EATEN

Off your edgy blonde / stiff / "couch" talk—
cure(-ator’s) unsaid (maid) docent, ’er

heaven’s bent-more norm(atic) jerkings ("leg show")
behind the screen and off the hedge flaunt.

I sought, I mouth’d all through EATEN cank’r
for the curator’s plastic buttocks. Tall & dominant.

(Face it, Miss Sanders, it’s your neotorso.) No
concrete assurance in this "rubberite’s" world, but

diap’r’d elders’ emissions ("commodity"), style
tribes, "tight-lacing," catsuits, "our master key."

GOINGS ON

’Twas a lark, the sheaf in Hamburg
(empty form, "flit-fingered" in a lot);

sepsis-clothes and "high" remember,
glittered dark—

the rank of clouds and GOINGS ON.
"Wet-" parked, clawed sore, flown,

removed and so rainy off your Beth,
I "But, but, but" your flaily "Nein."

MOSS MOUNT

Naked ’cept for my ’glasses
(window at a camera),

I clutch’d sleight-hand o’ diesels ’cross the lake,
I vein clutch’d-hand your sleight pagoda oak,

I "merely" budded branches saw,
for awkward ’twas the capt.’s arriba airy sea,

mit Gila cot-a-paraplegia.
"Espejo de agua." And seeing it was "mine":

"The rain is a perfect model for my lover."
"But ‘glee’ is not a word I use in easel-light,

nor member-moon, nor comet’s ancy.
For to taste of ictus-fragment’s blood Veronicas,

to drift-n’-id acord abaft my body top,
my "new-to-the-touch-n’-swallow" bottom body,

my flapper-sheets—
the pelvis MOSS—twi-twitching apink—

ground-up books, peewee dickey birds awrithe,
but to MOUNT inside my fluffy boa."