A bottle of ebullience
Guzzled in a life-raft
Slakes the nightmares of thirst.

So much for the blare about them.
Jesus, if truth were as easy
As fine-tuning atop Mount Washington,
You could pick up nonchalance on five bands.

I’ll bet you this rumpled dollar
In my pocket that a hole will arise,
That rocks, perched on ledges, will fall
To the tracks I slept by last night

Or Wall Street.