The Waiting

Time between responses,
is a time to doubt responsive-
to doubt wanted-
to doubt doubt,

Responding, too, between times,
is but temporary to a tempo-
to a condition-
to tempered tempers,

Conditioning, lastly, between doubts,
is a-timorous with wanton
with respoken
in a timeless
song, itself.


I copped myself out,
nine loons ago.

I gave of all others,
I want you to know.

I undressed mad stories,
keepin’ up fresh rot—

“been lickin’ tomatoes,
stashed in ma’ cot.”

I learned myself how,
when stone heaven sued

the windfall with rain
in drains around dew.

I laughed at all comers,
what more could I do?

I made simple farce
without simple glue.

Now I lash out from anguish,
pick down hidden flies,

the head pains pass by,
too close to size.

I Walked

I walked the gutters
of lower manhattan
all but asleep
in another’s restless dream

I dragged a body
with dead head
and a disguise of youth
wherever I could not think

I lived full and alone
in anguished biology
seeing a segmented world
through nothing but eyes

Never hit by grace
I survived by history
my feet were a fated pair
I stayed still without knowing

The air was always dark
The air was mostly always wet
Such big visitors
talking talkers on all sides

I finally escaped
I did it in time
So much sugar in my blood
what a watch to be!