His letters were not loss
JUNE 10th 6:42 A.M.
His letters were not loss or no less lucid
and corrupt no more than trails of dust
his livid torso a creature cultish and
furious
There was one there was one
who reached who fed
into my zipper on choking
one who yellowed there was one
at the root who smelled
there was one of dirt one
who grabbed who read
my boyish neck like a prairie
.
Well enough the interpush
JANUARY 9th 6:01 A.M.
Well enough the interpush the putty
ass enough the hot tub itch the
bearded farts enough the caution the
concrete crack the poop on the rug
I’ve been singing flames my spirit dog
the tao of days
The putty ass the trip
the very tragic the red-haired
tub of gore slink the frown
a wiser beard the bitter eyes
the longer list the lip
would itch and cheek
the treason I owe him
perilously close nothing
to volunteer I owe
an act of spirit the dog
the little cock more
.
Hence the queer cock
JANUARY 10th 10:28 A.M.
Hence the queer cock the trust of
wands the trial and trestle the train
from where the original banishment
occurred the woman in a white tunic
trembling and packing on horseback
she leads an army a brayer of burning
a bringer of tunnels she’s the queer
under-knowledge of pain the sturdy
sex of providence the holler of
purchase a corsage of paperwhite
petals sifted on the underside of an
arm a test of knowing in wrists in
how the body falls apart in the
relentless unprotected assault of ants
the need for release the impossible
steadiness of touch without rest
There are two points at first the erection on the hip and fingers in
the left armpit both unbearable and both a faint infinity without
resolution the sturdy sex of strong cock entering disorganized
like a trashed garden air seeping through a sturdy fissure of ass
hands gentle but steady a mattock without money just an enter
without corroboration
