and no! to a superb love &

no! to belonging to kisses and no! to

a stomach storing your juices for a rainless month.

you will walk the length of your bloodstream

feet pickling in all wastes you encounter.

when you are really loved, properly loved,

fully encompassed in all aspects of your humanity,

you are no longer free to destroy yourself. or grow

hormones germinating in pans of molasses

trays of inky growth sopping over their edges

clotty waste tangling in the drain cover

glands of some poor beast plucked and twanged aghainst

an ancient draining board. glass bell swarming with

slinky roots. life itself. the fetid music of the ways

budding fancies of mouths put underground

breathing in the matted dark

a harsh fog blinds the authorities to the will

of their populaces, plotting delighted in the suburbs of

the mind, distinguishing process from error and

propagation from desperate synthesis

monoliths dedicated to anaesthesis, monuments

erected to radiation. the nuclear tower skipped eating today

to make room for the huge leathery trickstitch

that would see her seam blown, as they say, SKY HIGH.
I am delighted in my little sin

ordering metres of drywall like nothing’s happened

sending wreathes to the bereaved

somewhere between sunlit doze and sightless mania was I,

hopping from one fucking foot to the other.

penetrable to the extreme, pleated with darling

rosebudfolds and wet little hydraulic suckers.

I bounce like a goddamn olympian

my form gets grave with the going of the light

supercoolant and the chrome pools of my eyes diminish

with the evaporation of coming night.

is there help about

some technician who might notice me and straighten

my steely skirts, hold aloft the fatal error in my wan complexion.