OTB

I put on my mother’s
Orchard Street airs,

slipping leathered
blinded sheets. Puttering

away what can I
dig out, juggling,

coins on elbows for tricks.

Fred & Ethel

Moves like Raskolnikov, keep covered in
line, meditating at the store:

bed beyond unable to alter school for the
field trip to pay your respect;

heady corruption sleeps, a little lighter
assuages the pinky ball size horse in

lower back half of your ands.

The clip at a watch shop jewelry store,
day or daylight controlled with our whim.

Whims to believing, rhyme and courtesy;
Caustic stories—impregnated shows

preference at a center with episodes,
where Hades has a funny line.

Today at 1:36pm

It’s going to be a good Christmas,
some good to do—

paint in an early morning gold,
cursive love letters of the clouds.

I’ve drawn away from you
that that’s what I’d do:

rounded world, poem-vein.

Billy’s eyes of intellection
sway my way

the horizon of words/
thick and thin,

it’s going to be a good Christmas,
some good to do—

paint in an early morning gold,
cursive love letters of the clouds.