1.
My little tantrum, everywhere people live in the diseased lung, gagging literally for respiration: The Rails, here where it
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2.
Tell to the Sea, that Bitch of a Beast you see, a Parallel of Sno
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3.
Thus, Butcher me on the head, & even in Laughter, that motherfucker is a Beggar by the polished articulation of Speech—I say: The Unknown Crotch of Organization. I’d prefer the cold & the broken annunciations pronouncing crowds somewhere, sideways, hisses into heat, into ice, surrounded by the Sound of the Woman’s Groundoff teeth— gums this type of crust, this simple fist scything the Ridiculous Draft of a Life. & we are introduced to this Voice, whistling of the Exhausted Ass, gripped by the hair, weeping in calculated hours, as this, Our Dear City, fumed with a Simple Face, gulped by the young misfortunes of a traveler.
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4.
Tell to the Sea, that Bitch of a Beast you see, a Parallel of Sno
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5.
Thus, The initials & White Figurines Home an arborous genetic code:was said, is said, which was & is & was a sow. Cities & towns lead toward the Left Hand: A Ritual Viewing Thiefs across his forehead specks a definition & Consumption’s misappropriation. Each damned day lamps in the expressions sketch an image cracked all uber this House. On a Period, I’d wash my Body, effacing the minutes of a Familiar Figure carefully abstracting my Child’s Tiny Ear Toil[etc]—& here in my pocket: the dead morning, the closing waters stretching upon what we’d forgot, Seducing my Architecture for Weeks.
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6.
Tell to the Sea, that Bitch of a Beast you see, a Parallel of Sno
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7.
But,
among those, who commit themselves: You remember the Smell of Baked Skin, the Body buried in the East that surely is Someone’s Feast as the Crowd Descends Down: “The Beginning of the Face” the beginning if the Face, a House
will Fall rhyming within these Walls erase the shit of the clean word——lamps of what naked (b)one fingers in the retina? “Thy belly & gum.” Within the arraignment, I swear, I’ll Chomp motherfuckers throughout this
covered in coal, The Roving Roll Call & The Bell[y] we’ll axe to the Tone of this Musical Score or, Laboring within the Dispersion of these Years muttering at their End: “& shall mourn the body” too where it fell: a Mere Contradiction
as children torch in the Tree & The World utters a Bare[ed Foot will have siege on the 9th day or, a tuft or silence robbing this Monstrous Age & nothing by the act of writing will return a Light on the Quay or, measuring my
Chimneial Howrel, sur(faced) by stones by print by I will fucking hide nothing
&
What is bemoaned:
The Movement of the Face &
deteriorating muscles dilapidate
within the scaly flesh—be
low the eye—bruised
away,
the heart of
each shape, grows
in remembrance of the 9th
punch straight to the
gut thee thus:
Dilly this seducing for years: jesture, wash beautiful in reticence, but home under & sink in the ghetto of her
skin never. & Somebone things of sleeps a child greased in an eye of Gris, once beurre a shower of duel
repetition not the discarded flaxes to you gratis & Sloo of Sequence—you’ll prune no hero distastes the Cripples
Dancing & The Train colliding with a baptized mutter, O Mother the barrels of these Bodies eat within an assear a
rother soil eddying with the sad Faces frostbitten to the ship masts a saccule in deafchoke of which I forgot the young
boy’s breath danks of laundry, [s]e[re]ducing me to I’m exhausted by each association, The Excess &
Petitories of each sluggish HAND.
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Tell to the Sea, that Bitch of a Beast you see, a Parallel of Sno
