All the beauty of grammar school

who is it could know me?
                 clothes melting away

what an effort to put into decorum

decorations are seasonally lost oblique--
statues?

      stride upon the cracked street system,

home and how many many godly rivers flow
                 invisibly
                                 under our feet

much life is buried under toe.

what a life for ants
                   the finite spiral down
                                        towards mathematical
conceit.

if we could only run the numbers of truth
for monetary gain
                               on the lam from the
cosmic bookie for all time

gamble with beautiful equations
as star ending constellations
hidden from our sight

pulled down to great earth
from the wretched heavens.

Crossing Streets in Winter Time I Caught a Glimpse

Cheap months october-november-december
uncapitalized diagonal streets dirty pavement
and blinking white frozen in-stride man, he's bald
I guess, without future but--
like everyone of us crossing the street
to our ululating white-washed horror destinations
holding our ears; the truth on the crisp lines shouting,
We've all had enough, since that first squelched cry
that immortal cry reaching back into super-nova-blitzkrieg-time
the first lament--
life leads everywhere leads everything hands everyone- pretty faced girls
and sober boys summer lushed by midnight fragrant airs-
silent oblivion...ob- obliv- oblivions-

I write it all the same