as

the arms of slav women
come and go in my arms
trains arriving and departing

their hearts are heads

this whir of noise in the city is a pleasant beat

a s the night gathers thunder for its arms


here gr a mmar is a song
not a night tarrying the hours of gloves

wrapped in hoots and hooves you speak the open walk of gods
their breasts and asses their sex open like a train station
a tunnel where lovers rest their heads

is this where man goes?

better to be disillusioned with night than to be its bad servant
or lovers over climbing pairs the city ruin of
clutter

in the air I hear the puddle its tinker tell walks the wish
wakes the wisher

hugs her lover
night has belonged to this
bustle of dresses
undressing

woman's taste
cared by the late day

hungered by the ribbed hanger

its this fiction standing
hypothesis of love its trigger frigger
__________________

slight variation of
this text at brim