A Woman Waits For Me

A woman waits for me- she contains all, nothing is lacking, Yet all were lacking, if sex were lacking, or if the moisture of the right man were lacking. Sex contains all, Bodies, Souls, meanings, proofs, purities, delicacies, results, promulgations, Songs, commands, health, pride, the maternal mystery, the seminal milk; All hopes, benefactions, bestowals,

Is/Not

Love is not a profession genteel or otherwise sex is not dentistry the slick filling of aches and cavities you are not my doctor you are not my cure, nobody has that

A Hand-Mirror

HOLD it up sternly! See this it sends back! (Who is it? Is it you?) Outside fair costume--within ashes and filth, No more a flashing eye--no more a sonorous voice or springy step; Now some slave's eye, voice, hands, step, A drunkard's breath, unwholesome eater's face, venerealee's flesh, Lungs rotting away piecemeal, stomach sour and cankerous, Joints rheumatic, bowels clogged with abomination, Blood circulating dark and poisonous streams, Words babble, hearing and touch callous,

Cows In Art Class

good weather is like good women- it doesn't always happen and when it does it doesn't always last. man is more stable: if he's bad

You Come To Me Quiet As Rain Not Yet Fallen

You come to me quiet as rain not yet fallen Afraid of how you might fail yourself your dress seven summers old is kept open in memory of sex, smells warm, of boys, and of the once long grass. But we are colder now; we have not Love’s first magic here. You come to me Quiet as bulbs not yet broken Out into sunlight.

The Best Cigarette

There are many that I miss having sent my last one out a car window sparking along the road one night, years ago. The heralded one, of course: after sex, the two glowing tips now the lights of a single ship; at the end of a long dinner with more wine to come and a smoke ring coasting into the chandelier;

The Friend

We sat across the table. he said, cut off your hands. they are always poking at things. they might touch me. I said yes. Food grew cold on the table. he said, burn your body. it is not clean and smells like sex. it rubs my mind sore.

Bohemia

Authors and actors and artists and such Never know nothing, and never know much. Sculptors and singers and those of their kidney Tell their affairs from Seattle to Sydney. Playwrights and poets and such horses' necks Start off from anywhere, end up at sex. Diarists, critics, and similar roe Never say nothing, and never say no. People Who Do Things exceed my endurance; God, for a man that solicits insurance!

Freedom Of Love

(Translated from the French by Edouard Rodti) My wife with the hair of a wood fire With the thoughts of heat lightning With the waist of an hourglass With the waist of an otter in the teeth of a tiger My wife with the lips of a cockade and of a bunch of stars of the last magnitude With the teeth of tracks of white mice on the white earth With the tongue of rubbed amber and glass My wife with the tongue of a stabbed host

Love Love Love

Love is not Love... Love is sex...! Love is not Love

Love Without Sex

You do not need to be joined physically. Body to body, sex to sex to become as one. It can happen in the simplest of ways. This is how I wish it to be between you and me. The two of us sipping tea in front

Shame

It is a cramped little state with no foreign policy, Save to be thought inoffensive. The grammar of the language Has never been fathomed, owing to the national habit Of allowing each sentence to trail off in confusion. Those who have visited Scusi, the capital city, Report that the railway-route from Schuldig passes Through country best described as unrelieved. Sheep are the national product. The faint inscription Over the city gates may perhaps be rendered, "I'm afraid you won't find much of interest here."

Ages And Ages, Returning At Intervals

AGES and ages, returning at intervals, Undestroy'd, wandering immortal, Lusty, phallic, with the potent original loins, perfectly sweet, I, chanter of Adamic songs, Through the new garden, the West, the great cities calling, Deliriate, thus prelude what is generated, offering these, offering myself, Bathing myself, bathing my songs in Sex, Offspring of my loins.

Corona

Autunm eats its leaf out of my hand: we are friends. From the nuts we shell time and we teach it to walk: then time returns to the shell. In the mirror it's Sunday, in dream there is room for sleeping, our mouths speak the truth. My eye moves down to the sex of my loved one: we look at each other,

The Turtle

The turtle lives 'twixt plated decks Which practically conceal its sex. I think it clever of the turtle In such a fix to be so fertile.

Hitchhiker

'Tryna get to sunny Californy' - Boom. It's the awful raincoat making me look like a selfdefeated self-murdering imaginary gangster, an idiot in a rueful coat, how can they understand my damp packs - my mud packs - „Look John, a hitchhiker' „He looks like he's got a gun underneath that I. R. A. coat' 'Look Fred, that man by the road' „Some sexfiend got in print in 1938 in Sex Magazine' – „You found his blue corpse in a greenshade edition, with axe blots'

A Candid View On Aging

I sat before my desk last eve To assess my current plight; The things I see, you might agree, Indicate a major blight. My heartbeat is irregular And, likewise are my bowels; My appetite has flown the coop While my nervous stomach growls.

Jet

Sometimes I wish I were still out on the back porch, drinking jet fuel with the boys, getting louder and louder as the empty cans drop out of our paws like booster rockets falling back to Earth and we soar up into the summer stars. Summer. The big sky river rushes overhead, bearing asteroids and mist, blind fish and old space suits with skeletons inside.

August 8th

Listen here. I've never played it safe in spite of what the critics say. Ask my imaginary brother, that waif, that childhood best friend who comes to play dress-up and stick-up and jacks and Pick-Up-Sticks, bike downtown, stick out tongues at the Catholics. Or form a Piss Club where we all go in the bushes and peek at each other's sex. Pop-gunning the street lights like crows.

Lust, Lust, Lust

He lusts for her Her apple breasts Beneath her vest Taste the best Lust, Lust, Lust Three women on the go Yet happiness does not flow It is only Lust, Lust, Lust