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
instead
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