Albert Mobilio, p.6


Give her some time. All along, she meant. Such relief once necessary,
now caught in the basement pipes.     Caught in tightly mades. From
    air-raid church to.

    My grease-cake idyl. Thems so specific
in her wake. Theys home in a Rising rhythm. And me

working this hand-me-Down abbreviator. Our first impulse
was, well, wrong. A disaster.        In our sexual bigtop, we roast within.

The intimacy of the long room seen
shriveled, Translucent. Her    flavor flown. Shaved
down. I'm peaking, sharp as ever. Behind    as well as    begun.

then deftly)

And dirt is designed to collapse. The shift from this

tricky Part. To blastproof doors. Let's hook into what's doing down
in the process garage. My krazy-kat high jinking

boosts morale among the disassembly Boys. No credible
scenario, no pit.       A concrete squad lines us
up against the looming. roller.         Then palms me, bunkerlike.

Can high. Guidance be
     the wing for us?    Please, traveler,   Say.