yr daily ace
we have here thoughts
that remain
words working at peace
mysteriously conforming to the myth
which strokes
15th street
revealing all the wounded
healed
the sun spots gone
the pimps buying flowers
actually raising the bail
the hookers falling in love
with the poor
a random selection
vivifying the true block
that the clock is stopped
& who gives a fuck
in a war zone anyway
some do
they got their glasses on straight
watching the hourglass ass
twitch down the street's elbow
trumping the hustler's
refusal to be on time
affirming the art of flesh
meeting poured clothes
sashsaying to no fashion
standing there
as ambulances take away
knockout victims & victors
laughing pointing to no vision
whatsoever
we draw a deuce
& the ace walks by
meat rockin' in the heat
returning she lays on hands
over our eyes
waiting for the cards
to be put down
the heart to give up
the crawl home
broke & corrupt
to begin
but
we don't
rows of the damaged
diurnal an equinox for the men
they are equal as all things
built along the river
signs of dirt roped to livers
of those who fatal are many
fishing for thoughts to keep
them alive
out of sight of youth
nameless media scares
separating the lives of day
as moon gives eclipse to souls
foundering slow
as the mail is lost
the breath stops up
the words slash memories
of kiss tho sacred
mother of the child made hopeless
by bars the dust of iron
the rust of cots & boarded backs
money here never attained
with ease of muscle
so museum pieces tell us
when car flights lead
the weary to cities of dross
not given to attention
but anger & resolution for
clocks remaining still
caught in a place a refined glance
noticed as the nicotine veins
refract sudden the jag of drunker
yearning a tough submission
to contracts of religious impossibility
hues of which blue the music of mind
so anxious is the hostility
of the lit boulevards without order
the rows of the damaged
nerves vamping the face
the immobile eyes tearing smiles
quick stabs of disease
and tones of redemption
from prime earth/sky
the manner of equal parts
attained for blood skin
maintaining a thanks
whoresong
reed ah bobba and be nice
reeta anna be pretty good
and outside the door
they are fallin'
to the weight that makes
a pole alien
she laughs
give her the biggest
over & on the bench
a picture comes out
bathes in
a corridor of less sight
to which the bather walks
eating to the place
a supper gathers
around her
cleaning the bar / a lens gone
dusted and u can't see the picture
she thinks a scan will do
following her throat down
belly a blow
restricting all breath
she sees it in the air
hands around the breasts
squeezing the nipples
as the gun goes off
upsetting the do
slamming the guilt solid bleak tickets
of love after midnite
someone's sheet-shit
bed
knocking the manager down
