August Sky

My holy man of this turgid I; ole’ wormin’ fishman–

so ’tis a worm by, and in deed, tangerine
puke yet fading…

Hellish, let stink! Fickleful and
derelict a-‘lectrically ‘cross crystaline,

‘cross deciduousity.
‘Cross a synapse of bunk

slumberin’ oceanic barracks,
troo’ and star-spoked

‘venge-ear christening, wan-
at-point, fatalistic and, knit-wet drapery:

weight-baited, aqua-
translucent to this diaphanous, distilled day-

space to bane-wending, but
weather-bound by a harsh o’ lil’ delivered

quarter-grape, if fool,
venus surprise…

O august high!

O knuckle-bragged and bothering!

O august sky!

O crustaceous wavering in the southern.

O august high.

O boweavil serengeti states.

O august sky!

O parchment above a wily-stilted scorch!

O august high!

O fear-comin’ nothern gaseous giants!

O august sky!


Of Roth
Of Bellow
Of Malamud and Cahan

Of Singer,
Of Yezierska
Of Roth again
but not Agnon

Of that two-toned voice internal
Blushed free of warders cruel
Under slanted banner glory
Starred brick in dangled duel

Of hairy rooftop laughter
Raining tenement charades
Scream-stung single typists
Burping seltzered serenades

Of corned beef thin wax paper
Rye seed in held breasts full
Neon beaks point sensing
At grayed hung tongues of bull

Of cooper roads cracked shining
Two broken teeth for litter
Through pungent bloomer alleys
Favoured wizened tears too bitter

Of squat chairs chipped and filthy
Beaten heirs of litany swept
Out dolorous pitted windows
Harsh laments unspoken leapt

They did shout! They did shout!
Melting a nickel’s worth of words
Afoot in maritime spent medicine
Unfurling lungs up into birds


A wanton, foul, bee-pecked sage
light scream layed on bedouin stage

Lingered-in lines, absenting age
as his divided self grew worn

With supine shine he did freckly dote
on half-a-hungry greenback note

Unwashed her soiled bearskin coat
where his first full form was torn

It blew up fast his balloon score
a crone-sold rot for verbal core

He sat down first, a sanded bore
denied the East blown horn

Now empty while once complete
on filial feet so slappy sweet

His loose name showers down the street
and we’ve left that fur all shorn