Saturday, April 16, 2011

While Listing to Wire

was ever tale more told than this
tire iron by yon ditch of free press
when night shall reign to descend upon
thy the sleeping kid a la his ID
and stammer itself to junkies crest
twenty inches above the very tips
of ranting where ceaseless
color fractures by unnoticed
fed from thus and short nightied so
the sheets that wound the wits
that bound the feet to the red month
ramps, that the glory of the lark may be
awash, trashed
the name by which the approaches
simonize, beacons pattern lest they fail
to coalesce, the Right Rev. Billy Con
Carne bleed on this aeration, bless us
lore of a falling from one high
that proceeded by chance to Dreisers
steerage, low, driftwood
a blanket and a passenger left
still not so twas a nail from the Pequod
even to say Indians chant alas
this merry band needs none of it
encouragement, nary a score ago
and quite so underanswered
where the shoe rests merrily in the block
tepid, tis as the old removable Johnson quip
enduring as it endured calisthenics by the gross
why ever’d night, being so long, say only so long
as the tones on this the inside wrong pipe might
those once having bathed together never again
to see the mist on the heather with a strap-on
friend, mock them for they stutter so
to court you raw, but soft
an noble ass needs carrying to school