every ....


 everybody's caught or moving between their body and mine
          but yours is 


 and those other sheets and paper
  ripped by the darning wool of yourself

 gender crossed with the body's wound cantering round to its


everyone's hanging



Somebody's looking out my window
  and someone's  looking in
  I wonder who that could be
    I wonder who it was

at that ghostly window

everyone's hanging on a  window
  but some' s a desperate miracle
hers a sensual miracle
of tiding and roaring at the end of what's becoming
 and the others
words i find
rinking in a marvelous pane
at the stack of time
and the body's refined
with its wit and shame
but the Iching says no blame
for the calling card at the weekend of the sun burst
and the cloud of her love

spending at the reading she's giving to each page

 she's that courtier is that the word of the age
a  poet takes the velvet crown a price a prince will hold
for aloft and the red stage
a one handed sower of wheat and charm
a one handed swordsman saying

 hold back  hold off there's more of the same

she's changing its tune rip roaring its path