Thursday, April 4

Me Of Her

tried to forget her but can’t I forget her
here I am
the last fragrance of loss chosen by night

All the presence gone left but only memories
done right; though
tried to forget her but can’t I forget me of her

my winepiss smells of her in schoolnight
midnight hours
fortunate out as if unlucky in

Movements o’er my own pavements reminds
my mild longing
and the dried gum reminds me of her

The bank of england reminds me of her stance
the last trifle
I came forward to greet having waited lonely;

the fresh omelette reminds me of her, the yellow
egg the Saturday
break, the Oxford distance blend with Oxford blows

the unwashed smell of my crotch is her and god
the smell of god
on grass is always reminding me greenly of her

the hush of music is her is her if her is anything
then the infinite
relief of music is her howling against the ghost

Living dangerously cross the road reminds me
of her not once
but twice a lollipop lady going back and forth

the muddy knees of Rugby is her reminds me of she
bless those Welsh
bless the do-gooders , the living, the oh my holy shit

everything is her reminds me of her and too doomed
am I not amn’t I
the dirt under the kerb is her as I am her

‘neath wet sheets the laugh of my orgasm is her and
press me against
the London smoke sat mystified is a torrent of her

pausing and playing out the desperate acts of some
romantic play
Forgive me, for she is not her now as three weeks

ago her And five letters six letters foreign is praised;
usher me along
spending hours in the pit of memories me of her

I am at last of her to throw open windows and
lean in toward
her where me of her is here and her is me

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