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.