Sunday must

JIll has found her bone the dog which bites. Cuts molar strata against willing molecules. What sucker bites that but the evil spirit, and her Satanic glimmer immanence to her desiring-machine.

Sunday must be the willing day of death for all philosophers. Not direction convection nothing man felling into woman-becoming compels the cell ribs the wrong way
scorn's happy patter
is scorn's unhappy
my Shakespeare.



He feel this hour its burst upon the plain

grazing ruminating as wishes do over watering

buffaloes or how her hips stretch meeting my

hands fluttering cowering over her thigh, hip

leg mouth to fur of secret wished for mouth


carried by weather and time. returned tuned

to love's bawdy.

If Jill holds her ass

does it mean she loving him,

hipped to her solo butt

ass of god and goddess breaks the dawning night

of their loving all nightlong mouths.

This will becomed to her becomely

as witch's brooms and feral feet

frog feet and then other bark backed chairs

hover in the air of the sucking seed . Love

which is the fourth saw ofthe square world

always knew their name.

Crossing the road, she's yanked to her mouth

bred to his loving catch, cocked to his

winging lover body.