Gerrit Lansing

Dreamer of purified fury and fabulous habit, your eyes of deserted white afternoons target, stiffen, riot with unicorn candor so I swallow your body like meanings or whisky or as you swallow me. Break rhythm here:      your kiss is my justice: look then now how orange blooms of jubilation unfold in satisfied air! This sex is more than sex, under the will of the God of sex, so I softly invoke transformation of your rueful image of haven –those frozen rocks, that guilty lighthouse isolate from temptation– to warm Flemish landscape green and brighteyed with daisies of dizzying color where pilgrims are dancing after gospelling bird who sing of new springs, good water.

for Kenward Elmslie Down in the boondocks rhematic sinsigns multiply jug jug to hungry ghosts, bursting open pearly gates. “Aint no grace, aint no guilt, popcorn twiddle, come full tilt” handy pathfinders whoop at no-restriction hurdles : Da woid ob sin aint dare at all, not in giggles nor reddening toes no think blink no tattle no buckle high dick fun at the fair. Vestigial legisigns just don’t operate, healty wisps entwining and buzzing, hinterland busy with fresh huggermugger. Replica points: you point your toes in fact it’s toes we fluffily toss. Secret moon lotion rub by reedy pool. “They call me Googoo” I said, I….. All upsurge, hot tip green informants signify the trees are barking “cheeze it, the cops.” Trees tease, twinkle. That need being versed in country things: guiltless I milked the cow, slaughtered chicken, swam with snakes, unjust barefoot hobbledehoy ahoy.

All life long you are unhanding unhanding and unhanding what was handed you. All life long you throw out the line of life. You throw out the line, stinging up from your guts. Were they planting trees, your father and your mother? Did they ever plant? Is that a line of trees far away green line? All life long you include something that includes your life. You are in the egg. (                In the center of a picture, two angels hold a transparent crystal egg of teardrop shape. In the egg the ocean god is throned, left leg crossed over right, trident in right hand. Under his outstretched arms two children or little people stand, a boy at his right, a girl at his left. The boy’s head is crowned with a sun, the girl’s, with a crescent moon. That’s the middle level of the picture. At the top a blazing sun with human features dominates the vertical axis. At the bottom a man and a woman kneel on either side a furnace, man to the right of the furnace, woman to the left. In the furnace itself, directly below the egg containing the god, is suspended a similar egg, empty.                            ) All life long the dew falls from heaven all life long trees climb up from underground waters. In the seed of the old god the new gods are swarming. Earth is ready for planting. The shut eye is opening. The heat.

Extricate, but not too much, unfaithful digger of concordances, let be the whole tasty clutch of it, rhyme of I’m, not, awake, child, bequeathing willow trees beside a stream. Not only old ravines but Euclid Avenue, my first escalator (Hal-ease Department Store) were woven in the mat where sat the cat. I say Department, was a sexual story because Mother’s store it was, her bailiwick, father absent in a void called “Work.” Precarious. Don’t try get it all in. Bailey’s was another tasty store, such glitterglass. And later learned that testicles was store, alaya-vijnana. O dark dirty Cleveland, the Viking Club, the mysteries! All I want is loving you and blank-blank blank-blank blank-blank It’s only unmentionable because there’s no end to chasing it the tale of it and you and sustenance. Hundreds are fleeing, but not hurricanes. Violets, I always brought her wild violets in spring. Breathless romanzas secret in the Flats. Percolate the spiderwebs. Not what you expected, eh? I could bite you back, you furry thing, but you’d never understand.