overheard, masturbation in london
de sade visiting.
only the community surrounded by all the grocery stores delis muted factories black coats
presents my birth and death
what is a body capable of? “it's not just
an enemy, a wild animal, an avalanche, falling
rock, or speeding train—a caress”
mind my mind
The mountains don't move but they do float like clouds.
Both things matter just like
a nation's not necessarily justice,
and your body's not necessarily justified—
at a timing we're wild melting then
for him love was only a sense of terror reduced to limp aversion. but how happy this wild stalk always is!
(that's my lack of foresight)
foolful, but not, not fearful
this time I mean what I say. I
don't count on me. it's just the mixture of lust
all this is a process of repeating someone else's words
the rain's in the way
if I just get one word out in between his and hers it matters
they don't hear when I talk back to them, her language is a cup, the grass,
an encounter and his: apples in a museum and flutes and the pedestrians walking outside
I'm a drill of speech bored into the wax of those figures in the museum? their real faces—
here's realism: every part of speech devoid of sympathy
rain's still in the way
In her book genitals and continentals she wanted to indicate both blind chance and clear density
but really this was about introspection. She realized it was a self-study of masturbation
and all the trips to London, and other islands.
It was an escapist process.
To escape from her cell, the honeybee
“I am judging,
the poem could be”
more than honey and spit, could it?
more than byproducts of the body politic
and the body technic – containing
like a sieve