Friday, December 24, 2010

2051. OK, NO LIMITS NO KIDDING

OK, NO LIMITS NO KIDDING
You are looking bad, you are starting to look crazy;
losing limits, running ragged. The decal on your
fencepost no longer says 'Welcome to the Homeland'.
Now it reeks of anger instead : so far and so vast,
like a Plains Indian seeking his revenge. The
fixed star in your little manger has fallen away,
the Maypole of Merriment, a certain smallpox
has destroyed. These girls, these girls you harbor,
they are legion'd now with the very Devil himself.
Salem Witch Trials, for them are just a prelude;
they're having crazy sex beneath your staircase.
Behind that door, I swear, a fortnight ago I saw
General Custer leading his horse. And the crazy
band behind him, as if leading the charge, still
played 'Barbara Allen'. But I felt then too,
deep at the well inside me, that there really,
really, really, was nowhere to go at all
(and such emphasis leaves me bare).

No comments: