old fire plums
from this MIRROR of COMmerce I
WILL give yoU
EveryThing
PIECes of THE Ocean
Of PIE from MY tongue
a graph of my
HEART
Nothing
more is FOR you Who
Will NOT TAKE my SILence anymore SO
I play THE DRUMS
NEXT to
THE reVERSIBLE Blue
That lies NexT to a POEM that never
REVERSES itSELF
the PLAID bomb MAY
Kill You I'll GIVE something
IN EXCHANGE
for the DISTANCE
betWEEN us a touch OF
CLARity as reviewed IN the Book OF
THE Living the PLUMS
on the Tree TASTE
Best when They Have been ShakEN
the WIND is
A disTANCE From MUSIC
CLOSEST to The Brain in
THE Department of
LEAVING I have left MY
BED and my SKIN also A
BUTTERfly Pressed
INTO my NECK
I also BEQUEATH my CRuELTY
NECESSARY for the Art of LIFE
a miXTURE
Of ASHES from the OLD FIRE
PRIMordial
From the LOVE that I left
AFTER we Killed each OtHER
what was LEFT was
A silver RiNG thrown in AMONG
Egg Shells And The BIZarre
ArrangementS
of UNcertainY
THAT we nEVER GOT
Past GivEN to
A SchisM in THE Family
THE future
IS fact (Art) InterrupTED
and THE CAT Ate
The MOUSE
the WORLd
survives ON
BITS of CheESE and ROTTen breath
THE Kiss is STIll and SWEET