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March 17, 2010
In Cleveland, the smoke stacks face upward
spewing the lactic acid of these States; pushing
what’s left of what’s left onward and onward:
buying more Browns tickets when we all know the
“outcome”, if that’s what you want to call it.
It’s St. Patrick’s Day, but St. John’s is a Christmas Tree
and from the window, the kicked-over anthill moves slower
than you’d think-the sewers steaming-the statues staring-
And I love every minute of every hour.
I do wonder though:
Will the bones ever break?

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