my humps

my radiators are
all russian novelists
gone over earth's
sill a long time ago
they make sounds
those drunks once did
lost in tiny bars
dots of light
on this planet
where it all
happens just think
my radiators
were chuffing
along with some
of those russians
when they were alive
in their tiny bars
points of light inside
snowstorms in nowheresville,
where russians blow off
steam long after
language is over
long past midnight
hot little exhalations
pfffft! sszsssst!
that's how i think about
you too late at night
i painted them all
my radiators
sitting on my ass
white iron flowers
arabesques of vines all over
them repeated motif
of wandering flowering
at the end of the vine
a flower
and at the end of the flower
a birdlike tongue
a sexual tongue
stuck out in longing
or mockery or just
ridiculous overripeness
like a russian novelist
or maybe a body lost
in a blizzard's whiteout
carrying hothouse tomatoes
holding them to the breast
her or she falls
body dug out much later
found clutching these
frozen tomatoes
fruit frozen to iron
the novel!
and oddly enough laughter

also frozen like iron