How Many Times it Turns

how many times it turns

this coil that cannot burn or show it's hairs.

these varicose years as happy as a rash.

it was golden-green that saved me from the mouth.

ten years behind a smile from where life came.

a pack of hives two-faced on a broken hip.

my mood grew lips of relish through the sunshine of a chair

that every day stood silent as it grieved.

my ribs conceived  through the climate of exchange.

it was her and him on a bed of caramel.

no choir came to sing for the narrow eyes

to sing of praise the skull that never grew

or to patronise the print of suburban clay.

face down in red the cloth that bathed a touch.

it troubles me the more you stare,

to bathe my crotch and paint my pillow green.

I have seen.

the willow has a bigger mouth than mine!

it is rounder than a bubble

the stubble on my chin

these sedatives I wear now growing thin.

I know laughing is the only way to die.

trust my eyes

they are a brighter lie than yours.

now lift my face a lighter shade of pink.

if it sinks, replace it.

I have worn these robes too long at solar speed.

fondle this abdomical decay.

I am hungry.

surrounded by a world that cannot eat.