Poem: waking among the dead smell of blooms

"i shall sit here serving tea to friends.."

waking among the dead smell of blooms
rotting in my dress, forcibly june
opens here, a funny mouth: stammers, "not yet!"
layed out in mimicks, mirrored regrets
opens another, a sore eye of moon
shines in crumbled places, i set them up for you
and remember fragments, my life inside
tschaikowsky in postcard meters, albert starving his starry night

what have i, my friend, what life gives me, sick in bed
a decadent view, naked, erect
what caved-in dreams, and would you not write me
all that i have killed in you, runs red
and when shall we ever meet again...?

PLEASE MISS PLEASE COME AND REST

here here useless body, tacked on breasts
i crossed out the hunger on my chest
art is a surgery, the skin flabby, not petite
the mouth warped, hydrocloric, no teeth
my lack of lovers, my nerves come erased
they have cut out the touch you placed
sitting, stroking, pen in throat,
the found expression between bed sheets

here here our friendship,
all our friends
all our neighbors, soiled ladies
all our friends
and sky no resolve, smouldering over your head
smoking chaucer, unfeeling with the dead
london bridge is falling down, falling down
the women you will love, falling down

please miss please go and rest

shall i close my eyes to you, your red face
the voice with dejection, that unyielding tune
waiting here, to spoil the bloom
slowly, slowly, come i undressed
to reach over, feed your distress
shakes the stink of june
come i, a terror
breaking limbs