as my lover looker right

As my lover looked right I
 took her her left
a drunk her sour skin was
repulsion in my palm  enthralled
when she swayed again  those
stumps of thighs I
called them beautiful as she
follows me past the Thenes, Rourk and Marquin,
I hold her smellingly close
Again check my pulse I turn her eyes
and make her laugh  I
am not in control

In April /

In April
   broken heat
  stinks rising from
  the tool-wise
 pavement up-up
by a rounding  deluge
  to swallow wind
pregnant as wine
  blushing
is this air: In April
  sounds drop a
  ring  for lush
 garden green hill scenes
  pastel picking bare, no -
this is fog
  eyes to be piked on
  newly found
 hollow nasals
   and gritty
smelling glands
 night lamps share no
fog above the
 breeding April earth
 My red tongue is earth-wet
 and pelvis, vorpal-dead -
even feet are
sloppy in April