She talks with a hand
over her mouth, assuming
we want to listen.
☯
Sweet Christmas candle,
I’m too anxious about fire
to leave you burning.
☯
Splatters of the rain
I imagine huge duck feet
slapping the brickwork.
☯
The fear in my eyes
reflects only what I feel
coming off of you.
☯
Scratched Lotto tickets
damp only slightly from piss
on the men’s room floor.
☯
Sunshine on my should–
oops, that’s too many sylla-
can’t blame me for try–
☯
Blunt: “Are you kidding?”
curse from the bus turning right
onto Virginia
☯
The dandelions
poking through library grass
are sometimes just that.
☯
My nails, long enough
for cutting again–crap stuck
under sharp edges.
☯
Two Ave Rat hipsters
barking at their blond(e) toddler
should I call police?
☯
“Morning, Morning”–
I don’t even like the Fugs,
but they drown the street.
☯
The piss and fish smells
mingle, invisible cloud
east side of Brooklyn.
☯
The torn plastic bag
beside the television
has its place in things.
☯
Cinco de Mayo
eleven days gone; streamers
still wave in a breeze.
