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IT CAN'T BE LOVE/BUT IT MUST BE LOVE

 

 

I am BUST LARD and I WARM to arrive.
I got my face lost for nearly nothing.
I warm up to coupon LACE STABS.
I form up to dangerous quarries of palms in the great whip open.

I warm up all the way to my lovely Mac
             and Knees. Jís text floats on its back in the water and say,
The moon is a yellow crime flower.

I think I come from plunged sentence.
I think I come from a full flash of air red and nothing.
Its own thick LEAVES and the star made of dead power color
on your back in the water says,

YOU ARE HERE
                YOU FEAR until you can have what I have
always tried:
                my body, my little mist lobby falling apart.

Get it Ruby Awe. Get it, get it, Loan Animal, inside the MANE SAEA.

Dot your chin. Dot your face.
Dot your face with as much rubbery as you can get near it.

Loan Animal,
you have to pick out a bone card,
you have to find a feeling
and hurt its tiny dead
glow with your hurt.

Tanker Fat, no one is in young pain anymore!
Youíre all comments under a hiding. Youíre all cowmints,
and I canít get yr EXPLOSION CLOTHES OFF.
Why? Throats B Sore. Why?

BECAUSE I AM GIRL OF THE ELEGANT MIRE,
Because I am asking you with a yellow ragbeam glass
slipping a porch apart into your big, big hands
I HAVE ALL AROUND ME.

Do I have a thing about fullness?
Do I have a thing about a drunk eyed reservoir?
I HAVE A THING.
I have a cattle lover.

I have to give you thing.
I have to give you a thing
because things make dumb glittering
their picture everyday
and with PURPLE CURBS
THEY DO IT.

I fall apart and know glimmer tells even us.
I fall apart and know glimmer is how print works on top of me,
how dancefever gets so big, big on top of me.

That sunkweed, it smashed into me. I FELT IT.
THE HALF DEAD THINGS THEY LICKED ME.

The air pets alarms at the sight mattered together.
The air lows at the sight mattered together.

The shouldersofyou, the sight of the stop of them, I like.

I like strings, I like little help hair.
They throw me off my ride, and I end.

And IN PART I DRIP.

Yes, youyou can really hear me
bend my own canít you?

You herd I ended it. You herd I end.

I THINK I CAN FEEL
WHAT YOU GETTING DRESSED
IN ME CURED ME OF.

The grope of my hounding creature frames me.
I touch the grape in the sky and say, sand.
I push a Walgreenís and say, sand.
I look at the construction workers eating yogurt
from inside their mating hardhats and say, sand.

Look at your chest.
Itís sand because
Iím at the beach with you.
Now there is knowing and knowing kisses.
Now there is knowing and knowing gets to kiss the mossy vessel of my outfit.
Now there is knowing and knowing gets to kiss the moment of tenderness being jarred.
Now there is amongness, now there is burlish coheaving, now there is nearness that lugs
us around drain creatures full of seeds and pits almost.

I LOVE WHAT I DREAMT AOBUT YOU AND I,
but none of us is like sleeping.

US of your smooth surfaces, they are grains.
US of your smooth surfaces, they are giants.
US I can do is raise hooves on graffiti vitamins.
US I can do is involve helicopters.
US I can do is call them CHOPPERS in multiples of flood.
US I can do is tissue between you.
US your tissue should do is pull me around by the inflatable tubes.
US your tissue should do is curl me up into a lock of wound bucketings.
US is Windmill Blade Going Down the Highway Covered In Fruit.
US I can love is any energy you can get to come out of you.
US I can eat in this allergenic sea.
US I can eat in this mixed kite.
US is any thick canyon that already looks like it is made of moonhair screaming
beautifulbeautiful BOUNTIFUL OK out of your face just before you are
stuck in Kentucky traffic,
stuck in hotel soaps,
stuck rare deer god hairs of yours,
stuck in a portal of barking with me.

Iím sorry Iím yelling whatever stack at you that is our dead animals strapped down
and somewhere around us weíll get to pissing on the our sides of ours screaming.

WHAT COLOR GRILL CANíT WE BE? ARENíT WE ALL OF THEM THAWING THROUGH THE EARTH AS IT FUNS DOWN THROUGH THIS GREASESTICK OF LAND AND COWCROWS AND THIS CARAVAN IS A FLUSH BOLT

BRAIDING ITS TONGUE TO PIECES.

 

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TYPO 19