Masochist
I believe in pain
a rose of stone in the lower back
I break an oar
in I know not what
great water
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Transpiration
all night long
the fiery rose sweating
in a glass
All heart
a rose to look after
and a puppy to look after
brought joy to me
half drunk
God knows my heart is a fancy music
God knows my heart is full of death
King of the trolls
the backward bastard
that married his troll hands
in his heart no part
of a rose
but business business business
low as a glob
Gifted
people speak of my gift
for sitting with the dead
I know the disease of the stone
the hot pie made of a swan
how a rose cried
at the sight of my hands
Shooter
a boy and a gun
his kept rose
the afternoon arithmetic
is subtraction and division
I pray to have
some pain begin with me
Black thumb
so rank the yard that morning cannot break
I shall grow the dirtiest rose
Securing the border
war and the state
begin with a fence
proceed to condemn
a man unheard
we fell from one word
such as trouble or shame
bring an aster to trial
and have a rose bled
Healths
in order to prevent surprise
we read like fools
only here and there a bit
and without moving
to give thanks for pain
or the power of a rose
preach a sermon full of rope
text with one mind
and one mouth
give glory
to the great variety of creatures
that animate dead bodies
ants like little friars
where I walk head aching
with the healths I was forced to drink
Sleeping on it
lay long
talking about order
a rose collecting
an alphabet
night perfected
at night
The sick rose
the rose we know
is in every garden
privately undone
as if it were fit to put
a true but common tragedy
in a box velvet as ash
Late bloomer
this rose in the snow
I fear it will be a while
before we meet