when it was now,
bacon and books,
jumping the turnstile of the six
rumbler
without looks;
my chest cracks
for fuck's sake.
the silver silver eye moves
like fish
on ceilings.
life is the hidden land of change
and decay.
quote alone
in the long ramble
of a full autumn day.
alas,
hummingbird, going,
you're the only one
who can fly backward.
musing on my poetic countenance
while constables on patrol are in the rumbling subway,
this day's poem comes to an end,
while I still
have to pick up beer, pickled beets, and toilet paper.
when it was now,
I am not mirth for talking, good good nights.
suddenly is a good word suddenly.