After breath is gone,
we shall lead. Again,
birth begun, please,
we can not
be clean with need.

Again, hearts bend in lean,
suspended, wait,
please. We can
carry, continuing,
carry silence,
the sincerest deed.

After wanting, waiting
teem—both—moth and beam,
will you

Will we please?

I am honoured,
bothering dream, quieted.


How tender I must have looked
to preying dark eyes
inhaling their own
body bud scent

My white lips were thin
but young and unspoiled
and she had met with already
so many spoiled men

I would awake a captive
with blue eyes inviting
asking direction
taking it where?

And she rotted me quick
when she finally did
carving out pink guts
leavin’ a real good waste

My straw yellow crown
went dark then to dirt
grown numb at the tounge
heavy loss ’round the gums

My robbed breath rued
her look left askance
And I stood up a corpse
for some time now

Abie The Fishman

My people fired idols, fertile crow to sell,
nickel-pure murder, they sired when thirsty.

My boys did surrender, moldings for birth,
hearing of what? What deception of order?

My wives were a-sturdy, a choice wet of lips,
coughing over to me—>the real jawboned way.

My rams cued in shifts, maintaining an eye,
made a farm hand of me, figures with milk.

My cities, my wells, wedded pink siren cells,
goading to be heard, coupling to be gold.

My legacy of hospitality, just teasing alone,
a sandy procedure and not seeking guilt.

My grandson, the wrestler, dreamt, beloved.

My God! Engendered! Dense set yay-thick.