Two Poems

HAS YET TO ARRIVE

to the rain? Tower-white scroll crashing at a psychotic city the same
affect does slash-and-burn burnt bark? God, I don’t know who the
pleated sea is to the rain but I ask God how great art thou to / please
go as I pray I will to feathers hailed bloody Mary as full of / choke
/ hazard in / mantle that tints sad molecules haze even though in
murmuration the bars are as / blind like the last calls of chalk on many
a seashell alla puttanesca. Down here / I don’t know Hopkins sawing
last bow / crux and, rosined I am so happy / not MatLab at you at
all, as we worship torture and so forth full of grace until one. Until
one can say: I am strong. At the end / of every weak hir boar brittles
alight saturated unto my hunched while our neighboars are getting
wet, stoned, just outside the door O patiently, any second Cybele eats
fire for no / breakfast. Gyrated, pipes shredding our: purple-hearted
Christmas freshest off a tree as always be: too late, for a room, mate
too straight, too crayon, both: dead now and a life of a, of Jesus just
our Schrödinger’s fatted calf. Any poem laces ’round: fine bone bull
shop *Made in Hymen* harder now, less soft, and just as dead and, a
life, too. I am just as happy when, something in seminarian’s carpentry
telling midnight must ’a stairwayway rhetorical response feral at
the shore, just as I will seed to bemeow in bed down in tan, until it
burns slow. My candlelit murmuring: lemongrass or, calamansi / is
/ a spelunking heatwave like: brume be lifting to bees! Jesus, funny
farm you are, a perfect nothing that can come out of Nessie between
/ good you and me. Softy, we / sleep, in, to our sea-skinned ground.
 
 
SALINITY 蝦人 瞎仁 FLUCTUATION-FLUCTUATION
FLUCTUATION 蝦仁