THE BOYS HURT BOYS BOYS

“...makes a small man want to throw

A Medium-sized stone
At the whorehouse door” - Sandra Simonds

you know there's a book there

he should put on clothes for

it's my antonia

or burn and smell good

horn hockets this foot of ice

and floods where it's narrow pick

off river salt

think vertical opera (if you're to

freeze it, the cycle) you've climbed up somebody's gut

gat some window to get passed

snaps its legs, gains

of his violation stones

the Madame's windows

what james dean when he runs

seed on the floor

not as Onan freely on the earth

enjoining procedural whim“tells

her that teddy is lucky

to be eponymous”

like what pleromic aperture that's invisible

but you can see through

furtive as to gold

on a Monterey walk

physique filling the skin out

neared to furthered extérieur

guiltless span, the mouth licked (“an

gulus”, “angustia”), he's

clearly going to get up any

he got up

their century's dreaming

fafnerian, a boot high up

you can reach and the injury of it is

now you're high up

a moral domestic like getting up

the attended getting up

being asked whether I wanted her to

hold my medium fizzy as I stood

and I threw it in and pawed her for a foot

an inch of toe's itch on the pier, the sun

going to be a minute, some

twelve inches in shadow

toward a taurus door annoyance swung

out only a little bit

a breast bearing breakfast

which's the guy who did it

I asked him to wear my shirt

collaboration but the hollering japanese

then they're laughing so it wasn't thought assault

and I knew I was to vacuum because it blocked the door

and I wasn't about to break it just to

if you've watched a back adjusted

gotten to without puncture