Untitled (And Your Batty's So Round)

The morphology of peregrine
A million peregrines make up one cell
Each is different, wetter or drier
Sweeter or sour
Lighter or darker than the other
They fuse and mix a different combination 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
From 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 has folded down your soul?
Peregrine at puberty
What is this?
My crotch murmurs
I hair and stiffen like a stowed finger
I find when I look at turn of calf or rolling buttocks
I arise 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 16 lines to peregrine on the dead run
Here's 16, peregrine, cut loose
This is a fast day, feel its juiciness