collapsing in the silk

lost eyes dreaming in stines
in the abyss of a tortured coal ...
they steam for the Andes, then
with a tropical gear of sigh
they spell out their catastrophe.

I love my nocturnal emissions
as they telescope through the towering breath -
those long chains of
wishbone of butterfly purgatory
that put on their monocles

because of the strychnine alley buzzard -
or that dismantle the song shipwreck
in their gray lenses ...
and the rolling laughter that confront
the mirror's opposite, poor breasts sagging

for their wept-after syllables ...
All those silent marriages
high as kite, and whose numbnesses
foretold yesterday's tiny melancholy,

with infestations
grown immense in their tomorrow
lingerie, sexy
to the thumb's introspection, their intense black coffee ...
and O, the swinging veil

of the last supper
of longing! Eyebrows waiting,
hee haw, spanked ...
A face swallows a window,
then draws down the desired ...

And the dancing
where a doll tinkles its hell ...
Bellow, Clarity, Humpy,
Cognac and all the angels and saints ...
O! the palpitations of a compass

where you hear seas
sleeping! An eyelash
of blue vegetable ...
The moans we pass, that tell us
it's in the corridor, while we

sit in our television
with technicolor umbrellas, as we love
in wonder
as its endless spasm hops to and fro ...
Then, O! at a virile clinic

where you spot the tweezers
of zebras, the archipelago, lonely stuttering
of distant thighs ...
then telephones, and castles,
zoot suits of morse code ...

Wild signals
in saintly cloth,
mysterious cursive
in echoing seashells that
straddle the nightstand ...

And - O, above all! -
after the bloodless stockings
where your very heart
is dynamited up with a termite
the triumphant trumpet, with

a blasted buoy,
with all the glitter, snail-like
bouncing of the hydrant
making its mind rosy through
the bank-vaulted cuticles

of a neon radio's
white noise! ...
That is where the intersections'
blinding light of string along
accordioned stare from stare

one to another
all round the stovepipe corset of smile -
the infinite braille
under a fine bright moonlight
and the noon of wasps that

I encoded with
profound smoke on
all my parties
and disenchantments ... How, I wrote
silver trees collapsing in the silk ...