from "My Language Sampler" Boris Izsus, Editor. Published in The
“we arm”, are strange, how the features
of this World, begin with problems
of the Pink, to lay hold, or to be able
to thing something into a Thought:
ignoring that we’re in our own
World, is the only world thy sought
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
or bodies. No, no one is to call this one “The
Body” floating, in it’s own poor particles,
particularly to my Eyes, surprise this Quality
of seeing, the chain-saw, sawed me & I seated,
into this encased place, in semantic Space
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
or You, are in the pawing palm ,of
language among, other things
must start to stop, must say
“no”------->& no matter what
anyone says “You’ve got a beautiful
way, about carrying your way, in
weight”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
or whipping a rhythm of Night, as
if too, we slept in our own tiny
clinchers, clutched the long
list, of the longing sort, of the such
work, to clean them Bones, go
to how night, lights the Past back
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
or shocks to Thought “how
shocking” the seconds, slow
thy roll to the source, penetrating
my brokeass, forces you straight
through, the alley straight through,
the concentration of how, hot
the sun bloods upon thy Profile
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
or hear again, how here, my Face
orgasms itself right out of, it’s
an organism that is reflecting
thy, as a tiny building this, rush
up thus, in thy eyes against, the
vision of what outlines thy
past, the point of airtight abusing
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
or, phasing-out the colors give
a form of phrasing “these wrenching
shapes of thy logic” art thy wretch
blocking thy all access------>look
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
or litters of letters pressed, against
my mouth, could create two suspect
yaelps & each, would be the turd of
the World, in which you thrust, about
squirming, in thy turds
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
or the personal pit, you built, up
to commit, to the point, of the
how these boobs in light, shape
up, the great guffaw, of Language
digits, thy Flesh in thy, digits to
dig you, through this pool, of my
drool
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
or the preparing of calling upon
thy lips to move, could really, be
called a “coming upon”
adventures , are articles, I wish
to write, a drawing of the dawn,
falling thy felling, a form of
yawning
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
or “Oh, I’m so overflown” in, these
affairs of the Hands me, some Hideous
lucidity, herself, of course, in the Hopes
of speciming, a specific standard, mess
I’m in
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
or the trust needing in, touching an,
imagine in the Eye, places, a patch
of Light, looking kindly on Him,
goes pop image or, the image of “I
am a mightymighty Sailor” which
began, this Idea of sailing past,
this & that apparition, taking Him
away, from his own grave converge
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
or Picture: my calculated enthusiasm,
is the Point, of being smoky, (smoking)
aye, the Chatter, starting to, start
a strike, upon my Imagination, struck
that Spirit down & a bit
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
or how in Westerns, the Old were
always, coming up only to, in the
event I am down, call attention
to how attractive, I am connecting
the sea of, she far off, tongues, I
seem to see, thy seethe to see
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
or Hung, over a block, of
the pain, is pale pal, from
this position, bent over, &
chasing, thoughts of my
Devotion, a kiss, sliding
of the finger, across cheek,
across a Body, is an Event,
hung over, the Human, is the
sweetest, sweat river
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
or & searching the Scale, of this
house, reveals “we are in a great
commotion” moving, from room
to room & moving, next to avert,
the flight, of the subsequent whole
yo structure, this “OH”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
or okay torso here's the code: for
self, it’s a plan. The power & of,
“A” is perfectly, off the rocker,
Cumulates, so creative, so the limbs,
became an immersion, of ice on ache
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
or Brute breaking accordingly,
to when, I was so obsessed,
with ways, to weigh, the beauty,
of all my wars, go the way, of
canceled events
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
or the rational sense, senses the actual
survival, of this response, is a frame, of
my lust, contains a summit, towards
a Framing, of desire contains, thythy
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
To crisis
