something in the way it moves

sine

sweet lucy

your lips black as bing cherry

spine sinuous sweet

as sweet black earth-curves

diamonds

inexcavate

bright red with

heat.

sweet lucy, lucy,

sweetest lucy.

half-nape,

total clavicle,

all

fluid

all

deep impact.

cosine

i find you move

at the edge of mind

like finger: quiet cellular nail.

half-moon. excavate.

teach me for that

the sine. teach me that

quite, quite sine.

but i was blank like the yellow moon, blank

like teeth in a sale window, blank on display

and inside worked so carefully your finger,

your nail like half-moon, your diatribe of hair

and your square tooth.

you soft me, whole me, you cover me in your lead

and your belly-smelting of furs and naked petals.

bruise like magnolia. and your jaw so firm.

you sluice me: pour yourself through cracks in skin and bone, and you harden, and i break. i break so hard and far, break cosmically, time wrapped about space like hair about a cunt. slush and fluids, splinter of light--light sharp, under nail, slammed to the bedpost.

i remember stones.

tasting of heat and shoe.

the smell of day.

i remember the dry academic feel

of the crinkling moss-tops:

rhizome like a sweater

i enjoyed--a comforting appeal.

i remember your high white tops.

the spark of sand against teeth, the feeling

of eating box.

there were no mistaken words,

no speaking fracas. splinters and the taste

of wood in sun: warm, soft

pricking against a tongue

roseate as dawn.

stentory

visionary taste

as of peas.

crack of dark stint

alpine smell--blue white cut

into blue sky

the smell of vision.

deep purpled oyster and the crank stem

of the greased machine: silver

sated taste of saltines,

bright cheddar:

cypresses bend in absent wind,

bent to silence and misery.

they hold their bending

like a trophy.

i,

replete as emptied,

personally.

quietus

i should have figured you in five long ago. the bright version of your presence and the dark surge of my blood to the base of the skin and out like red surging statue. sparks freed as if from twain gears charging each other sides on sides. i am distinctly attenuated as if to sound. beat being more than sound. it is magnet as if pulse. it keeps us in two or more. and it is physical because it pulls along heart through teeth and against skin. all art being body words therefore those to which i subject myself like i would subject sharpnesses to me.

carve in the blossom. carve in the hard bloom. winter shines out and flowers come into the earth.

meanwhile the wind rises, as if about itself, as if about itself.

a drip through the shutters. solo: droplet and working mouth, lip opening and closing like your moth--as if, as if, as if (beat, beat). tongue tonguing itself.

i am watchful for

every sound. things bleed

through the wall

and i

cannot stop them:

rifts sifting out, seeming smoothed

like milky time

and then

noise. listening is to have bled:

body weeping red.