Lalopathy (excerpt)

churchlike, we laminate what light we have left over from the mints of these sorry gestures of veils: Evangeline is given as what we mean to say, although, often, only: a sigh; press. as for what we split with a tiny axe, suffered by crease of lip
what smokes, or faints in breaking as fog only can in soak exorcize lucidly.
as in sap, a wasp, what is meant by (a telescope in dust trees). ours a language like Evangeline, the weaver, unwed, with no made up country to be loosed unto, map lost and in the way she wanders there are words as they are, too hotly folded, fly buttoned, leather gloved. legendarily tremoring even in white surrenders they do not covet me, or take and return me: all the tracks back to meaning scrapped for the war (would sell for locomotion all the tender angles but those in one red wing, supple as an eardrum), no bait laid dark enough for the Trappist (to mean) when all that glows is and only privy to a cripple machinist; it was if we could lie well or swear to be unflooded,
but any soft place to convey is flooded. so from wing to reddening where Evangeline wanders toward a louder love as i toward and offer mercy sung like something that was sleeping stung and swell as with and am still as if asundering;
and the shroud, some storm mouth petaling straggler,
have no steal enough, no light eyed pilgrimage to their how and with what or certainty, in certainty:
I have only one but the last blue black fox heart. but even it does not have me.

and mary francis margaret anne marie rose and I in red and dark dresses and lighter ones passed knees for mass wherein the foyer a heavy chest we with bobby pins would lay our heads to clothe and purse our forms of dirty learning for the porcelain virgin erect whose obvious organ for faith ever snared we felt in blouses endangering and no scapular to seal what will become cases of egg teeth,
and for our brothers who had gun relieving in cotton unsurely would guess work and flee into arcades of bad words, their fifteen my twelve or thirteen and my figured meandered and was as a tub watched filling as to not rot the under or linoleum but I was not then for snails or back of hounds as much as for anne marie (pepper jelly), spent and sucked at cane and still can, of what little girls are made

and by caught in longer legs of someone’s catholic daughter
I mean by matthew often and rather latin water
to and in tall grasses and though wonder, lust, would not
by matthew suffocate my one and wither beggar flower,
so long as bays and totes its bruises,
no unfondeling or any mute trade,
no root entrance to a body myth, or gas lamp to study its funeral or drink for its sounds which are:
unable, unbear, un un bear, un uh, um, so as to, so tremble, want to your weight, , so as to your lithe, as we of with and sweat, no make, so we as and cannot be but and want of this, bear able, un bear, and um, so as to say to want to but no.

and by was set to Petal Organs played at times with craft and leapt for powders to skin my dream by waste and swallow our bliss’s blisters and by a stick shift clamoring went out into wet country and knew which veils to pick in the electric fences, after matthew came in black bags and supposing I as a potency would and did expect to nimbly capture valence for my own pink eyed march lion heat
but it was there, in the dark field lit by cattle belly, I dropped my mothers fathers voices bones, a drawl widowed in the grass with ones one good knife and Desiree in hunting shrouds her rubber boots too went and went in day to after spores split lips to shit and we both at no findings in straw or in the barns slow tearing of itself and ran back retracing I first and watched for cobrawater; no white foot for her or my voice at all in the placed I dropped I thought or she thought so shallowing, harbored black bags, went soundly soundless for all my losses were unto and meant for meadowlight and might would wait for words, though preyed over and over, some harshly, to wander back in their trailing gowns and be in some brutal arithmetic too cumbersome, as gun cotton delicately, and too nimble have I been toward what of their bodies is left, to say,
I want to with you in trembling; am after what you would be as so,
but like matthew, who to the war went sleeping and palely I went without my scapular to where I put a choir voice once and found it too savage to mean;