to a harmful train and spring snow, the cable breaks, it's a long swing straight
down before the clap and jaw, venture, ply, carapace crushed under breath
a jutted loan from eaves and masonry, what of the sharp pains, hot needs
and canaries, aquarium settlements, holes drilled, waiting on an estimate
clawed, the hook teeth, the cogs, terrapin moccasins on the turtledove
flitter, flutter, jam, out of patience at last, don't let the press know
I demand satisfaction, I'm running low, the snapping crawl is all
I can manage to exile from the dream-glean.
Exiled as they were through the mail slot to infinity
or the vacuum of a black hole's eternity, I mean
callously they remained, growing insane by the day
then the hour, and because there was no maximum
occupancy, their density engaged the mass criticism
and briefly all was well in Roswell
but we were in Winslow eating the land crab at a bottle bar
later we woke in Wellington, in a cold sweat, unable to enjoy the Wellesley's
founding company, or the family silverful pockets I love to hate plentiful
it was late in any state and it was a sleeping winter bear
that skated to the stereo to play the album neither
of us cared to listen to these days, what with air
and light speed, traitors, benefactors, Cajuns, transistors
sequels to unfinished treatments and media arts facilities at big universities
the tattered brawn, the liquid lawn, the cavernous yawn
all the anger in that young man's heart
left to seed in a long stare at the TV
fifty years ago: TV set; blue jeans
now: television, as distinct from internet
and jeans, with every color available, are not distinguished but from fabric
and drapery should have been standard curriculum
foundered, floundered what with mud, muck of this town
how many voices are littering this iron core machine of god
bring me virus and calamitous, all tenses tween and twixt
nothing left with which to write all this, mandrake spawning frowns
oh Lawd! the girls are gone growed up and gone, the brown river
flooding lawns across the divide, an envelope bust with anthrax
a cagey Samuel thumped and buried breathing beneath the hutch
hippies hiding in cupboards, singalonging clapping hands
and frantics in need of dickings and laments.
Lamentations, hold my prick with both hands
it's the setting sun of the backwards clown, spotted
and the dawn of the age of verity, lack of vice and clarity
of mission, condition, I'd like to open the floor to human sacrifice
I'd like to buy a trowel, resolve the kerfuffle, carve up Vanna White
just because her last name is White, which gives me the creeps
like the white-haired lightning kids I once knew in school
verve and pilot moxie streaming down towers on rope
lunging the spear through the pig in a poke to squeal, sq-sq-squeal
and the answer key was coded in the tablature of aspiration
hopes and all that shit, and even if it worked out for you
and what I'm hearing is that it certainly did not
nothing has changed, certainly not you and her larva
stuck in a genius mix called progressive house, the tavern's out
of the question, clip-clapping wooden floorboards, rarities, gas heating
window-glass hairlined with crack, candle-flame
candelabra, penumbra, numismatic shadow
you can't finish what you start, and did't die
lyrics and despair are still making a mint
a Monday testament to early mornings
and hard work, campus fires burning in dorms
the wheelchairist is so modest for not coming down
waving ostentatiously from the pillory room
giving up so soon?
Breathing a sadistic gasp of pain-spite and taunting
gimpless missing the masochist with limp wrists
what of the sandals, the leather and pliers
why are the acoustics so austere and parliamentary
representatives misrepresenting resentment
pigeons for my cabal of plotting ledges
curb-loitering crows menacing hedges
tell me more about reality's ultimate intransigence
homework was a gas, and now it's time to give up visions
or acting on them, everyone wants to be heard
and nobody wants to hear, not me, not no more
"HURRY UP PLEASE, IT'S TIME"
and the widow's wig is filthy, what else, the dentures dry
hasn't eaten since Bobby Sands died, but his mural is alive
and that's more life being given and kept around
than what's here, looking back at you
we've thrown away the parameters, right place
wrong time tell me about it, his clothes in your closet
"HURRY UP PLEASE, IT'S TIME"
lint remover in the toilet, boxes full of porn
cat runs and coke dust, spoons of bubbling water
the table spotted with distrust and regretful egrets
cotton slaw of colby cheese on the baconator crumble
odds and ends of dish trends hotter than a rumble
in Ballygawley during the drunkest depressing summer ever
streets running blood red, the deluge better lead to something
"HURRY UP PLEASE, IT'S TIME"
not gonna do it, wouldn't be prudent, dislike the capitol too
recapitulated in the sleazy slumber of hooker love
from the sewers and strewn, the burden of me and you
"HURRY UP PLEASE, IT'S TIME"
an everlasting confoundedness regarding the arid plains
the drained pool, the carbon trash, the badlands
"HURRY UP PLEASE, IT'S TIME"
and before it ends peacefully and on time
"HURRY UP PLEASE, IT'S TIME"
it will skip, stop, seize, cease, and die
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