it was/ it s \ it is

so some women  (like ) this one you are a  pleasure to watch speak
                                                                       was a pleasure to watch 
                                                                 on the metro as you were going home
                                                                  returning from the other town

so love goes at first bidding
 the city buses are filled with them
   and the  Onealone      goes walking

             and he's alone as the city matures , daily , yearly ,, making its way.. and the night goes.. he thinks of you , yes     ~.


the conformity of the event    ~ NEED need not end there    ~ you are speaking

Are your eyes like that C? big and searching?
moons and satellites

--------------------- 'in the same universe'

----------------------------------------and here are 

thoughts from text machine

_______________Why would a woman bed scared of shit? and the bungabungawooand
               the bungabunga do?_what the What the real Montrealdoes is mix everyone up and that

   (are you scared of shit? is your body a breaking thing  , a seat ? a plush toilet O toilet

O toi et let . But let est-ce que c'est francais le mot let? as in lettuce and let us pray. Words are pray. As the list! list! O listening secular poet lists her way past boat and house blind as a  bat dictating her perjuries
( a breath a fragment a bated breath )

is why it is eat and how come the why the state  wants to end it because it cant control it

-------------------------------------------------------------------------speak to you yes  I do . 
want to .

---------------------------------  this city is filled with people    ~  THE 


another hour day is shit the vessel of the body's lee?
come my nappies prepare the way for theatre! he Shouts!
He Rings! down with the crave! Up with the Stage!

On which your body walking sore fleet guess appearance as
desire to the running blood of the lips absent for how many
years    ~ Absent and ever numb. This dumbwaiter plays
dead riffing his silver  players to beckon wheat.

She's writing one poem that lifts over the universe. Who defines
poetry speaks as she does. As not everything that's written said
speaking to the true diamond. And who heard the nightingales
Sing Mister Artaud in the death rants of your valley. Not Mister
Artaud but his representations.

----------------She represents the stage of skin to skin love.
                                           Your skin I've never touched       ~.