Little poem who made

Envelope mouth /aPe Lip of
_________________

Little poem who made thee, did he who make the world
deconstruct me, deterritorialize my fate then? was the
night my Iam Bic Cylinder, I am limp and shrimp on the highdays
of alonesome, guttered, filled with need, wanting, hungerin'
hand lip ass legs to caress in the cry of my body, cause
if I don't, I die, I do die, in the sight of their escape.
Pearl before swine in the sonnet, like socks without holes flood
the nape and neck of yer stiff-necked beckon. How shall we sing,
with our onions?



Were Franny and Mona, the true ones, blue and
tried like my ointment skin? O kith of kin, and in your santcum, shall we and Elizabeth rattle the melody. Are the days barren
nights only these loneliness, that I try on like strange grammars
Is that what you meant to say, Mister hypothesis? with your
transubstantiated consubstantiaed ends and means, your Kantian
quill and knock against the repeated stress. What is against?
What is it, that it so recurs repeatedly late and again against its tie of awareness and literature down the done and dome and
dime and ten cent stores?
Should we rattle and then move as her body does
who was the anorexic one eyes so intelligent, roving everywhere
like the haiku of your itr and intent as her soul must
I am every simple rhyme which pulls out and back
back to truth and beauty and beauty's storm its torment,
and the lost thought sings back, back the river before the angel who sits waylaying at the door when the father's pronounce,
and there is no sun like this gust that blows puffed and huffed
by near and night, beats it does, beat and beat the element air
clement as the night and her pardon hat which sits so


II



So and sew
sow thy mouth


parched of eat