
For charity, she huddles by the grooved track rating the speed of the truck; mare's tails rase the screen, while her eye drops fuel in the gaping bed of yellow rape and its cobalt border that swims with estrangement. Within a bank of weeds cold as snapped beans, each digit of its advance tipped with polar green, her hand must dry and whiten in his hand. The rampant manger where the slope is bound, by the chrome-white of the river arch, feeds her from his palm turning to bone in her loving. Brown-out of traffic, the manor grays and curls, both above and within the weed a change to latency: to fear in bitten molars the white latch of the gate, the spasmodically textured countryside, washing a corpse's mania for many splashes of place in white fluid pouring from the statue of his horse.	My attachment dissipates like the v on a river. Panning a square plot of blood with seaweed delivers corn clusters of odorous hardness. In pinafore swung mulched pockets over three periods of day: flashy morning, a hard hot rod skewering the stomach; roseate day, peed on the reading rug with a shy skirt at prayers and swinging out in the lunch yard; night's untrammeled magnet, gleaming outward into space like a sword. How gravely rubbed, these stones, manky with jewels of colored paper, in my guilt of memory, how wished for the white dress of the queen of god. Overhung cotton candy pinks against candy fir, a horizon of light dims the supine beds and canes, dip by dip withdrawing sensation. Currents of oared air ignore skin on the face that focus tightens. The myops can get correction by suture to standard parallax: bare incision of the duck tail in fragrant water laps an area in all known time. Every year one abandons for cash and plans the veil of formality, as it is known in the younger body, as it encircles the memory of a former body. Paler hair on my nipples, crook sharps, and cotton brush; romance in bed, when the sword flashed vacantly across the glass. At day end, exclusion from the trench of real seriousness clacks harness-bells, and vitriol hurry is unharbored for sweet remorse: the barrel flowered. Spring declines on work; fingerpad unearths a play stove and its terra utensils, caked with investment in real seriousness. I pitch another claim on my bowels, learn to restrain impulses and homestead my corpse; always as, as formerly I swung the stench away, though now am less entrenched in it as form of focus on sweetness and delay. At any time it is mine. What was, lost. How my vocation hummed was first lost; then confusion of wine with blood burns; a walking rhythm buzz which first heard sound in snow then stumbled in the cup of my hand. Will breath be next, the sharp indraw which cuts its bland incision on smoked teeth, yes it will, the body who claims it drains already demoted lees. Thought cocks its rubber arrow toward the staggering calf, sudden cramps asleep demonstrate the dissipation of mnemonic pain.	Ocellus lying low in pusillanimity of fear Wagons pennied with excuse sagged past in a three-frame slide. Air, wet, ranged to my window, shut, and without rumbling at its empurpling discharge, we tucked in white sheets to our Bermudian bed. How we think of rasing pinneys of one perfect tense. Crisp after the token fever throned on that vast prospect of flatness, my corpse wills itself upward in sincere parody. In objectiveness of denser gas, dry-racked along a few hundred meters it prepared a penultimate lecture of regret. Lay me out on a hard plank. So I might reckon total silence of my will; but, that incumbent panic not mimping me so far, back through the hazard zone under its orange circles, regret and pointedness inflating while I verge in our speakeasy's contracting cavity.	Foxgloves snipped from highway scruff she tendered the jars plugged in heavy cases. Twinkle of weed in the felt-black casement, a portfolio of blank responding. What is beautiful is emptiness as it becomes intermittent. Like an airborne contagion. An unsaddled radical of space whose next is a dull, flickering point. Skim of the water burning off plasma is not invaded by small lips and strands of black, until it is totally casein plastic. Rackling the casement up into the air, she fills her lungs with lead toasting us, our projects, our vain incontinence

White popped and spread in the hazard field, blowing a perpetual accident into a unitary glass shape. Which pitched a further space in news of incline. Lean-to empty beyond where dust disperses in enunciative billows. I go there, I cannot go in it, it is a breaker to me. Moving me towards an apology for the moment as waste if not wasted as in a metastic trance, floatable towards the presently distant. I wish. It's something. White cracked and scattered, its permanent dissipation was though loss at least within mine and my mess of it regarded joyfully its wholeness, its contours moving into themselves gave me rise.		Strewn etches freeze hillocks where they crest, panoramic weed, cold as halogen scratches on the bulge of the lactating eye. Thus the urging fails to unsettle gray gas where it codes weeds with public travesty, or unbuckle the silver band of our great member river. Privacy mocked re-clips its stomacher breathing raggedly. Smooth skin of water, admit it; mud freezes around the empty ankle tracks where she was dragged and followed limping. The older staff, cooked free of their duties, lock up the oars to go mock at quiet versions, on their porches. There is no settlement before. Even now shoved by laxity of conceit: plunge, from barbs of sick weeds and wet soil this erotic longing is tilled, pooling at a ha-ha before that bank of weeds.	Vanish Peace where the wound is, flapping like a burnt egg, rampant with bubbles whose odor bursts to spread gold over yellow spikes of ambition. It makes nothing of me, nor of the face frozen in wood. Because I relish process, washing my inbuilt concept box, I must fast against process. Wish to seep gaping into that burst flesh and be cell of its kite-like corpse, patently do not. Instead, meal of couch grass licked by dog hope to earn another vapid right by feed loyalty. To vanish laboriously; that incessance seems different, a cut to limp the bright open flow. A loop-track proof, it's mentioned. When the sun drops it likewise collapses atoms of an open bud, wrecking previous provisions. Peace which drew me to its bright flesh pulps and pulses without verge or entry.

White Wish Condescend to particular joints still glowing yellow-hot though no longer injurious, sad not for characters but for silos isolated, stormed, for their fresh endless fruit. I say so though I no longer believe it and this wish burps like a fever blister in the ox's gut. If it breaks when cool untie the expert, who believed in it, cheaply. See how milk pours a curtain from the cold solder, we are never afraid nor eaten with loathing. Our convict was found in the cinders, bubbling his relinquishment-made-mannerly escape. Certain objects behold our incapacities as primogenitors to fortune, though really it is love we bear towards one another. It sounds like the work I do, however, my bitten lip sucks flavor from the white gradient, where another cascade, another task, freed from death or ignominy, and mantled up so fashionably as to point out the breasts, draws its fiction from waste, like mineral water. Solution, not apparent, so case chaffed again over the prison field where yellow rape blows.	The Former Character With child in the back, where are her clippings of virtue in mind. As ragged as slips they torment that mind blowsy with a wish on her only son, who gets scraps off the marbled bed-book. Indeed each time I come here I hope I come into the body into which I am stricken like straws into brick; laying the ambient carpet not with cumulated yellow of my fat but with my virtue, in mind; by this total gawk of fluids alone this hand rubs the first throat seeping into oblivion. I couldn't say. Needless to say he is always also here. Inscribing on ideal dissolution by inexorable physical power, my hero.	Their Xenophobe How I love thee, my diamond-point, when a child she stung the flower base in raid notching her deft settlement against the dark fluids seeping from that base, then crept back under the rottable steps licking fingers since each knuckle of her corpse was primarily odd. Making a zero of you nature emigrates back into your nodes, where I lance my latest idea. Pathogen of memory, historical item: now only the white wash where floodlights hit offers the safety of project. From you eventually to watered milk, that is not back.

How I Sighted Yellow Danger We, managers of placental risk to bear quickly to our rottenly tepid air, rip the final leaf-strand in acquiescence to our visible fear. Microfitting nothing where this acid dip has worked loose denticular remnants from the soft, lisping palate lid, she and me, only gabby tackle in this large white crib. Scarring marks the northern rim, we believe these germs to source another public works perhaps further down, in the canella bank. None of the pockets from which we drew powdered calcium have survived, only the pressure of bones into solid tracks held up to the constant oxygen rushing over the mountain flank. Bronze hammers ring chantry on bronze pylons along all the docks; lift the shadow her lashes cast on the fine work, repopulate with stones as the rest of it is.	Save which he would destroy the land, send back rain from hickory woods where a body was loose on mossy hillock, remnant of damp; but he found none to build up the wall and stand before him in its gap. Busy tearing flesh from the nail, busy with domestic arrangement, I couldn't find the card and he was not standing before me in the gap, below which arable fields ribboned with yellow husks, and this spring. Plates just electrically locked, denied access to his bright pastoral face. Along the treads of the perimeter two ferns of bitterness soaked up any slight condensation. I believed I would eventually be right, a shrine. By virtue of my wish a loop emotive. My wish begged a blockade at that checkpoint, an honorable promoter standing between civic disgrace and my tithe gone elderly in the sun. He would melt like bronze when the pure face showed upon him. If wish accords with accident and brings up the missing object, then weed will become aloe and fields blaze with rows. If wish can it can sicken the very veins of her blood. Apologies, then sir, melt cavaliers to footlong puddles, and when it arrives there is no belief in cause sufficient to create a will. As it said, the smoke blew up around the battered wall because the characters abjected, and laid in corners at deference, listening for their circuits to replace.	An Ell Down She takes these mistakes like rotting bread, mid-famine, stalling the descent to bug and flaked leaf where actual horror which could not be reversed. Above the mottle double cities of desire bloom, hovering badly as black sticks and branches sweating on a typically wintry bivium. The pain which racks me up like an accidental joy, cannot be trusted with expertise. Because-this spar of chemical fire, lifts the cavernous body into action and levity like an empyre ball; while beneath the marbling, gem-colored, purpling floors of an unnavigatable heaven the laying on of hands cuts a real figure on the pink of the ankle. It is dancing. Look. Scanning the bulbous horizon that recoils faster past each gold palisade stricken with our hard-drawn phlegm, we see. It is so. Then as another no'east bash careens inward like a heavy black car or weapon, which is eyed, it swathes open the west, bringing a perma-marker smile on another wave of isle weather. These eminential lines sweep from the heavy yardage of black unpredictable Atlantic swiping our -cities- over in a pawed wave: so much, for seasons and mockery of wheeling. In the deluge they fed first on malted bread. I see no reason yet to dip into the insects of the plainly recovering earth.	Raped by repetitive indeterminacy, by which the empty sac of my body was tossed again and again into the air, I gathered up the rags throwing them into the furnace. A livid trail of yellow nosing pond bank separates molten silver from tangled deciduate masses, where a filigree line of the stuff should hover, in it I see my future, gentle engineers shoaling up the bank where the populace surges. By renewal I mean back to the crib, slap and brightened eyes, knot a cabbala of stones against the hyaline air. A desperate wish, for deliberation, shows itself by flickers of blood on the face- could it, um, it, will the relation of my figurines. To articulate frenzy which sediment curls hibernating in the plastic sacking under that tundra of crud, requires. The motion gutters; how much to pay to plunge back into the fields of livid rape, drain their oil, and cover the dermic freeze. Lighting my chin by switchback yellow under the descending blue smoke, in short anoint myself livid and amazed: the wish is reassembled wording so I know now from the heap of my figuring.

And Awoke in the Glebe Gulls, dots, shrieks materializing: by cries and glares tossed from calisthenic sleep. Pieces arrayed on jagged shale-lip in the thousands Answer Answer it. Sheet of poly-crimson, sheet aureate, pleats white where the drag's gone in arrears; ripped mug shale over which the doughy lip bleeds a fine thread, without force or irony: feting up the happiness of this discard, a snuffy rag. Patted siena clay darkens also by urine over her mottled face. I wish to walk back into town fearing, and with it its value, that wends hundreds of objects eating over this field. Fighting needily, twisting blood into whitening skin, take a look backward: so they emerged at the south face, from the blinding heat discerned not the arms of their friends nor their own humility. The last comedos erupt on the otherwise clear skin, especially cheeks, nose and lips. Lush and tropic buzz, will it carry? The unsolved hover monitors it. I am on an ordinary outing, come back with a sticky grasp of herbs for my lover, and the still rage.		Here, flattened from gore by the white rushing outward leaving, only, a deep blue stain, he pricks sod for fuel whose limpidity burrows it into the sod. Faith slow creep back to the cracked shodden shell, where he treats as if he were-air my peril- less indications. Angelic menarche mmm fans up from the maying seed-bed god maying grace, a wheel, a row. Bereft of symptoms in the height I wander over, and pour out the euphoric pinks. Turn me there, fan of yellow to the neck, around solar parity fills the reeking soil, where a faith in wishfulness approximates our regular toil.