You cannot awaken someone pretending to be asleep: he said.
Making a desk into one’s own.
Write upon me. Pleas: í say.
Priapus’ pen is pushing into papyrus; and, the
song of the sound produces a strange and intoxicating
ability within me to suspend mine own breath.
í hear your eyes speak to me:
If I dropped my pen to the floor,
would it be to convince you to recover it, for me, in your mouth?
And, if imagination is a precursor to reality, well,
í have got it in spades,
Howl í can only hope and imagine
Whomever, in this card game, takes the bid calls spades as trumps.
The sunny, shiny queen of magnets is also the
aloof, wide-eyed lady of looking-glass house,
and, wanting, to be
Your night witch.
Do the pillars ever leave or do they
to leave as we move further closer
As we imagine our stillness to be actually motion in movement?
/venture forth and know me/, no-one man of wildest dreams.
Howl í howl when í say or do something wild,
like the sweet, little monster í am
And, you respond: I know.
Prove it, pleas/e.