found
in a sewer, a ghetto, or Beverly Hills. I admire her wit, her guts, her words
meaning four dimensions.
I
get closer, lost in mazes, a grand shrubbery, the tip of the top.
hit
with life, a problem, I adjusted, many left weary, angry, panda carpet.
Monet
pains, lethal affectation, her grip, her depth, I feel like a hermit, pleading,
begging—if to sit atop a roof, a gage in hand, taking a picture—
so
much aloof powders, so caged for redemption, it requires so much to be holy.
in-for-out,
skating like kings, traveling to New Orleans; a fret, a fool, a man robbed
Jesus!
I’ve
never had one, not in dreams, they ride my ass, for the thought becoming life.
heading
to the dentist, met something exotic, we never would—sitting in temptation,
laughing like old friends, making miracle, to head home.
so
near to bridges, so frank in demons, so dark in countenance;
magic
mic, mystic majors, so tight in a game—like dice, hit four sevens, two nines,
one ten to four.
looking
with projection, I made make-believe, she’s a happy wife, a grand cook, I haven’t
seen a damn thing.
