The Books of “Y”

(Tales of A Ragged Mensch)

and again It gets bad
the second train to come

space for revised space
I’m walking in snow

off at the first to past stop

and again It gets bad
second train to come

space for revised space
I’m walking in snow

off at the first to last drop

and again It gets bad
second train to come

the space for revised space
I’m walking in snow

off at the first to past stop

Devil Dog

Had I alone harbored the guilt of her dying
wishing her sicker,
aloud, it would have been
exactly the same—

Had she not been laughing: anyway.

Lunacy through-to her eyes
and nose; Lunacy from chin
through-to each ear; The calumny animal
wailing dusk carpeting brick
outside a light-sampling, yellowish kitch-
enette’s window,

no real threat.

Platform

hidden injuries of my ass
With so much docile stasis

forelit by facial logical code
a chance for prayer is

—questioning unflourished
accentless textual halos

over unconscious
skull-wrapped crowns of chill

The form of our medium compels
certain dramatic literality

jealousy among creations
in the beginning as (a thorny sprig?)

finding one’s place to stand
is out of fortune achieved without tears