KISS
Yellow and grey, the checkered cloth, each square its sculpture rising hampered sunlight topiary of a tree-strewn slope: the trees can move and their leaves touch your throat. I lift my arms and, lying on my back, I levitate with the laws of nature, thoughtlessly, the checkered ground like a handkerchief lifted from its corners to enclose me... and the vivid taste of citrus radiates its own absorption from that spot upon the tongue in ladder upon ladder from whence I wave to you hectically, abandoned, without a thought but to make you glad way up there in the sky, with your hair and turned-away head in the foreground, looking at me as if I were your child, for which I'm grateful, deck after deck of cards sprung free down around your feet and arms and knees and shoulders, all of which we can see, except our faces because our eyes are in them.

(richard hell)