Wednesday, February 16, 2011

So the Sad Adage of The Body


So the sad adage, of The Body

lingering

in a Trace, of your Lips’ refuse

a refuse of the scattered

cantata doing the Work, you know

over your Mouth

in a Murmur

rising

to the Eyes

iris, focusing

on this Morning’s

ob-

solescent Texture

under

lying the falling-though

sensation, in that way

love

shits

its

given way say: It wasn’t

the Body, that you

held in your Belly, round

in it’s rolled

& up was the Ruin

of the Production

of Intimacy, quavering

in the an

nunciating shit-mouth

shitting-out

it’s shitty

pleasure