Tulips I

Today I know
There is an error
In the sum
at the east of my pelvic

something making me a fish for air
to barter poetry
long time since I wrote something
so the body broke into a rebellion
waiting to be gauged
under electric moons
and tape and camera

and scissors that espied
the healthy, now dark intestine within
with an antelope

schhhh- schh—skree- screeching

no. cannot remember the hyacinths
cannot remember the story-teller
of the giant inside my body

cannot think of gulping
the remaining vodka
cannot allow noodles to caress
down my throat
or his love to moisten the tip
of the broken mound

suns are over, and all naturals
so are all flowers and leaves of my book

so I fear the page
where Sylvia got her Tulip printed…

the doctor has to determine the rage
of a meaningless punctuation within

,
.