Once if only alone on the bus ozone or softly a woman

And my arms on her polished railing

Slipped as the governor on the edge of a paper heart a demon.

All I remember is the pale edge of her cross ball-point pen.

She was late and ate lard. So much for the golden medal against a new breast

The flat moon sitting on the train

At last solemn the log flume the log jam

Or if and in Paris I slept in the rustling leaves

Outside of sick-houses. I was singing under pig doors

The cats passing furtively

The ghost of an ear, or, you wrote me well, a post-card in which you’d burned yourself with hot cheeses. The goat

That followed us reluctantly to church

Was suddenly an intimate in the minister’s cabinet. In the library

She lifted up her skirts the moon passing before the sun midday we toasted it with a bottle of claret

Or did you were you the letter-carrier? I’m sorry, ailing singing your postage so expensive but my letters won’t arrive

Only my radiant heat-lamp gets to you. Spring

For you. Clear and joyous so explains the fanfare the trumpets

In the morning jamming your toast or are you is you Lancelot

Your one simple letter on the subject a treatise on bananas a letter they sell oddly at market

And I smack my lips pa-pa. All you are is some lucky nights

Where an infant becomes an auto-mechanic or a wheat hombre. A world

Where your family has rosy cheeks & rosies their cheeks

And she her ship has already long ago come into port. Days ago.

A long time ago. The cashier old moaner in a cave or salt mine or a secret

Poor angel sea-shell she is singing your letter cries out

“Who has never broken their nose on this-here bus, a curtain

And for you always a long line at the supermarket with several sorry quail’s eggs in safari pants

Find themselves trafficking in isn’t it a Coney Island underwater train

That’s harder than sitting through having to meet your girl’s entire family for the first time on the balcony at church

And if only that was like a trip to the dentist.

Already if the soused dancers fall on me or unlock my refridge with a panicked sea-plane

Coon show magicians open pigs for barbiturates

Whose still-beating hearts soak all monies in the East

Before the circus tent falls in on its own cracked spine or rural boat shoes brought to tea

As a gift to the poor for eternity!”

I have often evoked a moon a jay bird sitting in a lawn chair comfortable

As if Lancelot was any match for tennis pros. But looky here, guerrilla warrior,

Tennis pros come with all my fer instances or wheat men push the railroad engine into church and past the pews

To the confessional. All I’m asking for is cover fire. Hide me Rick, you must hide me.