the crow…

the crow speaks to me again  tells me
who is going to quit next  bail out
punchcard  saladfork in hand
parachute and all

a little bird tells me that the
late chinaski is up to no good again
touring the supermarkets
with ginsberg et alii

telling the world that reading pommes
de terre (all sizes  out loud is mau
vais ton  as if tone had anything
to do with anything

clever wordplay  why don't all the
greats stop whining about the f(ine
art  and blow their brains out

yeah  old hunter s. knew what he was
talking about  cradle to the grave
with the same stainlesssteel grin
knowing every phoneme in the world

being able to name everything  sight
unsound  sight unseen  is still
not enough to tell the time
or the place  or the silence