The Near Kissed

Living on Empire State Building’s
toppling—toppling,

newsy New York tastes
this aged curmudgeon,

breath from salamis; American cheese
yellow orange papered onions

strung along
gold yellow horse,

yellow player bumping up
my purple

electrical Polo.

Whatever You’re Asking For

A cornsilk mane, atop wiry frame,
laconic through a Gainseville rose,
accenting gravelly fountains,
brimmed with wine and lipped in nose.

Cigarettes packed, cherries owing,
moons and hearts all a-glowin’,
broken up into two jukebox sides,
‘neath the dark of America snowin’.

Tracked-down treks , half-quarter decks,
memorized wrecks across states on
the sample studied beat—applying
his simmerful muddling heat:

“My girl, my girl, come idea with me,”
sly knocking we needed to slow,
hear a fender tap, of that cherub-wing-cap,
choruses now with us now in the know.

Oy

OY!

the hollow men,
and the women they think
about, and the men they dream
about, and the hollowness that
entails.

OY!

the wondering
of the wounded, and the auctioning
of the offered, and the gendering
of the neutered, and the continuity
that entails.

OY!

the sallow fish, and the waters
they try for, and the barking tides
they cry for, and the hooks
of schoolmates sighed for,
and the bubbling black
oils
on their tails.