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Bear down, impel. Twist
baby, I’ll 
       suck you so aloof, pull push you always 
stare like that


you abstract, I, 
                      half sunk, wrist 
bent in over-and-underply 
               twist sheave 
flexure dip 
reverse curl 
I’ll make you come or come here at least, 
deeper, you’re hard but can’t feel it. I assure you 
you are. Pelvic massage is also Levatus ani. Lift, hush now 
pull push back. Just there is the ischiococcygeus 
and the plexus (nexus, sexus to mind on your bookshelf there) is only nerves of course 
Of course it is.


                                              There’s a feeling, footsteps, and not on our skin, they’re 
along the street of small wood, small rain, piannissime.


We’re its angle of lag and lead 
the lack of and knead. 
One of these nights we’re watched 
we’ll be dragged out, I tell you.

Posted 11/26/13
This poem first appeared in Dear Sir
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