whenever a slender boy comes along
spelling out weak
i look to the ankles
where rips & ringlets of snakes
point
to the pattern of the great blind worm
& his arms seem to catch the glider
composed by a chestnut firm
he will say to the ranger:
five bucks to lick ass is not a good deal
at the same time the ranger reads illness as conflict
the sticking place for real
now sunne starts the sahel transition of Africa
going back to the sultanate of egypt
going against the winning mouth
to the cold room of tremble
where you cannot chat with
da’na.i nor e – euridice
in the very mansion of sleep
you fail to tell a “steel rail”
from a sunny field
you are within the pocket of violet loom
so
you cannot spring from any page into
someones arm as wee wee beard could do
you might try the welsh haul to reach sunday
but no opportunity to wear holiday clothes
just the opportunity to see a military leader
accompanied by a trans boy
bootprints of opera,
the trouser role or lowering overtones
before she self ( sunne) starts to run
& hermes steals the run to run to rise
we lick the growth of pale feeble seconds,
day,
the tight squandering of days
unyielding shadow of
sahel,
eying the ship, the ship named eve
rahil or dusk falling,
a dampening of color or
the great cast of Vanta Black
aren’t you my sweethearts of acceleration,
black tulips
or
dutch lack of the super-up-lit smack?
Something clicked.
He said, “Oh my God, I never thought I could make that sound,” Ms. Weiss recalled.
—Martina Gertrude Siebert