I Raise My Pelvis To God So

To Die Whole, Riddled With Nothing But Desire For It, Is Like Breakfast After Love.

I Have A Black Look I Do Not Like. It Is A Mask I Try On. I Migrate Toward It And Its Frog Sits On My Lips And Defecates.

My Business Is Words. Words Are Like Labels, Or Coins, Or Better, Like Swarming Bees.

Then All This Became History. Your Hand Found Mine. Life Rushed To My Fingers Like A Blood Clot. Oh, My Carpenter, The Fingers Are Rebuilt. They Dance With Yours.

Rejoice With The Day Lily For It Is Born For A Day To Live By The Mailbox And Glorify The Roadside