Cocteau did not let life breathe. He forgot to sleep for twelve whole days. His body, eventually, gave way to paradox. The fruit flies dim...

  We are thinking “tucked under sheets” the world creeps up to a sudden chin--  somber hearts sleep in temples of flesh                     ...

It is 1961 Life is all around/ digesting the debris from moon-belly,  diagram of decorative spines seed-vessels, pinked    ...

There’s porn in your raw curves, the mere renderings of loose teeth, all double entendres  pooling at the crease of your cunt. Mother, i...