The Waiting

Time between responses is
a time to doubt responsive-
ness
to doubt wanted-
ness
to doubt doubt
itself

Responding too between times
is but temporary to a tempo-
rality
to a condition-
ality
to tempered tempers
themselves

Conditioning lastly between
doubts
is a-timorous with wanton
du-rability
with respoken
u-nanimity
within
a timeless
song it-
self

Bungalow

Daughters Of the Catskills supplanted:

“We can never be ahead of our own,”
hot gossiping while
glinted,
appealing on their wavering sundecks, squinting;

dropped in big covetous
lights away, those slighted,

those bidding—composed down
reddishly gilded

(how skinny) calloused texture,

STILTING,

through-to at least a decade’s old last
spare,

(this dawn’s security, shelved) so—

warm-toned beachwear;

was White-flowered, printed and
mothball-scent
assented,

but thoughtless
to generous, counteless, aggravations of

a deeper settling, unrented.

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!