Untitled (And Your Batty’s So Round)

The Morphology of Peregrine

A million peregrines make up one cell
Each is different, wetter or dryer, sweeter or sourer, lighter or darker than the other
They fuse and mix in different combinations for each day
A million cells make up one peregrine
Hot or cold, quick or slow, lean or fat, they divide and flow
And peregrine changes from moment to moment
From sour to sweet, from dark to light
Dry to wet, slow to quick, fat to lean and cold to hot
Ah peregrine, peregrine without choice

When will it stop?
When will it go?
When you are old and constipated
When you are rigid and too cold to mix

Ah my peregrine, what sad chemistry have you folded long before?

Peregrine at Puberty

What is this? My crotch murmurs
My hair is stiffened like a stoved finger
I find what I look at, turn of calf for rolling buttocks
I rise warm and seeking
In dreams I gush because I must
I am juicy peregrine, newly ripened and king of the mountain
Soon all will tumble beneath me

On a Windy Day Zimmer Gives Sixteen Lines to Peregrine on the Dead Run

Here's sixteen, Peregrine
Cut loose

This is a fast day
Feel it’s deep--