from Panic Poems (Repository)
comes the idea of not raising her eyes, of keeping the possibilities intact and going away of circumnavigating the armory like a squalling and pavonine philosopher just a little pinch. who gives clitoris daring down meaning if it even relinquishes a snippet of this pilfering hour he who cries out above nasal reminiscence and sugary or slight sting which where can the pilot interrupt the breathing in of expectancy and fortitude if not through this catalytic converter of a dalliance. that man was sitting in his chair putting two and two together querulous sparrow infantilizing the aging trunk for some reason. bed at 9 o'clock feeling fine. terror signals the abscess of ten million throats croak and winter in the decency the cashier exudes not dreaming crooks that climb into her fucking vagina (we have a warrant) that liquid desire in the bowel the prison wall unbearably white and white. does that hurt? the socket does can it flash while singular governors stir martinis giant as determined crackle of juniper-burn and only equaled by this running into corners insistently. the feeling is back. Does that hurt? it'll be over before you know it.