You didn’t want me
to sidle up to the high
chthonic voltage, number
than frost, number than
the coiled attachments:
a kind of siphon
for this hamhanded
burgeoning. If I imitate
your enthusiastic rejecting
anxious beloved, can I
enter your hall of
repressed dismay? I can’t
get her haircut: I don’t
have that kind of hair.
I’m better than she is,
who does not think of you,
just as you do not think
of me. The world spins
on these bitternesses: my XXXX
for you offends me yet.
Otohime 
A Dis in May..
If we use the word Chthonic as a door, what riches we might encounter!
If we all are
but future oil
why not drill
today?
That's what Dispater said!
sep he said “u ppl”