CROOKS
                                               
                                              Crooks with brass knuckles in
                                              one hand and blackjacks in the other
                                              carried lead-lined coffins on their
                                              shoulders through the alley below
                                              chanting in unison. The wind swept a
                                              green hat off one head and onto another.
                                              Off in the distance a poet is
                                              shot with a camera and left with some
                                              liquor and told to demand more from
                                              the atomic clock. All-out on all fronts,
                                              he wrote this all down in the margin.
                                              Blue and green marbles for eyes
                                              with black specs he was a scholar lost
                                              in the stacks he found a volume that
                                              called for quick measures. The clutch
                                              popped, the tires screeched. The bike
                                              sped away and they gave a good chase,
                                              but they lost him.