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on a pointed bluff.
clad in gossamer.
Me?
I am Hogarth street-drudge.
Tune in next--"
NO!
NOT YET!
I feel the edge give way as I leap for the heaven of your bluff.
Short.
I lay fish-breathing.
"Well-turned ankle"
To your face
Wind plays with your raven hair like some demented hairdresser.
But even Wind cannot hide your
Bright
Electric
Blue eyes
You reach
Open your
Hand
To me?
Nah.
Yeah?
Yeah!
A giddy strengh fills me as I stand.
I have become a
David
Apollo
Errol
Stupidly smiling,
no, us.
A path.
A sign.
Hand lettered.
Arrow pointing.
GEAR-JAMMER
She's a gear-jammer.
She handles like a sick whale,
Steady as a priest.
No back-street beater,
Built to ROLL.
Eating distance
Land shark.
Sea wolf.
Stitch together,
A solid bar.
Flyin' low
At one-two-oh.
Always more.
Speed.
Momentum.
Ahead,
The sky.
Wait.
Pick it.
Now.
Kill the engine.
Embedded in cement.
No turning away.
air.
Floating.
Sailing.
A scream.
Like,
A wounded horse.
A cat fight.
A dying rabbit.
Twisting metal.
It is done.
MY ANSWER IS A LIE.
MY ANSWER IS A LIE.
MY ANSWER IS A LIE.
TO THINK SO IS A LIE.
SONNET #1
1986
SWEAT
Quietly,
He came to Her.
Staring.
And soul,
He began to caress
Her soft,
Veined neck.
Of Her waist.
His calloused
Fingertips brushed
Her belly
He began to
Rythmic.
Together,
They moved
Screamed
And groaned.
Emotion
A final burst
Of harmonic breath,
They ended.
His sweat
Dripped upon
Body.
Slowly,
He got up
Stretching
He gently
Her case.
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