Oh if you hadn’t told me this
I never would’ve guessed
That there’s life around me and people amess
on those streets where singing empties the machine heads
and equity, so bare like frail paper cuts in bits of glares.
The arsons are botched and laughter so rare.
And it has this cokehead mindset inside –
that you must look for what’s next.
Repeat, and repeat, and leap onto the next step.
Because Paris is gone, her touch is lost, and wheeling
is all there is.
Aliens ascending for the role and TVs on display for the sole
reason to be here. I am here. In the lesser gestures,
in the flesh of false tunes ringing and ringing
like a telephone booth in the rain.
My heartfelt fantasies, my gospels and plaisirs,
vicissitudes of fortune that leave me on hold,
ever so waiting for action. Alas, no combat is near
and the life around me is a mess filled with songs
echoing the gears of machine heads like humans moaning sounds of despair.