a clubbing of
joy spring-- them.
Pop.
Stone dotes narrate, & collapse.
Foils of a gotten, lonely
blanket sealant the not-so, or alone, letters
& their racket, America climbs
the guppy of death, snifsaround on it.
Guppy of Death: O America(n), eat me
that I hath not look at you to.
Plunging through, Guppy of Death-Con
perks, needles, is needed—
Guppy (of) Death: Roads are not lightning, I have no snow.
Read the guppy then, & fly.
Weeds have grown on the naked
seconds, gorgeous
un-beknownst by, a brooding singularity.
but calm. Flown with it, le guppy et moi,
BOO. Look down upon them, for they are down.
It isn’t the alone.
Go has a blue pear. Go has a idiom. Them
suckles at the flutelike guppy, & go gets serious.
I want out.
Guppy longing.
Guppy prayers.
the open, rote, sirening—
itsa stuff of in
a stuff of
gone turning
it opens in there a whisper
& through the walking thinking, which walks, one sees a glowing
meaning, always out of the away
a bit lucite or luck-like, it
hasa banana that it had been after,
or before, whichever works, & why not
by singing whisper
we, the kissed part coming apart growing
& coming (a jade sill in the moot said blue)
which ancient mows we caught-like, & in
a caught-like silent, the raids of trying and their upper their want from which jades
the same typeface the same camp the same fielded whisper-beam brightening all
that wal-mart has done for us-- a nucleic beet’s
re-numbering of consciousness, its hallowed call,
its bare poles,
its reviewers and stoners,
its coyotes, defining possibility
plunking it down like a grown up.
The same applies to Boston Harbor.