litlivre

the wind lit où j’ai dor

mi sti’s streaming eyes

jut above the wind’s

lip dorm ido was the

ants quiet in my thighs

tomorrow morning lit with

sleep the book writhes

beneath your bed still las

t y ear the book seeps

will turned was inside

out où je l’ai entrouvri

où le vent dormant...

...ni...eño...

shutter

said and sweat corn re

duction sticky what will

said the corn growing

in your sweat the cr

awled sky infibulation

in the waiting room’s

sticky floor tomorrow

Thursday will be Mon

day sweat against

the glass door brea

kage said the wai

ting was the stones

heaved against the

sky the doors will be

immense.............

 

in stitution

wet the shape of hum

your glove lost the

bus shaped glove with

dust release wet

filled ignition will the

fare exhaust ed stop

and stops will stopped

across the humming gro

cery where she stands

was taking notes her

glove the phone light’s

craving is the wind

crackles in the desert

ed factory bus will

pass the sweating hills

remembered were the

shapes dust will come

the fingers ,smell

  

drop

no cue no stun no

flopper on the bed no

yes it’s not no dish

floating in the tub no

no no brick turning

in the gutter no no

chatter in the kitch

en when no the oil

will spilled no flo

or spattered on the

suit no lift condition

squalling toward the

basement st

airs