people who know nothing

that dirty little lake-river
where under we sat
when the bubbling
and anyway

even in our twists
whoever
oh I felt and almost did you
so urgent was it then

down by the windfall
where the dreams blow by so slow

that even the daylight
through the smoke/steam
is now unended

for this is a dark,
great love of waters

.

marry me this day, sweet love

all the trees become monkeys at nightfall
their silhouettes falling/failing in black buffaloes of exuberant life-mud

—in wine and strokes we pick the black parasites
from our hides, all of us native as treetops, roots, bark, nothing
beyond what we can see—deserter... we call you that. we dare and dare not.
the mudwine has taken us for harvest. you who deserted us, carry us then
in your strokes, carry us forth and do not. submerged as the naked one lying beneath, your story, your stroked mud, deserter. you who know nothing
and all things in the foul mouth of the harvest-rainbow. you who carry us on

my love our love, all that you are become the treetops now of monkeyed night. deserter. foul mud. breakers of wine. strokes of the carry-harvest,
unleavened, black carry.

fuul steps i mean