50. pterrible

 

genetic mutation | southern organ transplantation life

dewy decimal schism | the rapidity of rapacity

it is good to remind us | we have come here to die

small wisps of clouds | growing into storms

the road to the north is narrow | so treacherous

it is the only route we can take | home

keep your hands to yourself | and your feet in place

this is no way to run a country | the gibbons have fled

so the empire will fall | we come to this hallowed place

the ruins of our country | to count the cigarette butts

yet we find a small piece of grass | no-one has killed

my voice is extemporaneous | because I have just found it myself

see how a ray of sunlight | cuts through the cloud

we call this providence | my son | for we do not know what it means

testament sans testes means nothing | righteous are the dead

when they paint away the lines on the street | they did cry once

I knew a clown | but not for long

there | do you hear it? | listen

that’s the sound of a country dying | one by one

we do not mourn the dead | for they outnumber us

 

ebullient despair | cohesive disparities

we run from the past | because the future is blank

do you remember the night | outside the clock museum?

is time just ticking | or is it ticking down

the moral of the story is | never believe in morality

marble skin | alabaster hair

we each discard | the skin we no longer need

until we eventually become | a person wholly replaced

excreta and | discardum

we wait to lose | because we are not anxious for failure

the distaff sex | and the shape of her nose

do not allow decrepitude | to slow your departure

it was good to see you | but was it necessary?

yes we are running out of time | but not out of wait

take this handful of sand | and hold it in your mouth

concern for carcasses | disregard for death

every eye sees everything | but itself

wait for the drums | they are quiet but harrowing

is it time to go? | are you sure?

the last thing you should do is | coincidentally what you are doing now

 

ragtime | at the bull fight

I cannot push myself any farther | so you must pull me

what you forgot | you can easily remember

whenever it will hurt someone | the most

during my life | I have always fallen asleep just after the trailers

I don’t know what happened | but I know how

if you cannot give me a hand | can you at least give me a handle?

you can call me | missing person

please sing any song | you do not enjoy

ricocheting ideas about | stable realities

mostly in the tropics | mostly at sea level

my source for memories of my life | are cartoons from the forties

can you answer this with a question?

tourniquet | tight

the blood won’t flow | the brain shuts off

dreaming is the prequel | to death

I hope so | Banquo

there are reasons for this | you cannot understand

trust | but terrify

do you follow | it?