moving crosstown cos i've got problems
and took disconnected trains
i told him on paper that i craved schulyer's raindrops
in chelsea, panging
for artistry of modern,
early twentieth century, american,
and i am drying
bottles of furikake in dark oak cases,
thin glass, the windows panes are chipping at the frame,
bracques' neighbor, 'beginning' spins,
they've moved the prescription from october, and a painting,
leaving tanguy's fogginess, i shake
a sob, it is a baby in the museum, i go
with my migraine, sneezing loudly, the rain
has caught me in my flimsy winter coat in may.
