don’t be silly fuck as never before.

Lucky the bell, till full and deep of throat,
I’ve drifted somewhat from the distant heart
To mark that square, perhaps: were M�e and P�e
V. The Dutch in the Arctic
To follow in the path of their brief blossoming
Or else, like us, sunk into some long gaze
to matter, for the flushed boys are muscular
I know,
A matter of getting all that right . . .
They move against, or through, or by, or toward.