Untitled (And Your Batty's So Round) - Hype Williams

A million peregrines make up one cell

Each is different, wetter or dryer, sweeter or sourer, lighter or darker than

the other

They fuse and mix in different combinations 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

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 have you folded long before?

Peregrine at Puberty

What is this?

My crotch murmurs

My hair is stiffened like a stoved finger

I find what I look at, turn of calf for rolling buttocks

I rise 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 Sixteen Lines to Peregrine on the Dead Run

Here’s sixteen, Peregrine

Cut loose

This is a fast day

Feel it’s deep--