From the heavens I was long ago sent
To Thunderbolt the Firmament
Several winters came and went
A human clotheshorse
Taught me to squeak—
Now my favourite word is “lozenge.”
The only humanity I’ve ever known
Dandelion pappus windblown
Under the underpass, tunnel & cone
Forty dead shareholders
Stacked in mutating ratcheted assembly
And the worst is still ahead of me…
The peopled gentry is—kith and kin—
Like a hammerhead shark
You tear open the belly and watch
All the grotty goods roll out.
The legendary Payola fiasco
The Count of Lautréamont
In his Green Nehru Jacket
Doing wheelies at the rundown mini-mall
Apprehending very strong that
There’s something troubling in the air, b’God…
It emboldened me that time
Back in I think ’65
When it took no time at all
To make poor William F. Buckley
So awfully goldarn angry at me.
One of the men who was to be counted
Among his pallbearers
Told me that former Yippie activist Jerry Rubin
Died doing what he loved the most (pause) jaywalking.
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