tearthrough
I spend my days
digging myself
deeper
and deeper
into mounds of heaped newspaper
in which there is reason
but i won't tell you I don't know
I try to reconcile new advances on the electric forefront
with the trouble between "police and
"get on your knees
(a uniformed turn on is
after all just another turn of phrase like
easywayout
I envy my mice
insofar creatures can be owned
they follow my day and night
but whose manic designs do i follow
when the day comes
when all there is will mute
to a pale white paper wad
it just might be
the confessional poem will go the way
of the deeveedee
and I would slow down
worship a lesser god