Checklist for Love in Sudan
for the Slave of Love
Trustworthy Rose to tell the flowery inflammability, to sew in flames the loins
engender their luxury deviant panting, with the biblical soul
prone grass of the Sermon on the Hill, imbue with your mint retelling the
blades (the clatter of) the valid Lone gunman of jest; Foot deep in Loam
Curl my toes in coltish-dirt around Rose Bush roots, perspiring the End of Love
Helicon and Halos gather in influence/clout scrape textured poise from telling
the primordial pool of voodoo Mercurial on the stellar altars, those Halos ping cyclone up the Sky
The Sky is it, this is the, This is the Slave of Love Lover this is You.
Red Dune fornicates in the wind I am the Cherry-night moon, hear my declarative
I sacrifice firstly for this genuine present of History
my blood on your virgin sand,
this the smashed leaf a centurion,
and most of all this the multitudinous pigment of Earth
Owl brother I am the Totem, Prophesier you are the Eagle Song, Sing therefore
of the last and formal signs of Love Lover is you
I with both spider claws deep in your heat, magic-vectors through the veins
your heart teller recreates for me the memory; I am the hot dripping of
your Heart I am the representative of the Slave of Love, hear me hear you
Aztec Missionary of Zion I am of the Space-ship Pyramid I greet you in Peace
The Sky is it of the, of the Slave of Love Lover is you
Written epitaph on grave (oil on canvas, black on black)
the dark gourd dug out; In a place famous for the crickets (with shovels and gravelamps and Violins)
the song is most vivid in the masterpart herein the thorn, the cavern heart of rose
come inside the Slave of Love Lover is you
First Loki of the north winds I summon grace of your playful
counterpart the slave of Love I witness for the slave of Death
This is much sadder than, this is much bluer than the sand
Secondly, I swear So many grains tipped here in the Loki heart
Of so many of nothing is so much of heart these therefore are the stories
Of Dynamite lovely the dynamite of Rose,
Of the busted and battlefields of Rose
Of the parts of Love
Speaker for the nutritious gaudy should I call on you to satiate this place
with animal waters
of the clearest coyest sort
I sweat the prayer words vertical to the aurora
nautical vault upward on account of the ludicrous
the ambergris of the soul, fragrant dust lacquered in the rose-ice
this is a parting of ways,
from here on out slave of love, I am the slave of Death
Strange god these people left long ago, These Remnants these water-meeting places are
a deserted village
the cobwebs are the most remarkable part of Love
The Age Worthy Rose Vines catapult this the elder church
in vaulted halls of tropes (Liberate First this part of Love)
Breast spirit limber (year after year) along
each Blown flame inspires/ignites as a funeral pyre
up your spine the sepulcher breath, first gripped/gifted to the etherlike
smoking gun/smoldering (throne first know) that this is Worship
this is the first part of Love Slave of Love
I slave of Death tell you this only/only as a part of Love
Love (of No) thing
Magus therefore from the deep(east sand (I resurrect the (Corpse of Second
Part of Love) from the most luscious elder fields) of the oldjungle the phantom)
Cat I call on you deep warrior to grow of sand
murdered-sphinx emerge and tell, talk the second part of Love
talk now, no lies from you elder/emerald lips, tell the tincture
delicate menagerie of truth of the Second Part of love
a buzzard of skies the milliongrains of sand scoopt up in each beak
the scooped sand is a changed scenery this is of long ago
isn’t it this old jungle time before speak, the truth I say tigress talk sense,
this misted aurora is the tigers lullaby; no doubt in the meat sweating early dawn the aurum is the second part of love, the aspirant spirit of the last great cat
the last large animal is aspirant in the aroma/aorta and no doubt she
gifted the second part of love, Slave of Love I slave of Death tell you this in only the capacitance of objectivity
remembrance now this Love
(infinitely the mani(fold of) the third part of love) I am lost in your breath; Dawn inscrutable whom as seer has seen the myriad affairs. I call you from (Lone)ly mountain/man
great loves of time I tell were not that bad, the key to speech therefore is so daring doomed-child
Alternatively, Slave of Love this is the third part of love lover is you
Stonehenged to the ground this the altar of the third part of love,
the Mayan mystic may tell you of the third part of love
he may sayone of several things
this tidesand trickling through my fingers is the most tragic affair or otherwise
he might add tell me not of the circle of the passage of the mountain and its worthless old decrepit languish, he might say as you do not tell me the third part of love in the cemetery of love affairs
I see the best reduced/reductionism in stoney altars to their harrowing fury-for all love all lost
this is the third part of love know the end of love
The recoil of the fourth part of love is the greatest ale
the retelling and inspiration of love,
this is the most particular aspect to me and you the haughty mist of ale
past our stories past our aspirant souls among spirits lovers all effect in the breath fromsex
suck of love, the passing transitory soul, the eyes locked the love of breath
the passage of living should among the eachother is
the most important part of the fourth part of love
the teller is the boar, is the roasting boar of love,
the living twirling squealer of the fourth part of love,
the wished in life
the loose cannon of love
the inspiration of meat with
the sweater arboreal/armorial vapors’ of Mahogany
The oldest blood of veins let in a little cup to seer brown tells the truth of the fifth and final part of love
I need not teller for this part of love is simple as Achilles’ still beating heart (ripped from chest)
a virtue of sacrificial limbs/lambs and coins encamped in eyes
of glory on old Achilles’ face the vast of face
the lost man is inside hazes growing old,
forever less forever
the older weaker greatest favored
warrior of all time in the when men where bigger
and in the when life was grander the fifth most part of love
died a thousand times in the cries of love, in the slave chain clatters
in the Boethius of love
in the bottomless giving piece
you must relinquish of love
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