The central divide of the body is invisible,
only hinted in the dip of the back
along the spine, or the primal hair

Through hours of England, swift, my angel, go:
high above towns
and green enormous downs

We open on a mystery,
a riddle has happened, will happen, will happen again.

What’s the point of experience

Alcoholic dream 
That run him 
                   out from home 

Glass 
and wide sea view
Race that walks

Who was Mary Shelley? 
What was her name 
before she married?

Just as the lonely, wicked, wild and glad
eyes know and do not know by letting drop
in every detail of their daily dread

The beautiful and true
spreading of blood in water,
strands of it waving, surreally outward, 

Driving look out the window at where / The mail box used to be

I get anxious / for the speed