I GIVE A HEARTBEAT TO THE WEATHER

I GIVE A HEARTBEAT TO THE WEATHER


And, in return, it keeps me grounded, overlooking my smithereens. To be happy would require an Esmeralda under my umbrella. For this continuous being out of sorts there is nothing but Ocean Spray.

It wasn’t always like this. I had a tennis ball once. A greenness and a bounce. Everything was mythological. Dem Bums versus The Giants. In a broken down coliseum bordering Flatbush Ave.

That’s why every hot dog tastes frisky. Even when the precip. is schizophrenic. And the long range forecast is full of arthritis. Show me what you can do with a paper clip.

We have but two choices here: Art or maggots. Raping the statutes, grape juice stains on my shirt, is all I have left. The dreams disturb the sleep so magnificently.

A clearance of throat, a gob of poetry.