Complex Sleep

A Northern Eros

33 a n o r t h e r n e r o s Hugely mute, the genius of your legs. The genius of your legs and the wool lifted. Another rose from bed like noise. Time when exterior is mostly hell. Another rose for witching. The genius of your legs is not mastered, no struggle eyeing the instant. And innocence draped as well. Tape-loop, a garment mended drop by drop, another rose doubling. Another rose, for Orpheus, for being. Adorned in radiance, a rose. Severance was clear, was made new (to make whole). Fiction disappeared for its veils. Perfection preying. Another rose of wires. The wind composed of evenings, parleying. Notes learned from hearing the thing that makes. Man as astronomer, striding among pines. At unison he arrives, fumbling. 34 The genius of your legs in endless precision, unblinking. Day and night working. Internal organs. Rain drenching. The genius of your legs on the boat floor. The nightingale scented with pine. A week in the weeds. Another rose, an inner realist. Dusk-sprung accuracies. The unreleasable and unfinished genius of your legs. Another rose melted inside them. Spring came. Summer came. Ecstatic, another rose and summer again. Sex as structure, exchequering. Numinous thorns. An apostle wrestles with themes. Mostly bound (to sound) another rose conceived in violence. Strangely raised. Verbal pressure. Begin, being the genius of your legs. Your legs raised as the very speech. Genius of our air. A retrieval system. Speech stores heat, insists on symmetry seeing the sky whole. Another rose 35 in the saddle. Loquacious, demonic. The genius of exile. Exits as edifice. A thousand wires exist. Another summer, troubled water. Another rose in the night-ransom. Gray magic of blood repeating. ...