I had nine numbered things, now you have another.
Parties of bristling fanciers overflown in direction . Parts of it all
so flowing so distinctly he recorded them. It's a made up thing
that reaches you now. I would have to fuck it out for you to
greet in paint. Rollicking samplers that nothing but. Got all
caught up into her treated her, traced then like a jarred comet.

She could be presented with something, an article herself in the

act. Did I come on too? We shuttered these things in our own
smooth landing. Down from that a cap on the light, a nose on
the fan .

There he has made it avid. Hands upon it broken thing. Open

one.

233
I think that later you wan t to see them do i t. But there is no
expression. And the en trance grows more elaborately crested,
captioned. Make yourself them seeing it. Open them all.

234
 XLIII MOVES

He shook her glass with his robe hand, down the liquid nipple
afteIWard. Free intent, dark breast point touching in time called
remote hours after. A boy named him. Then softly among the
textiles we looked at an emotion . It was like reaching into the
glass. Her breast knock sad, nothing at all. Her breast remote as
time and just as suspended. I always recall her sad, nothing at
rest. That liquid of its risen emotion . Unprepared to lead, so
short, do you know it? Eyes full of vitamins. Hand so short, so
loose in the hours. I woke up barely getting watched. Her voice
just used to press it to her body. The touching samples of h is
kiss mute, reduction innocent. The only high heaps of her body
the breasts' nipples. You could sleep if they were small, smooth
without being too smooth. Her face level with everybody now
and tightening. The skin under the body ten tative as the small
town I ' m from. Elastic cycles on the bed and studs ou t onto the
porch. Her breasts then folded up throws them. Her voice soft
from the neck, wanting en dlessly to meet at her belly. Whatever
was wet got listened to. Whatever as fine as in a mouth with it. I
grew in love with nipples in a window there. A tongue was just
what she said. Enabled, I graduated in flowers, in what could fill
one's married lips. I went in there for the precise sandstone of
the tongue. Whatever I was in love with death had found for
her again. Most likely they shot all over my living room. The
pictures from a corner rise up in to her mouth. Legs only, only
they are blind, though doors and eyes shut. I wan t what pleases
to not stop. Feel her as the pictures were straight but the teeth
in them all crooked. Smooth story of the stomach in meaning
and sound. I pleased out at the end of what went on. I was the
back of which she felt. She was the liquid within which I
continued to hear. Could this be for her, the one woman in the
one film that dies?

235
 XLIV FIGURES

Has anyone wanted to stay inside this woman who becomes part?
Stroke her becoming so solid she vanishes. Open the duck
you get cat water.

Her stomach has fallen into strokes. Sun and its hours.

Blue head drawing into the day sky. And what with the hands?

I had to lie to you, so then you should come to me. The nipple
is a zipper. The coil at a glance, hand.

Does she pain t with her own flesh you?

Then drawn to the grace of tit, vending, silver lozenge, the trace
that's n ever. It doesn ' t lie the same, even the veer.

Decided to sit in her flesh, where when most man her breasts
stick.

It's marble, the light, where she opens. The mouth never gone.
Then have my own stump. Flower pagodas. Wars of the ash.

I ' d like to give her some of my own veins.

So peaceful the politics of a chair, then cracks. The act

intense yet too hazy for kids. Resultant, a hand up there.

The wish to hold a cunt.

But flesh without everything. Pull down the false zippers.

That skull into place. Where what was wanting.

236
I was careful with making her disappear. She appeared to want.
A flash of her own. Creeks on holiday. Underwater dark curve
of pears. In the trees with knowledge vitamins and a scarf that's
off a bit.

Get her to flee. Part of this flesh is growth, part of her hands
the polish . The chamber she grew in is cold.

All that's n eeded's the one eye. As she goes into the door of wood
she burns away.

What if you went by her, the ladder a window.

She is wearing them. She is not ready.

In the corner. Hands crossed before the dark latches.

On sunday the han ds only are pink. Wood with its shackles and
grace.

Inroads of body on hair. Her eyes are left alone.

Plenty of knowledge and you look for the knob.

Next to electricity, pipes. Head alarms.

Still you would not knock on this skin.

It is a skin and then a skin.

Flesh grows out into the light, by the meter.

None of the image has locked her. She tries, she dries.

237
Sitting there formal, covered in tits.

Why do they look bigger then smaller then more to the side
then hunched at a glance?

Next to what's left electrical wanting. An iridescence of the

in and under, makes grave of wax and windward head. The
boards there strapped till they screw up to heaven.

She has another quiet try at it, ties her breasts to utter metal
with ever so light, blown back again .

Let's see how she goes i n the door. It's metal and going.
Rods of face cracked, seared in lesson and just so . Lip an oil
organism, feeling bolted.

Crest a corner. She has been known to be faced with.

Breasts, breast then lower all the time, the facade.

Looked up into never stay still. A brace across. An error to last.

And the tip, how right it stays, no matter the rest of

haste. The gladness at the breasts fall the eyes shut.

Grasp what she. Fuses, the surfaces, her things, the sure surface.

Whatever I have done over and over again has been done in the
form of a door.

3IIl90

238