FLIRT Comments

At 10 o'clock I reported to the gates
of the promised land. At 12 o'clock the light
went out. At 3 o'clock the execution took
place. Then the message was sent that I
had found asylum
&
out of nothingness I descended into
the lap called Holland
telling me I am a hound
but glorious
&
I sucked myself tightly to her motor that ran
me through her field, more clocklessly than the space
that drove me round, extending from the hand,
neither empty, nor full, nor immense, hers
nor mine, neither more limited to one than

the other, rather more indescribable than she was
irreplaceably described by whichever sign, here and there
along the road, in her sun full of dust, on her horizon
that, a meat knife, cut through her corn until

(1) her grains fermented in her wounds,
(2) her scabs flowered,
(3) her farmer fertilized me,
(4) her plant picked me,
(5) her fruit pulled me,
(6) her air conned me
but
(7) her junk was left to me
...
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