fast track

jesus christ
the horses again
I mean I said I’d never bet the horses
again
what am I doing standing out here
betting the horses?
anybody can get into a racetrack
not everybody can get   into Jacqueline’s panties
or write a sonnet…
the racetrack crowd is the lowest of the breed
thinking their brains can beat the
15 percent take…
what  am I doing here?
if my publisher knew I was blowing my royalties,
and there are those guys in San Diego
and the one in Detroit who sent bits of money
(a couple of fives and a ten)
and the collector in Jerome, Arizona
who paid me for some paintings,
jesus christ
I don’t have a chance
did Vallejo, Lorca and
Shelley have to got through
this?
I drink some of the scotch and
water and think,
the proper admixture of the woman and the poem
is the infinite Art.
then I look down at my
Racing Form.