Glamorine

In time or out of time.

I am their lost star.
Their never be.

I’ll commit crimes
and live inside
this cocoon-like prism
of my own mind’s making.

Criminal, bewilder.

Arachnaid, tiny
smiley plaything.

Greenpoint Morning

The bus begins blocks away. Its awful
heart and then its body
comes to me.

Past the hotel, an engine of
men’s bodies, then their awful
grey-white souls,
the liver and spleens.

Drunk, they collapse
on the pavement and let
God love them
all over again.