Extricate, but not too much,
unfaithful digger of concordances,
let be the whole tasty clutch of it, rhyme
of I’m, not, awake,
child,
bequeathing willow trees beside a stream.
Not only old ravines
but Euclid Avenue,
my first escalator (Hal-ease Department Store)
were woven in the mat where sat the cat.
I say Department, was a sexual story
because Mother’s store it was, her bailiwick,
father absent in a void called “Work.”
Precarious. Don’t try get it all in. Bailey’s
was another tasty store, such glitterglass.
And later learned that testicles was store,
alaya-vijnana.
O dark dirty Cleveland, the Viking Club, the mysteries!
All I want is loving you and blank-blank blank-blank blank-blank
It’s only unmentionable because there’s no end to chasing it
the tale of it and you and sustenance.
Hundreds are fleeing, but not hurricanes.
Violets, I always brought her wild violets in spring.
Breathless romanzas secret in the Flats.
Percolate the spiderwebs.
Not what you expected, eh?
I could bite you back, you furry thing, but you’d never understand.
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