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I was supposed to go home
Tomorrow, but I changed
My mind because it was all
Too shaky for such dubious
Claims to stardom and release.
I'll turn twenty-one in prison,
But who's got the parole for my next?
Freak speaks and then is busted
And sent to the tanks. Can one
Spring the monocular past
Their stilted triumph built on
Bodies and time shredded
Into compact and easily digestible
Numeral form so that they
Can fool themselves into
Smug sleep behind their props?
A johnnykin splits scarlet
Down the hairline and the part
Throbs to the pitching wail.
Spectacular contortions arrested
By careful slystones jump
Incredible through their port
Or safety to callous mesas
Upon which they perform rites
To an everlasting saint
Whose name they do not know.
The heat chuckles and clocks
For further gains so that
Interest can be eluded
And frostchains be put
On the gristlayer's sons.
Some closed their eyes when
They charged in Chicago, and
Sprayed at Kent and My Lai.
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