Part                                      (of a longer piece)
                                             (for Tom Clark)

The door of undress and removal of days inches out toward night. Goodbye poets! Lady Madonna! The art of you waits with muddy bottom, tiny bell, and mattress eyes cast in berry light. Wisdom narrows to a blue kiss in which what creaks in darkness shuts as the orgasm around me—O tambourine!— parts like mind from trembling water.

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