Texas Fontanella
Cold Lost Marbles
my ice skates on a wall
lustre of stumps washes his lavander horizon
he’s got a handsome face of a lousy kid
rooming-houses dirty fingers
whistled in the shadow
“Wait for me at the detour.”
river… snow… some one vague faded in a mirror
filigree of trade winds
clouds white as lace circling the pepper trees
the film is finished
memory died when their photos weather-worn points of
polluted water under the trees in the mist shadow of
boys by the daybreak in the peony fields cold lost
marbles in the room carnations three ampoules of
morphine little blue-eyes-twilight grins between his
legs yellow fingers blue stars erect boys of sleep
have frozen dreams for I am a teenager pass it on
flesh and bones withheld too long yes sir oui oui
Crapps’ last map… lake… a canoe… rose tornado in
the harvest brass echo tropical jeers from Panama
City night fences dead fingers you are in your own body
around and maybe a boy skin spreads to something
else on Long Island the dogs are quiet.
my ice skates on a wall
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Spain and 42nd St
Laudanum mutterings silkroad scandal
on Arab street draftsmen
gutter stamp plasticine patterns
talky you off plastering like I the
the vanity of the axceptional
tis tis silentils tinder
miss ions for
gotten museum clina minks w/
sharp fish syllables in the
water opens south
of the border cross assassins
winkle pickle drs
ink in two scanner suits
as ass
ignations circu rate op
thu tha darta bay sex
hoarse pipes wine by fid
dool ink wither type
rite r melo drummer
trance looses scent of
furs oft red dust
exercises fallow pon
derp ears dawn warps
pi too mangled brother
uplough thedash boardstuck
piling trucks a pout
sky reeed sun
dirf ace &
happies on Spain &
42nd
st
Cold Lost Marbles
my ice skates on a wall
lustre of stumps washes his lavander horizon
he’s got a handsome face of a lousy kid
rooming-houses dirty fingers
whistled in the shadow
“Wait for me at the detour.”
river… snow… some one vague faded in a mirror
filigree of trade winds
clouds white as lace circling the pepper trees
the film is finished
memory died when their photos weather-worn points of
polluted water under the trees in the mist shadow of
boys by the daybreak in the peony fields cold lost
marbles in the room carnations three ampoules of
morphine little blue-eyes-twilight grins between his
legs yellow fingers blue stars erect boys of sleep
have frozen dreams for I am a teenager pass it on
flesh and bones withheld too long yes sir oui oui
Crapps’ last map… lake… a canoe… rose tornado in
the harvest brass echo tropical jeers from Panama
City night fences dead fingers you are in your own body
around and maybe a boy skin spreads to something
else on Long Island the dogs are quiet.
my ice skates on a wall
posted by mark young at 12:21 PM
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