How Spring Comes

Toys and rose               The zoo body zigzags I think fish too but I'm a polite social being, I'm a Ladle Lady or purple and blue I write green letters and gold editorials for the Krystal Oxygen Company I have one hip as far as I can see, that I see as I write say white tee-shirts upsidedown turn em around & put them on your muscles my angels or a semi-colon is blue window to me is that a haiku? I fly over San Diego in some one or another real despair and ask you to comfort me. You more or less do, you aren't even here my best me my worldly me my taste of spring my continuance my comfort will you comfort me? I offer you my heart over Tucson I can't use it take it to comfort me free me be it take it take it to be it which apparently you don't or take you help provide me it I think, that happens among true people, that poem I was writing no good poem but Moment framed the Pleiades The garnets ring more beautiful the longer you are waiting for me in them, where Deity makes me friendly there. But who put on all the tee-shirts in Hunter's Point? Well we're all good boys my son said so. A semi-colon is a semi-precious garnet cluster telegram; what we love are such depths between all the messages. Pass the salt; Ladies of the Tang, bubble of night; this book about Harry Truman is wonderful. I see the Gulf Moon Rising every night. I'm familiar with the zonked starfish. I've the sheen on under the fire-escape railing all streetlight-lit. The hollow suddenly appeared to enlarge and fill with a bright light. Wild with the taste of wine it does not remember the despair of an hour ago, which was true that is of a true woman. She was somehow hating her position on the round earth in the dusky sky on a harsh Sunday. On the ground forgotten flowerlike firmaments. She addressed in uneloquent hatred SMUG LIFE the one who soothes one's foolishness the Great Face Construct who loves you for your kinks child anyway, the Guru God: Oh I will come back a knockout tomorrow Useless to you! You're not it you smug face I'm not doing your yoga not wearing Your moondrops using your cream Rinse letting you fuck me Exquisite Like I was one of the Ones With Brains Too! Intelligence in panties with peekaboo holes— No I'm coming back raw I'm getting drenched in the rain It's rain and it's wet I'm soaked I'm Chilled and I'm coughing the air's raw To my throat, which is raw from Coughing, coughing so strong Coughing and laughing So strong from killing you! Etc. She didn't kill nothing. & I don't get to share no secrets with the stars. I make chow. I contemplate semi-colons. I despair as a mother. I scream at that kid I'm gonna crack open your big walnut if you don't go to sleep. Theories of grace, that it implies no surprise no shock. Ukrainians sudden on Sunday speaking Ukrainian, the cross not Christian but Gracious and when I want to cry or cough violently it must diffuse back into my embassy; hard, that takes hard. And if it weren't for you . . . not you smug life face, but real you. Please play cribbage. Pass the salt. Think of a garnet-black cabbage, a Ukrainian is selling it on 7th Street in honor of our marriage. A Spanish fan opens in my abdomen I have Spanish dancers in my stomach they're my arching striving in dance where it's black red flowers darken to be huge pleasuring the severe, tried Angel who meets transition, transport, as abruptly as necessary for everyone's are apt Says the Unassuming Graceful Whose down-hip-ness Is that window The dancers' sensuous flaw That admits Spring, Contingent upon our personality Spring is for the worldly just like the HaHa Room Just like dearest rockbottom suddenly gone buoyant To be black geese to be strenuous dancers is not to dignify a passion but to grip it. Not saints but always pupils pupils dilated fully black in full achievement of gut-feeling. Joy.