OTB

I put on my lonely mother’s
Orchard Street airs,

slipping over 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,
our 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.