Once upon a time in the heyday of her
years there lived an oldenold gaggy
hussy. She not so beautiful as
Palmolive ads. But beautiful yes. Grey
skin on her not too saggy. Baggy apron
on her covers greeny scales, two eyes
like mud pies. She starry in the mud.
The frog kingdom come and yonder. But
gaggy hussy a bright 'un and soon out of
the lilly pond and into the frying pan.
But not all frying pans have that kind
of scenery, date palms and oaks side by
side, silvery strand upon. And the pea
green sea. So she hussy under palm
trees, lotus in squarmy hair of her and
love in eyes. The grapes drop in her
mouth and slaves to her wondrous thighs
moon about in ecstacy. The star
children excited and clapping their
They have followed under water this
wench. They have in caves denoted
brightness. They have everywhere she
trod--heavy and steady--twinkled in
unlikely unison with her broad-beamed
Desire told her to go. And desire she
now comprehends under the palm trees on
The shining in no uncertain squirms.
Thenwhen in down and from us breeding
swamps she flies slow like a pelican
heron languorous over the home ground to
slide by the watch towers out through
the dead flowers on to the sandy and
pebblescattered and there dance until
madness lusts us and fling into air many
of cries in satin, howls in silk, growls
in our patchwork and who is the critic?
Sullied is the only.
Without leafmould compost wormcast dying
and dead returning to you, to your hussy
arms mothersweet soilsmelling, are we
soiled? Bodies about in abandon dark
dear. Hallowed be thy hallowed by thee
hollowed body receives all all the rain
in cups and holes and grooves and open
open eyes waiting up to stare you down
into dirty ground.
Then also in the times she hallowed art
her name and hollowed out her shame
betimes by Fathers unkind in the black
world. Fortumpteen years over and
over into the fire, through burning
worlds, flagged down like old crows in
a peashooter field, she dumped in rivers,
nag-bridled, silver-corsetted and NOT
ALLOWED. Too floggy flab and mucuslimy
in her nighttime bad girl trysts. Too
holy in the music times and black crows
sitting on her arms croak slow and slow
she rows through tides of wind and still
oily water with glistening body thrown
through lights of firefly dance.
On anon anon the road swept before.
Roads do not--always--but this. Yes.
Cold and dileetful about the knees,
brooking no ashenfaced kiss. I do not
stand under, waiting your wanton
wanting. I am before, so spake the
road. So she took, we take, must grab.
Some wore girdles, their thirst, their
mothers' thirst, and theirs, the girls,
providing. No maw, cried all. But this
is not a place for girl guiding, in
tears, thirsty tears, and long long it
was and is also before. We still and
the earth, all spinning all, are
girdled. Wailbone, wailbone was used,
and whales flailed and flayed for
Yewv crum along way, baybee. Little,
little, girdled and on demand. And
spirits run, roads running.
Throwing out before, the weighted spirit
pulling us beyond. Nothing on demand
but us. Salutations, your health
swarthy feathers, diluted to meatya.
Thenwhen directly now upon the road.
And we cannot, alone we cannot, denial
shrinks the very skin and bone of us,
breaking, breaking, so, so. The
children, so, so. The afternoons in
laundryland, small needing sticky hands
to be girdled to. Here it is inside out
Bones tell the story. Later when the
kids are gone, then, later, the bones.
You dry, you dry, you flake, and yes,
the very bones frittle, smitten with
how. From the inside out no slushy
more, no mushy, oozy, gushy, rushy, hush
hush hushy more. It's the Secret. Stay
dry. So dry, oh so dry, you'll never
never ever shame, never leave your mark
Upon, denote your presence by, besmirch
the image of, with trails of telltale,
wet and warm, warm and always always.
The old shall crumble from the inside
Dirly beloved harken. Tempt me by all
accunts into falling, squalling the
batbright breezes. And beyond, that she
is by all accountants whoreken unto.
Tho ladely suckumbed unto girdle, by Dog
days cumb, lade, lude, loaded,
forneruntly in diskeyes as bodily boded,
still appears the dream. Give mir your
eyes gertimums, your eers quotha, no
speech nuff. Rotten to the core she
beats her breasts and more. Long
aillons past and flying not enuff. Not
up to snuff, no good.
Flung around the quagmires, shaky flesh
of earth, swamp beauty, keep what? No
good the girdle. Come sideways to the
question, stared from headside,
birdeyed. The ears for hearing inside.
She will weight.
Wholly holy and deleerious withall she
still. Within concrete, plastic,
girdered lovenests weaven from her very,
from this oh very very. Do not see, not
see the cell of her in every, laughing,
yes in every wrappered snippet? Inall,
nothing to see but she. Will harken