prosody + bibliomancy landing at Cendrars =
why not cut through a rabble
with rutting eyes and hands
(would he like this?)
the man wants to worship
the worship of your mouth and his member,
and i his rhythmic locution—
to wake up a prosodic unit
and inhale and exhale
first slow, then fast, then
press it all out.
why divide from the body—
(the possibility of many prepositions is locked in)
:onto wooden floors
or into the earth,
against edges of that little architecture,
all sense and intellect and work?
no sense, all intellect.
there is a pretty penmanship
and his lust is forced callow
but he eats my mouth.
we could eat each other, grown thin,
and write stories.
the missing part of his face
makes him homely and unwritten.
with the missing part of my mind
i am ugly and forgo
the dark disregards all patterns of negation,
disregards a senseless arrest
to form other pale and little and pretty propositions
until mid morning.
there is plenty of innocent paper here.
my favorite woman drinks too much
and has a mouth
that is bitter, with Falten and fault.
she is volatile and humane.
her tongue tastes good and holy
and she is collecting feathers.
no his hands.
that is all.
i want to give him a blue feather—
push the sun up between his thighs
force a pitch—both sound and heaving—
so he can write himself into existence.