telling fortunes in a worm’s palm
I become conscious of some rather
sharper than longer claws

a nothing
is handsomely blowing over the tulips
and close to her breasts
I discover a Holland stocking

group and troop
we bustle on the scales
we enjoy the soul-lard
we even thou and thee each other

at sunset
I foretell a worm in your lap
a bull-worm