of 24 June Ought-Eight

I am very plain and straight and true. I have been bleached clean by a thousand sleepless nights. In certain light one gains to see skin running to scales, quicksilver caught, held. A tongue, loosed, falls free. Another bursts forth in its place, into carol, into speech less than sensible. / I am quite plain, non-pareil. Food: Heavy, peasant fare; root vegetables for grounding; whole grains pre-soaked as hour follows hour; leafy green bitterherb to ease the innertube. Peak-picked mimosa, touch-bruised, infuse spring water, scent chestnut hair. The cloud carries us wherever we would. / I am so true, and usual. Gibbous moon plays on full carmine mouth of the best lover. I hear my sister float through a bamboo flute. I cut a superb back handspring. I dress in fitted black linen, forty buttons down the front. / I am quite right, solid square. Songbirds nestle between my buttocks. Freshet breeze smooths your back. Locate the lost crown that says you are divine. Follow the alphabet to every sweet spot, charted or not.