yr twistin an turning as its time to go

   n no'one's comin yr way
  where's your gang your girl goo

O but lady P's not been there an
you doant know where shes at 

coming along like this 's maybe breaking your heart
  a nd sure its wastin' time
   the nights you could you could make love make

her lips and yours joinin like a kingdom come
                              a kingdom come

this winter's come down dumber without her

   and the air's duller
    less nectar without her stars
her stars
and bridges


it's not


   the world's a strange and wonderful place and

                                           all the places

 i've lived
 such differences in how a body feels and feels a body feeling places
   lived leaning against a wall    ~ were I to die tomorrow   ~ carpe diem   ~

i'd have lived a life not regretted

  and for those who did not love me the way they should have what's there to say?
there's eternity to make up for it
   for both you and them them and me and the false liars of prophets too
  who think they're right with the hardassed idears of good and bad

  the world's not black an white but yellow an heat
   daring to tip its turning take on the widow of
    what? air divine fire? the stake that burns the wish?





has someone tricked you? perhaps but i am the traitor who wins in the end
  its not the same extracting a proof and gettinghonesty the love of curls in the wind



____________you like

 i like night

                          then day

  do i like bread

 then better

i mean butter
  i was   thinking
   the agony of  a


         the blues terminal   busstop?  o h yes her bust did stop  and Top the agony of a red stone a green blue and yellow one

    but do you prefer h?immm?

i like Picasso Friday Night

     are french women cruel?
  are french women crueler than english

  are they ?  o yea o yeah they're crue cruel

  they're cruel as cue as cruel's cruel power's power lie's lies

    none so cruel as the one

none so cruel

as you

none so cruel

as you

as the other

cruel's the pair's gotta  a whip
a zipper
a  fair of snippers

  nothing in this place 
this place
                           than  a sarcastic second remove away catholic lawyer

taking the bad guy down in the commission
 and the physiognomy of power's gotta be like its others elsewhere
and their double dare moves
and legal removes

nothing more than the  rasp of the mob man's mumble

 course I thought t'was cause a secular an not sacular
(not medals but petals petals)

trundling off the heads

guess i was wrong  guess i was wrong  you're my lover baby youre my blonde

    youre my lover baby youre my lover tell me the weather send me snow

Ok Mister this is weird its not you is it ? is that a thing book give the book to the legal and hear fictions as pearl humming  day   ~


_________________onnn thinnnnnnnnnnaaaaahhhhs Friday night


 contains lass and lasses and a asses and alludes to the glas

 as the eye referring to the ear seeking a
companion finding one in the tearful

union of spouse and soul

     and body and heart

   but the heart is   spoilinted in this maddinwhirled of the ruddendle (who bought the clothing store of Eva B whatever happend to her) her  I buy all your fucken clothes right away line smeared outside the door or window for a decade   what  a   store!

 If she or is a bird of flight and the machine works working between things as when a fingernail and a thumb meet at the tip of counters thimbles pressed to the knees and the saturnine shaking begins before the feet and weird loft and it hurries the continent over the orthodox layer of one's natural joy crusted no matter by life's


   soshall come back curving in the leafwInter bidden   ~

  would a poet hold his lover?

` and ~

that's easy to say

/  but at times

               / it's not so obvious which way
                                       /it is                      

/to the left always ~

                            'unlike my pope'




                                                                                 ny of the poets you refer to. I know who he was but not the others. n?    canadian poet and I like her work. She wrote outside of what I consider the mainstream idiom. I realize    that remark might seem a bit general but I guess it depends on what you consider to be mainstream                                                                                                      idiom at a given time. I guess it depends on what you are reading and hearing in day to day life.              o reading Inherent Vice by T.Pynchon.                                              As it works the word song flush full to the



          love slave

                     slave  love 
                                            to   love

                             slave  to  love's s l   a   v   e 

     s  l                 a               v   e   l       o    v      e

   lo v e' s sla ve     sla ve  to  love  

                                         ahm  your   s   l   a    v  e                


                                               o  love's s l   a   v   e 




... everyone


everyone steals this beauty they knew it was awkward  frail unique singular
  loaded with dough and like a fuck you took off like a star without a piece
 of the action then trying to lean into something dead you held your knee with
a piece of the goat trying repetition as an answer to the devilment that 
lay inside of you famished for some other sense of power lending every woman
a share of the dame's fame a gold watching ticking on the thunder of the prestige
of power 

threats were empty but gloves make better bed-fellows lover flower 
  your hurrying sense of metric and breasts held up and worms and rods 
end of the world except for those that have power O not you've got it wrong
 its the beginning of a world for those without power

now that you've traveled half way round the world seeing what other men
imagined knowing the bodies of round winds, strange deserted lands between
husk and daylight seen the prisoner bled dry , the trouble gaze and the tortured 
hour  as the prisoner's liberated knowing i is false

i was in Milan in 2006 i never called the prime minister
he's a friend of Maurice the mathematician with connections in the presidential
what's it called the  with a Élysée capital E?
   A palace for democrats and a whore for citizens in the pissoir right
next to the painter's funeral the death of nations let her get her breath

  my lover lived in a stiff cardboard computer it was  a Mac living beside the virtual
and real
  a hugger mugger of lie and posterity
   almost rhymes with prosperity a  rich woman's lay

  her breasts pushed up a pretty boy held by the rainbow
  not age's dark hardness the bones of a French whores an
 a accent built for presidents

  no whore holds this way past the glance and lie
   O her breath went away 
   O it went away

jealousy built empires it never did the same 
  it never made democracy

  a  great breath of hope for a  milling  

  a ray of a twin verse

  Wait one more hand here ... please my heart