Maybe I Am

Should see
the portrait-poet.

Would free an abortion.
(what a young schmuck lying)

“I am the scholar of the dark armchair.”

In safe. In
legal wait. What,

the Pharisees? Upon death.
Even now.

Could you not
condition? — that

of staying it risk-laden.
Fogless before one.

Guardian Angel’s back-alley
life. Broken wall-mirror

gasses an onerous
freeway thought.

Wired ingot
lots (in memory),

model reactionary,
I can leverage

the champion. This
supply of thirst and

still so rash?

Signor Beria is a boon. Beaten
at sport, choice as the

chilling pool. Assured.
I won’t slight

chance which every
paranoia(c) would

(to) house (to)
ration, or (to) field.