I wanted the gigando set in this corner here,
the 36 incher under the row of cornapples
hung just as the greasy greasy grannies done.

This is the repugnant part, where now
you covet the loss which a moment before
brought you the severed torso in the dream.

What he had said came back to him.
Sectioned seat, sectioned seat.
The lift caught wind and swayed him in.

Into the flaming peach she sped.
Passing through fastnesses of flesh
Down juicy channels. 

We live in the heart of what can't be said.
These messages we are dying to deliver, to whisper
to you, reader, you beloved, you nations of the dead

It’s safer to keep sailing on
than to be owned by pagan men

Shall we exchange children and face cream?

Salt me down where love was
on a blue burn to remember the real pain.
I’m worn out from my back’s arch and pull,

That was my favorite hour—the balance point—
the momentary gradients of dusk

This was the year drought autumn never ended.
Rivers couldn’t float their barges, prairies
burned in a sulphurous caul, dead blossoms and clots