Parabola depicting
the syringe
and the clay
A sketchy schematic
as drawn up
this way
Such embittered juice
leaving lascivious
sentience
In infundibular ooze
of near hapless
evidence
Third Base
O and I don’t know,
the lonely bookstore poet
is no different
than the loneliest
of all
(who came before?)
interrogating pro-
nouns
played
pepper
as routine.
Gelt
A penny to escape our hidtory
Only penny
he didn’t have
forgotten nerve
to tell This man his
little girl
back of me ending
the line
relieved And were right
on
schedule for
our dark corner’s
hurried
departure