Do we deserve a kingdom
of nudity? We aren’t lambs
on this creepy country.
Our field is empty of emptiness
fulfilling us, terrifying God.
Our will is a tongue
filling the shape above us:
nothingness arising in our feelings.
Do we clean up our heads for being
especially hurt by nudity?
All around we can’t say what
we want, we can’t reach amazing
young tits, we are not saved
for being important. Who knows?
We climb once the blue tender lips of skies
and we, among the silence, sharpening
the mouth of sorrow are beating the fire
of pornographic age. And we cry once,
we love once, we carry on once, we forget once.
But we can’t have a nice couple of books
and we can’t sell them
and we can’t practice or English
and we can’t even think about
other people rights. And we deserve
a fatty body, we deserve our meals,
we deserve cancer and death. We deserve
to heal the shadow of infancy and tell the single
puzzle true about smashing souls.
And we fly
while we try
while we cry
while we sight
inside the inner
combo of sex and light and lettered
columns of paper and pencils and childhood too.
Because this tiny tongue speaks
we deserve some nice sexual desert
some dirty sexual desert
some nasty sexual desert
as a black nice espresso,
as an infinity tale called
a question: what else
can we have here
where everything is getting destroyed
as no one will be alive
for the end of times?
And we are trying again to find a mix
of verses and sounds
but we can fill in
because we left on
pieces around a finding
error of fire collapsed
tiny mouth. This
Many women will die
and we couldn’t find
the way to get in love with them.