—I’M GETTING USED TO THESE DIZZY SPELLS

sort of

it’s a harsh day

living in a

puppet country

where that man shouts (…)

and this man shoots (…)

and it never stops

the smoking lightning

on staccato repeat

you gotta love a snuff film

where everyone’s accredited

you gotta love the weeds

coming up crooked

in your own cracked eyes

and me I’m

spending all my

hours drinking

contaminated proof

the kind from

gum-dry Mexico

it’ll get me drunk enough

or dead enough

to not be anyone

anymore

who cares

I guess I care

yeah I do

sort of I do

but I can’t figure out

why the trees won’t

lend a hand

the owls in them

some wisdom

even the raccoons

are wearing Kevlar

while on Pike Street

they’re painting

over over

over and over

and over

on your street

the blood might not

be dry or bled yet

and I get

the feeling we’re

at war with our

own clogged ancestry

and mysteries

if only I

knew you

and you

knew me better

but no here

we go again ha

it’s a steep fall

we’re all gonna spill

with no cushion

to catch us

no plaintiff willing

to make a case