Oh mis’rable worth! Hands sucked wet—subtracted from the bedsheet’s cuffs, clapt over the post—and solved. Cries stuck in the night—sharpen cries struck hard to stay in the fat sides of the night. Her face and hands disappointed to part hands, leaving the pact of joisted hands, come out from the light fallen in from the hall, run fleetingly out. Fleet, fleet, and loveless.
Hands sucked wet, hands sucked, bit and dotted, forcible creases—sharpen cries, to be stuck in the night. Oh worth, oh mis’rable worth! Roar, roar, rolling roar in stiff boards and planks, blanket, slapped and stung wet; her face and hands were disappointed to part the pact of hands.
Bedsit by the moon and stars that fly in the light of the hall. Another bed...punch, roll, roll into it, the pain goes spidery and wanders—the stomach dissipates in mist. Through the ribs, through the torsal fractures—morning arrives with swift wings and sings out for the twaining.
A pair of cleft lips meets a pair of cleft lips parted to bare the teeth. In the soft—uhhh—cries—wrists in pieces within their casings—cuffed in the loops of bedsheets—knee’d and bow’d severe. The awkward morning pushed back onto its beating fleet of wings, losing pillowfuls of feathers, knocked by a frost-nosed bully wind. Swift to the break! ...Cry, nightsleeves.
-2002
