My Gardened Verity

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