Pebbles of Desolation X
Beechnut gum from my tobacco pouch
dusts these pitiful pulp magazines. Ol’ Morley
waiting south to read, viewing southward,
the papers and pencils and the heights
wilt able in one day. My poor endeavoring
human desk at which I sit so often during
the day. I wave to all those snowy majesties.
Pebbles of Desolation XI
So I renege on some in Brooklyn.
The store he’s housed and got stuffed
curses to see him pulling endangerment,
her last agreed no more dead already.
My father is a dream, long said any them,
pale, he had it pinned to her last agreement,
her con mainstream in him. I had been
along to say anything from his bed
and some confidence to the street.
A gleam in the front goes off in the gray
darkness of the meat, but Ol’ Morley sees
his bed sleep and steak cold swirling.
The meat sheets around bareheaded
and wants a good stuck to their available.
We had become such a vague ephemeral
crowd that the down man hoped on our agreement,
in the night under a loin street. A gleam
has now completed its time butchering,
thin and pale, but our hands insulted in blue.
Pebbles of Desolation XIII
O haunted fools, we are you! Don’t swim
even a thousand miles away like a living message
to a long letter. I’m right there. Every minute
a thousand miles away for weeks. Don’t despair,
mountains. I’ll take cups of hardships, but I know
how I shall repay the saffron freezing in bondage.
I know how I shall ever haunt this world left alone,
swimming to my mother to come from the burning river.
Dumpster Fire Press 