If one stops to rest he and she must rot
at the end of a long trail which rose by the sharp morning
sun a dead buck
charles baudelaire came by it and took a knee, everrhe
the woodsman, perfumed and gripping a cane wrought with knots
stared lovingly at the maggots that write out of the beasts'
head and body, and beautiful spindly legs like the
broken table on the wall of the white garage,
up in new paltz now, no longer french man that wipes a clock and other
gidgets with a rusty colored rag, sells me an antique lighter, 7 for it,
5 I offered, if he had butane, but he hadn't
not the right kind, anyway,
there within the cluttered attic I slouched and saw many
things of waste, circus glass that she collects, the sister
by god the ugli ness of it all, and made offers, and consulted me
on Chinese haggling skills
I gave her the full course in less than three minutes
and she made off with a fair deal.
and the youngin, the g irl much like beb, but smaller
sat and watched her father preside over this golden hill
avoided the notice of the playboys and cassettes
that i noticed
and picked up an ol straight razor,
whatcha got there, boy?not much!
just a few whsikers at a glance and I thought
boy?
well it was rude and off I made with the japanese made lighter
and gave it to Sean who doesn't use it now in LA
it's jumpin' I told her, no frowns, from Monday
if you'd believe in the spoon thats being held
flats meh'd it at me,
(not to be includeed!)
she was damn hungee
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