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The Body, efficiently caught in a Bluethought: The Wither of my Groan must be descending to the Deaf of my Ascending Years facing a Wearing it The Skinaskin, Down---->tearing it Down through the Teeth, so rare to meet you Here, cutting through Ourselves seems so, The Weather seems so lovely when it is good to you---->How alone we feel being eyeballed from the Insides & The Sun, how Sharp it is when she is beside you, staring a Hope of Marrying a Staring at you---->How small we feel when we’re alone together in this Shoddy apartment & the kids through the Windows with actual Eyes, Eying us with such Disdain---->but how about this One: Let’s turn now & see that Puppy dying so prettily it dies in the Corner, it Died & how fragile we thus feel, for our Immunitary System was never the best, was never a Word, was all just Guesswork as it happened, along with The Rest---->How it all just Barrels us over without a Hint of Our Own Complaint, or how we Tank—[a]—tanksigh like Beasts beset between Societal Lines but we were so Small back then, back then so Shallow so flimsily how each Person Bruises---->& In my Mind, all my Concubines have been Clots perusing about the Lawn, above my Head as if a Noose wrapped upon the Cock couldn’t understand this Peeking Condition, which was really just a Curious Drive towards Sinking, in the Corner, to Sip her, in her Ornamental Form of Sinking----à& after we formed into the Hood of the Ambulance & I had seen the Abundance of Blood, the Slumming of what of—[?]cast against this, May I Sunset now, swathed in Gray—[?]---->Thus, the Goal was always to Burst oneself against the Faces’ Foliage, but instead just met Glass in Head---->How we then Spoke with one another Clamoring in the Brumage of Burps while Ten Years Past & we Sunk to the Memory of Our Lively Rivers, under the Docked Eyes of the Passengers or, on the Trains that Derailed under Foot & how we Communicated within a Veil of Blinking under these Unsteady Skies of June----àIt was always The Sun—[&]—Days that we found ourselves Down & Against the Rational Arc of The Story left me Down & stilling the Till it was Time to Drink---->The Ketchup-Colored Scene outside our Window each Morning was truly the only way in which to Wake, in which to Shock the Deliberately Kind who hid a Hidden hid for Killing Hid in their Skin----àIn the Bending Rye of Thunderstorms we Rose to each Morning & the Birds would wound in my Space & the question: should I have pity for their Scalped Heads—[?]---->Running my hand is a Land along the full of my Body, as Sleep longs in the dirtydirty Dawn. & as I always said when things get darker, the Aches is an Intersection Protracting with Burrs & Coagulating Smug Smirks, which had Gathered us in this Can, in this lou, contending with the honkhard, how humming this Dour Scene of Exodus Thought I heard getonpissinon or Arms, get your arms from under me & Place them here over me, over my Eyes so that I might not See this Grailfaced Implosion Slinking a Sinister Shit slides in our Sinking Way---->& It was this Immediate Handle on things & our Lispsings through the Frame of the Body which foretold Our Ruin, which foretold the Chump of my Falsetto chomped against the Terror that hung in the Breeze, which foretold this Punishment that Bred in the Underbelly, which foretold The Hell of the Night to come in our Years, which foretold The Hell of each Body, which was of a Basterdly Shape, which was a Smoldering Eye, disintegrating along the Sheets of our Tender Form of icelusting, which was as Bright as we were Brittle, which was foretold to be a Deadening Dipshit on the Bonfire---->The Bonfire grew Dark in June which allowed for a Eulogy of how I fit so Gentle Enough up in ya, or so rawf right incha or, yes here with Our Slit Lips slipping to Cease the Physical Distance: Do you remember the Lake in Summer? The Sun above, how Brightly it Shone upon our Faces which Greeted to a Smile & a nodnod---->& there was Blood in our Boots & the Broken Bones that were Bared to that Bitch of a Running Hunter & The Doctors graveling on the Ground, gaining The Ground towards us---->& The glass which struck there against the Chops, where then, Our Faces, Faced a Tube in our Throats & my god Someone had Died & I was sure of that & Perhaps it was us Tunneling through The Poor Litany of Cycles to Our end&end---->But the Sun above, The fucking Sun that Ragged Little Squirt above, how Brightly it bore the End of Others or Us upon us&us. & How beautiful the Sun was. & how beautiful that Dayday, by the
