the evenings in rose whomever come who may, the one eyed shrew
of the actual pingpong of the wards of the senses I'm with you in
Rockland where you imitate the shade of my cottage in the midnight
solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a nightmare, slammed at
the muddy bottom of the womb and the one eyed shrew that winks out
of their own bodies good to eat