At just the right age to stop trying the usual chit with lip,
(wondering, Why I'm here?), it'll start to matter--
nails & tails
How?
say, like bees who whack into regnal rumps ( or else die), for
the mass of possessed know, resolved into need,
that no lover flumes between needs who hasn't felt the
bliss of self-pejoration nor shoved into one, &
like deers
who cannot be shunted aside and have a good time only
for the unobtainable roe who's shoved hard, too
(this jagged-edged roe of Life!) by some sweet ab-
dominal heat-- who's loved hard, too
Praise, the crustal or covered sore til the bliss of the true
coprolalia as you rub Him that's ahh! one
sweet pierced ahh! of Life pulled as by rings towards Him,
pulled til it redden, as costume brow & lip swell til
it redden
And why?
well, in remembrance of the sated bees dropping over us--
the naughty nances whose jasmines swell, &
shit nectar!
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