I gotta

I gotta find my arm. where's your arm?I left it outside. in winter. in the darning wool. in the night. on my typewriter. in the chair.in the night. how could you leave your arm in the night, wool, and typewriter at the same time.i do ti all the time, im a poet. they do such things. or a lover took it.
when i write. verses. or verse writes me. when in t he trance i take a chance . it takes me. and i see.baby i am the motorcycle.

how can you be a motorcycle mister ? I mean, what is this a sort of metamorphosis? a body without limbs? are you a bust? a statue? are you a creature? creature creature I is.

cant find these photo arms. i found them once. but of f they went. where to. sometime in New York city. the song goes. it went. in air.
around wreathes of her hair. she was beautiful as breezes, girdled lawns.
i dont know how you imagine all these things.it's the wind.now dont be silly and start talking dirty.hahah dirty! talk dirty to me. ditty. as rhymes smooth the way to . to ?question of rhythm.mocks the healing mouth.yer a poet. a creature who writes, always words. you ...
sir, it's late, earlylate. to my bed.i go.
as i'll look for my arm, finding your hair.
mine? my hair?no silly, someone , someone else's/ someone i said .. i'd show my arm. your arm?yes, and i shall. as waves roll in over the night. the harbinger of night ~ ill find and send~

imperfect verses is the category



Does he have an arm
Venus in aries dances
around the Leo moon?
or does the arm
around a statue?
arms & wreaths pulse
here ~ there ~


Lets say

let's say he's standing on the subway . mid_day. back and forth in and out. off train onto sidewalk saunters to where's he goin, carrying a book Winter Pollen _ essays by another poet

his arm's in a sling?
or is it a tumult that bears
the sun over his eyes
~ how do eyes see?

Or arms, arms say of the Man
that's what Virgil said
Aenid of the olden days
SIng in Me o Muse
the arms of the man
I say Sing in me Muse the song of the man
armed, unarmed, his bust
by use and time the winking light
burns to burlesque
cutting between jazz and classical
and she's a dancer
shes a dancer
leaning on her desk
Night ~ night ~
night ~



the shape

the shape of an arm

yes, ill find

it'll come

finger, arms, coffee _

Hands, fingers, coffe _ is it dharma, the flickering of the light around. And the puff of smoke from the ears of Venus
onher Conch
Venus _ Aries
Leo ~