Maybe Now, They’ll Know Your Name
The cigarette goes out.
Crushed into the couch, the smell not recognized or nixed.
We’re coming swiftly to a new eclipse,
and fueling flames that jive and spook us where we stand.
Ma looks at you, and tilts...
Her tits hang like pendulums,
and beg a comeuppance from your bitter pill
you’ve been shopping around the block.
Your swiss cheese flowers
up upon her sill have ceased to entertain old notions...
To think that all of this treasure
you tried to pertinaciously achieve,
while “Fuck You’s” dance above the pleasant breeze
and on the people’s backs and fists
as they plunge through clouds of darkness
striking out at the abyss in heated bouts that last whole mornings,
’til they spill into late eve.
Tomorrow we’ll most likely drain
of all remembered colour,
but for now you throw the covers back, and shoot with fury into the crowd.
...Wonder when they’ll say your name out loud...
Or if the echoes really made them clean,
and borrowed time
like angry clumps of sand and ash
to be stored for future violences,
when the shit is really flying high
where preternatural curtains dance...
Maybe now they’ll know,
but I’ve regressed beyond the panic,
and the pageantry
of your display...
A desperate act that begs for eyes to pause
I really daren’t stay through the whole act,
today, tomorrow, or at all...
I’ve pledged my heart beyond the borders,
as my legs and arms are useless boulders...
Best to lift me
off your shoulders,
and expose raw cheeks to wind...