Two Searches for Something Else

1

The ghost of my grandmother dreams
of betting at the track –

and sipping out
of stenciled crystal
hypothermia-inducing
icy, gleaming ryes-and-sodas –

to help her

plan –
and cope –

deflect –
and dare.

2

My Host of Poetical Schemes
is threatening attack –

tipping his ballistic
juicy pencil
like a hypodermic:
Excise redeeming codas!

He yelps.                     

Abandon
hope!  

Reject
despair!




.