the turquoise naked

my face the hum mu

ck s tick y in the

sullen fucking cross the

itchy stream's prim

ary erection fills

the grass where grass

was air or dribbled

ether of a minor leg a

slab where fucking

times the risen lustra

tion devised the sc

reaming beach of refu

gees or mercury wh

eezing in the breath

if breath a cup of

ants were wind lo

nging for the knives

rusty in a dist

ant library thick

with crickets and ins

criptions of fingery

death or fucking

While dreaming through

Ivan Argüelles' “The Classics”