LO-VERUTION

Stars are fortunate misses on the revolving circular target of the knife thrower and trusting female there strapped, who knows it's all a simple trick that everyone will pay to be shocked at, in constant display along the boardwalk in Atlantic City, so prudent it is to recognize that the blood pouring from evening sky at dusk comes instead from birds of praise and paradise that are in process of being born. The sun is an infection of happiness that rises from the depressed familial relations in the thighs of whose children will make nothing but playing hooky by instinct, in favor of developing inability to discriminate whether between coins they'll always have few of will supposed to be called 'her' or 'him.' The streets are paved with heat enough for what you ain't got a name for, adolescence, or desire for what you refuse to make yourself from, never to take this world cheap, which will hit its mark ...

Nothing rests where representation no longer implicated in Art speaks always, now whatever I am, crafty yet so maladroit, check waiting on key lost that opens interior, will correct through catharsis Renaissance monies accepted upward as sexual excitement, as rejected downward gift of excrement, body knowing always that it wants but what that is comportment toward availability to which must go wayward from 'self' accepting presence of absence by footprints in sand, mind from scavenged signals stored in transmission to stub of pencil that marks lightning atmosphere to another each way already there, for 'otherness' moved innate but to inborn question of degree, and space made for what will never be accepted in way that it is always awkwardness that must design itself to pregnancy each time no longer betrayed but commanded in that so summoned received, being anything backwards, formed of letters of a language that ...

Never learned having ever exact to how body works, but identified as aqueous marks of word, how scars with blood red streaks across at dusk, Magnolia Lake, excused to be stolen reflection of sun taken then to heart having enough of chamber space at outset as we each all at beginning feel the not knowing of wanting more than had can be held, so strive to for less than by straight if only be expressing exactitude of dim shadow color grey in what forgotten to be interior nullity of old sap bucket, incorrect, for insert of perception true makes always things gold.   *

Was not then matter curiosity of mere how to counting backward begun with 2, toward heel while in narrative illusion, forwarded, things one and multiple act results in, so to dislike proof as much as one must love implicit contradiction, drilled several holes the size of peach pits in bottom of skiff to see how water can flow upward by being there no difference between gravity and displacement yet didn't sink buoyant filled to the wood of whatever called is the edge of the craft, so just as always, poetics sunk is matter itself, germinating by much in how   rowing boat filled no further than then can no longer overflow, result then be ease in return, finding it has no longer weight. *