arc of light / dark matter 17

With a new book coming out of work, for the most part, quite different from my 1992 book, arc of light / dark matter, I want to stress how that kind of work is still with me, still really important to me. I don't want it to be lost. Here is part 17, to which I randomly just opened the book.

able to buy more socks, examined by lips, at an austere angle, what my name is, beginning an orange without an anticipation of biting or sucking, music by any other question marking time a made thing compromising the improvisation, hips palpitating, rich fibre, two voices one with melody the other as if grunting were rhythmic punctuation, not broiled or otherwise heated with spice, killing to lessen the world's music never considered by those opposed to the war, brown hair, holding a microphone with mixed purposes, agnostic, fit for a sleeping cat with white stomach never heard the news, no one in the world, her glasses, red a skin or not shared, fully clothed at least until, the myth of self, just saying what the ear allows as speech without a sense of expression made, reception as in love of water, good for the hair and skin even without rubbing another, soul as site, moves together, almost incomprehensible words grinning, the end of a sentence encountered with no color except perhaps red for that moves, from a wound a window to see why the bomgs decided this was a time to fly, foreign films several times a day thanks to cable's unending novelty or slow repetition, asking the moon or forgive me, arm rubbed bu cat's nose, chimes delivered, photographic intentions snapshot or otherwise, and in friendship, to discuss our dreams as though plurality were possible, peace, echoing easier access and would you, of eggs, enter my room laughing but cognizant of bodies and their availability, stung, a little too effervescent the mind can, to want to calm you when pronouns are ways of spreading the blame, sustain us formally considered as a plea for stopping, milking cows, abject