Bughouse Radio

Bughouse radio turns placid (shows
noted).

Nor’eastern shores, vigilant in
a sense of handed, fitted, the
remote slate urn
of rock slapping fluidity.

(bughouse radio now turns off: flowed
marigold dropping
round petals, tipped bowl, remade

divisible zero-difference-limits,
circumlocution—of book—
[H]umean inference)

Bughouse radio blares on-on—

Furs abroad, and window slips lip
a
coal, Atlantic green. Is cradled time a
lukewarm froth of yellow? (convened,
earnest,
fellow rivulets:
an energized, syncretist
historicity of

Bundist club spouts—my bughouse radio
glue warped—hatched on silver lustre,
smelted, slopped across the cockroach
envelope
of boring white)

Bughouse radio alerts, radial elements
get active.

Radio elements moor.

Talkin’ Baseball

Talkin’ baseball—
because stratospheric stadia
Talkin’ baseball—
because red carpeted rest

Talkin’ baseball—
because mellow balm of time
Talkin’ baseball—
because four for four seasons

Sayin’ baseball—
because spinning hey baskets
Sayin’ baseball—
because clips of San Francisco Seal

Sayin’ baseball—
because spikes cried up sliding
Sayin’ baseball—
because black glove is the pitch

Hearin’ baseball—
because peanut meat dripping
Hearin’ baseball—
because sun flower seed spit

Hearin’ baseball—
because Bazooka is all a-clumpin’
Hearin’ baseball—
because bellying an itch

Lovin’ baseball—
because mysterious October
Lovin’ baseball—
because of April’s flaxen stalk of hair

Lovin’ baseball—
because rebirth dews August
Lovin’ baseball
without any fear

Dreidelech

Not forced conviviality
a blissed declivity

The race you put up
of falsehood dogs

Having a response
fulminating attacks

Footfalls of the child
first train done gone

Not forced conviviality
a blissed declivity

The race you put up
of falsehood dogs

Having a response
ruminating tracks

Footfalls of your child
first train done gone