The house will be delighted

To explain what it is that I love —

That the only good flower is able to laugh —

To sleep

In a cycle of innocence —

Where inside there is a place — For everything  —

To lean against, depend upon  —

Inadequate devil — Even in the mirror

The world is — As if cupped

In the palm of Nature’s — Nothing —

Glossy, lustrous, bright —

Being inclement — From inside of my chest

In the official version the torn

Wallpaper fills

The lake — The house — Is inside me my ears

Understand — The only good flower’s — Skin, flesh

Mostly on the whole a cold knife — Unable to self —

I might — Be a farm — Just north of the river —

Helpless more than words

Blooms on the sandy bottom — Butterfly

Wings — But after all — The house is —

A mothership —

Withers in the dark – Where no word arises —

And in this it is like  — My mirror —

Even in the mirror it’s not true

Until the sound is — Specified —

Therefore I English

English — When I want to grow

Inside there is a place — Which most resembles it —

Toothy rain

And nothing to wear — In the middle of the day —

An invisible flower forgets

To leak —

Are you shaking — Or do you not want a small deposit

In the mirror with nothing nice —

Out of my hand it was probably not

Visible — At all, however, how/what/why

On earth a small wound


In the dark I found I was carrying

My function — To forget — To sleep

And then to say that you are my nurse — The required blood

Blooms from hand to mouth

In the mirror as if the mirror was — For once in my life — A handshake —


And fragrant all my life I’ve wanted

When asked a question to sleep

And no doubt I thought to mention it because — It explodes

Along the skin — And inclement — You resemble me

In the world of the mirror in full bloom sudden

Poverty in wartime the calendar

Means everything — And in the mirror even now I’m careful — Not to laugh —

To see the wallpaper

Torn up in the world of the mirror —

It does not seem to hurt — To surrender the face of the house —

Breathing — In the dark there is no sound —

Arises — Because of me — So wrought

In the grave and never

Seen since —

The desire — To wake —

A genius of quiet —

Sounds explosive and — Splashing my heart —

The butterfly feeds — The world inside

The mirror comes — Of age — A well-

Deserved face gold tooth in your mouth —

And not to appear — In flowering

Smoke says the voice — Of prevailing face

In full bloom — And inclement —

To shine for them —

To stand on a single — Hardened beam

Of manna churning the modal heart —

But what can I do —

Even in the mirror you are going to find me —

Songs in the daytime landscape performs

The world and calls it

Flower —

We will remember —

At the cliff’s edge — The death of what I mean —

Sleek, lustrous — Boundary line helpless and savage —

As possession

Pricks the skin  — Is my father— In the mirror

Nursing a desire to wake —

To fold — To be folded

Under the skin where I all but English —

Where I inhale as a person should —The (tide) water —

My trusty dreams — Long since replaced —

And nothing to wear in a cycle

Of quiet — The house shines — A small wound

Is genius and later the voice — By force to not

Appear again — And then to say that you are — My mirror —

Fragrant at the cliff’s edge —

My ear is

A mirror yet alive —As you can laugh — The tide

Water laps the hill — The day breathes

In my mirror I am

The fold that one calls ‘pleasure’ —

On the edge of a cliff you do not

Hear anything about

‘Character and conduct’ — The face of the house sprouts

Witness — The heart flies off —

Inhales — This day a cold knife

In which my name does not

Awake — A naked eye —

The secret

Bleating when the ship sees

Land — Droops green

And forgotten —

Thereby to develop an approximate

English  —

And wet the better to fly —

My phoenix carried out again —

With no sound the day you burned —

And this time careful not

To leak when asked

A question — The mother is not to say which

Is left-handed, for example —

Possessive pity

Becomes the barn —

And then to sneak into the space inside —

Where you touch me —

You can laugh —

In the dark like a newborn

Baby it’s not really

Time enough to reproduce —

On the cliff’s edge for example —

To meet the mirror image

In a cage to fold to be —

A laugh long since and more

To being a face — A single person —

To open

Here under the skin to provide —

Usage —

By nature in flowering smoke —

To be raised, brought up — Speaking in full

Swing still looking like I’m —

In love