'as a saint

  like a saint with a ny twisted thumb your mouth's grimace is grimoire to
the overbearing pulse ofa god burning thieves with fire and humdinger
to one single truth   ~ the forfeit fire burning at your feet
   tinder, timber, a clasping ash creates passage to your lent spent through
your trusted servant the little devil with his eye in a poke


or say a cheap tale of four rooms one with the dead Indian, the other crammed
  with imitation Shakespeares, rough ditties, nudes boxing shadow  upon shadow,
  shared windpipes, invasions, and evasions beyond repairing, a city absent of
  dead angels



like any saint witha  twisted tonsure you thrust the needle through your thumb or
 this bastard with his boat in London living the bigshot life while fellows in the college
starve or half starve while he gets the best capitalism has to offer a hidalgo of
   shit, you know, diamonds, furs, chrome plated sideboards, gleaming dishes,
and  babe after babe of whatever gender a particular lust  and moment requires


 the last thing anyone wants to see is a man riding an ibis!
  riding a bicycle in his bed!