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

a preference at 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.