18.1.10

nor




your life my darling is a passive saw in this cruel world
night's a game played by lover's long distance she won't heel
the word cut down its backbending sense nor wake
its caring feet over the side hill longing
and this way


you spend your hours worrying the long cruise daring its rift
the sun cracking open the yellow sky fever the sudden dozen death
of men and their pyrning these hawks shutter air burn its delta patrol
its memory slackened by the feel of gods and their returning but

not those mythogrammatical maniacs rubbing wheels

if your skin is this way then how much more can it bear
the strain of this paw shuddering from the amble
do things
dare take back their ominous warning

auspicious gulf

none replies the kettle drum barking nor hear its cadence across acorns
its' the woman foot kick back in the sidewalk coach boots her


between each breath between each capture foreseen


if your hand sees this touch the spare point along its fountain capacious
as the unexpected factory's host her guest makes everything appear real
not a frightened cake but the kind soul of wheat tarring its choice piece
of love and its far fate


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