MY CASTLES

These smells are just my tent, I said
After page 521 I'll meet my true
love     In the second volume I thought to make up for
lost time     A vague idea of the Heretical
Gauls     Turmeda's Notes     The sea gently
clinging to the islands     The language and rent
of the Balearics     Legs barely brushing
in the so-called doggy style     The cock
as injector     It thrusts hard, exits
Motionless between the lips     A long time
These smells, these trees, this mountain
of sleeping bags abandoned behind the house
This black and white hour