the gas line is leaking, the bird is out of the
cage, the skyline is dotted with vultures;
Benny got off the stuff and Betty got a job
as a waitress.
the chimney sweep was quite delicate and
giggled up through the
soot.
I walked miles through the city and saw
nothing as a giant claw ate at my
stomach and the inside of my head felt
airy as if I were about to go
mad.
it's not so much that nothing means
anything but more that it keeps meaning
nothing,
there's no release, just gurus and self-
appointed gods and hucksters, stupid
intellectuals.
the more people say, the less there is
to say.
even the best books are dry sawdust to
the brain.
I watch the boxing matches and take
notes on futility.
the gate springs open again
and there are the beautiful silks riding
against the sky.
such a sadness: everything trying to break through into
blossom.
everyday should be a miracle instead
of a machination.