there has not been a lot of stumbling. highways are still crooked, and love can be heavy like a melon, but still I move on! strikingly brave and brown. with my music still too loud, mountains high.

I have been living! breathing hard air! catching from rooftops, clear over the fields of wild and diamond. this land breaths and knocks on our doors in the morning. he, this boy that is mine was at first like a snowstorm in my living room. but you see he soon melted into it (the couch I mean), and then he disappeared. and I could not replant him for days. but when I did, it was in a Mexican field. and what came up was dark and lucky. that one took to me like sunshine.

his shoes had many holes, and I never held his heart.

not born with a whole tongue he keeps his tall stems hard. he unzips jackets and blows my mind.

after that, all the roads were empty or closed. streetlights started losing names, I lost a lot of papers.

for days my tongue broke and I had to steal from Keats. to sooth the ghost in my the kettle and my guts, I read from the gutter. but this street is my own! I built my home here! in the smoke, in the boy (on the couch) in the other room, under the parachute. a thousand days pass.

should I tell you I have been letting out bright silo lights? trying to wake the sleepy towns of Vincent. California if full of shake, not even the land has settled. there I found the solider. I saw a man on a horse and my knees fell when I saw his sinking blue eyes.

baby, they go so gray on nights and weekends. he has never loved anybody, he, lord, knows only what the poets tell him of love. what I tell him of love after he has fucked me and I am all well and high. don't believe anything he has to say about love and Aristotle. so maybe him I make into a cloud, let him waft the rest of his days in the sky spying on school children. he fears his love.

and I, yes I, from the platform of the universe and I, yes I, gain footing. they are strong now, these legs of mine. I run them, mad and high through the horse paths beyond the house. I decided one day, credenced it in honor of future bravery! so I would fear not ever, the love of my brother. and I mean that, in the most ethnic sense. you see these two legs are the only ones I will ever have. there will always only be these two. they are important!

if I am ever to stand for something I will need them! should I come by a soapbox and I must mount it, a fence I must climb, a field I must clear before the night sets low into the trees. these legs I will use to wrap around boys. on my legs are the maps I have written. inky marks of sloppy schoolboy lovers.

we do not have to be in love for this.

this life we have been living is harder now. winds have eaten at it and taken its substance. on the fly of this wind I am sailing, up above the seas and stars. all day and night I am wafting. I hope sometimes you feel my wind, when I come down through the valleys and in though your window. kicking up your shoes and strings, tangling you to yourself.

so that you will know something of love. something true and honest! like the beat of a heart, or the beat of a drum, and the base of the spine. jumping the cables at your feet, are you still running?

do not ever give into it! let no love turn you into a fool.

I am so sick of being loves fool. because when they play to our eyes there are sparkles and glamor, but in our hands it is all wet. our type of love seems to be sopping and hung. when it is cold I lose momentum and footing, and weary of storms. and when it is hot, it is very very hot.

these loves! listed, numbered!

youth has me mad all through the streets. I'm completely serious, my back has been marked by many a driveway. only recently has the idea, or the notion of, "be true to your dick" cascaded into me. I have fucked eleven boys and one girl.

it seems like if fall in love every month, and out of love the next.