Rain is coming. I thirst
in the rain in the clutches of a roux hold
in a bent putty boat.
Rain comes. I’m that under rain
is modified in the links of these boat break.
I am under the rain. She is changed in the connection
of this broke bark smashing.
I under stayed the rain which changed
in connection with the thing where she is broke,
this crying voice that I am.
Eye the hind part, brocade wriggle
that the libretto button elicits is muff
and whisper fleck of pure pour.
I whisper lick. Whisking prosthetic phases.
Slow the rain. Under the rain.
I am under that rain.
I am puerile, lucid and sanguine
under a nihilistic bug pump.
I cut the gasket, under gaslamp.
Snap whalebone fat lamp mist.
Yawning, the vulgar brook ice
off the broke wet tip off under
brown sugar peninsula. I’m hooked
to birds on wires. Black owl awning
a seed packet gone now. She presents herself
a bit shackle back and break care sooner.
Carmelize butter splat I crowd the margin,
slip pat down the crust of a muffin.
Silken tuft in a lilac bed. I slow the rain.
Broken stalk contour of your brush erasure.
I squeak and thump in hedge. Thicken stick.
Under under. Watering can.