as fatal thoughts hover

children kiss trees

breath catches in an iron lung.


faces in imagination's marmalade mist

tapeworm their way


(six months later who would believe all this?)


kisses in relief thread the dawn


searching out the needing;


flee. do, not talk.



tender but not without shape

a single vein in marble virile
in its solitude even in its
blockedness, a nerve turfs
the castle

the sea rolls away under

the bay's window


fake softness for love.

small but large of gestures &
above all always
home in a pure raw

vividity


if this tongue's hum were not so

deeply, simple


who would have the means?



let the smile remain so


symbolizing nothing more

not even its

line between the lips.


separately together
tear by tear


feed & flee feed & flee


like the sad thoughtfulness of the quiet

after the excitedmost circus

after the folded tent.



the deeper the quiet the

more tenacious. all sort of things
happen
all over
dreams.


in an iced land of pleasure
they are most separate

and each, by

tolerating


all recrimination