“and Petals flying like wounds”

maybe a heart to start.

our heart beats flutter in our mouths.

our hearts beat flutters.

try to put your fingers round my heart.

try to make up heartbeats of my heart.

try to take up heart beats of my heart.

my heart made of heartbeats beaten up up off of my heart.

Your heart's beating heart beats up up at my heart.

It takes it to heart.

It is taken to heart off a butter flight wing.

a pterodactyl
loose kite

a string

strung to sky i am sky i am light i am dust i am here

in the wind, a thread running bare through the breeze

lit, it is singing in me.

I arrange some petals stemming in the vase

of the stemmed.

Where it shoots roots at my root rooted out with a snout

like a mouth with a tongue,

It tries to take my picture and it plucks at my fruit.

It tries to shoot me with a picture and it sizes up my fruit.

It plucks at my strings

and it runs at my root
and it rips at my root with its teeth.

Run at my root, go ahead

Rip at my root with your teeth.

i want my root to be seen in your teeth.

my root in your teeth won't you please show it to me.


put your teeth in my teeth.

eat my teeth with your teeth.

suck my teeth with your teeth.


crush my teeth in your teeth.

with your teeth teeth your teeth with my teeth.


suck with your teeth at the rooting in me.

and lick at my teeth

lick at it showing it licking at me.



The men watched man giving birdseed

to bird.

Break it out.

Gush it out hot little streams .

It is the wonderfully beautiful moth in the room.

in the

hand

in the bush

Isn't it the moth in my mouth that flutters itself

beating itself at the roots of my teeth?

Isn't this the moth wanting me?

the moth that puts me to put its moth wings

to suck this wanting moth

to take its moth's wanting upon myself

to suck its

flight dust

there is a red fruit deep inside well a glamorous girl well

it would be pleasant if this planet had no name well

eat a peach at the edge of the cosmos then

faintly swaying eyelessly green


why there was no mystery

i bought a watermelon the size of a great planet

a mysterious ship

with a


mysterious wind


with a


spirit on it.




the planet aches looking at the clear night sky the planet turning


i have nothing to say


infinitely maybe


i'm empty headed


oh
wind across

this land of water's children.


of strange and tattered drops of fruits.






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❄

todas las hojas son del viento. . .

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.



row row row your boat


.

Is this a sandwich?

If only I had been born
A fish
Instead of a monster



shivering fawn


of spaces from shells to sands
always assumed within the counted ones
until proximity loosens our hair and the piles of stardust from our palms

loosening the locks of our starry gathered umbrals
and we can not be numbered


some in our arms upon rising leave behind the nights costume

heading out into the day to the rooms of the world outside where we uncover nakedly
things of our former selves
to set them up stark against the foliage
like paper cutouts of secret silhouettes
or swinging statues
we forgot
to click off
still swinging around in the back yards of our dreams

it is a wilderness that is not so much Rousseau like

although it is built of the momentum of wanting and its debris

sorting through the flotsam floating wreckage
we are racoons in the trash
of a statue garden

because
want looks and want searches and want wraps us up until we are the wanted, or not
and it becomes us

accumulating in the garbage to hunt or to pick each other between the waves we come in like waves and we go out like waves and the tides and the moons send us running off or to bury ourselves amidst the discarded furs of others we try to

bury ourselves in the sand becoming sand

or topple off the used upness of castles crumbling in topples off each other in heaps like

little stones like flakes of skin or leaves or the beginning of snow where it is very still

and we are the snow and we


try to catch us in our open mouths but tout le monde runs out



and we are cold sparks


in infinite dusts

in fragments of foam

in blown up marble

and we are swept off

and
we will not be ours

but flicker in twirls of differentiation simultaneously forever




and one finds oneself in it and one is familiar with it and one can be in it with everyone else everywhere crystallized or melting otherwise this is not a world




and we are all strange animals that try to go into the others and protect ourselves at the same time


with our big open black eyes towards the night

and our paws.






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