play like these latitudes
of pale blond throat longing
across a counter and its integers,
in some sullied get-up.
The silt

The silt

The slit has its triplets, too: bound in gas
and sagging with mist, she thinks nothing much
happens when it gives off warmth, the muff
unfurling like screams in a parking lot
spotted with lollipops. These are commmercial
ventures:

a membrane like a seperate mutation, all
the relational database theory
he ever wanted was as remote from him
as if he were flying over the ocean, and

you keep wrapping up those sandwiches.
All the sound in a spring night unnourished



=====


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This is as useful as a doll.–Gertrude Stein

http://www.lewislacook.com/

Stamen Pistol: http://stamenpistol.blogspot.com/

Poem of the Day: http://www.lewislacook.com/POD

Sidereality: http://www.sidereality.com/



tubulence artist studio: http://turbulence.org/studios/lacook/index.html



















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