Sep 142011
The old trollop comes ga-lal-lopp-ing along

Loves unfiltered // varnish the knotted heart;
Loves laved with gravesores;
Loves by the score: love-love;
Love unadorned.

Shall the body bear its burning beacon
               Into another darkness
               Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow

The body on fire
And the mind gone on holiday
Mind mindless mind
Flopped on a rocketing toboggan
                in windy Switzerland

The old trollop comes ga-lal-opping along

Why, in such a desert, this simmering wetness?
Why this, why this?
               Paradise by the inch.
Click and sigh
        of fricatives, force and odor
        of opening a stawberry door

         into endless fields

All the skyline's a thin guise of fire,
My face a gauze over echoes.
A farther fierceness cinches my mystery ribbon.
Tireless vine binds my inches,
A glug of bloods cured to fine rawhide:
From tip of finger to tip of toe,
Cocktip to nosetip, cinching the inches
Finer and tighter, cinched in and in--
Raw zones and moldy wounds.
A zero surgeon could not configure it.
A tightest kite fit for any breeze.

And I am aloft--
Coughless and visionless, seeing all.
No need to imagine your spectacular sighs,
Your ruinous cues, your fucked dugs.
Twin cinders for eyes and a stovepipe hat,
Body pure body, longing and troubled--
But starchest snow for all that,
Breast and belly pure cold, pure pure.
Thighs stark as icicles
                   pinning my insistence.

Two old trollops disordering the I.V.s,
Tripping past the bedpans, two toiling turnips
Unable to ever verily bloom
Save as tumors.

"Flowers in the dustbin"
                  ... and all that ...

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