1535

A POEM CALLED STOLEN

My slowest deeps,
The quacking
Of a firm element
In an hour otherwise
Judgment take,
Now the starshine
Bliss. I took the sled
Down the hill and brought
The light to an
Accelerator. It hurt
Me to let that lack
Of weight mean
Anything
For the fog gringos
Who "lord it"
Over the paystub mob.
Ne'ertheless, I
Smoked and smoked
Until the latin
For two-timer
Came back to me.