A man who lies on the ground is incapable of falling
Soon the sun will rise
and i’ll don my face and apparel,
all too eager to greet the absentminded world,
unconcerned with my attendance.
i’ll return feigned smile with vague solicitude,
tip toe ‘round moldy vagrancy
bathed like excrement
in our collective contemptuous pity
perhaps i’ll even see your irksome face
and tell all who listen how truly lovely it was.
for everyone is trying to teach me something.
and at breakfast,
i’ll ingest some drugged and processed cardboard,
while listening, through crackling cvs headphones
to progressions, 4 of them,
bouncing to computer-genericised rhythms
if i’m lucky
(and i’m always lucky)
i’ll sing a bit myself.
nothing too loud,
but Mother, far away, will smile.
no Maya, not for Freedom,
but simply for a nicer Cage
and when i get home,
i will torture myself
with surreptitious delights,
virtual venom poured
upon cancer craving eyelids
glued shut, canvas for expressions
of interest and illumination.
i’ll pump liquor down my throat,
inhale deep smudgy grays,
i’ll do it all with you
we’ll call it fun.