a drizzle of homesickness
on a moonless night wets the leaves
fallen on the lawn as i stand quoting
Blake and spouting my bodily distillations
at Gravity and all thoughts of gloom:
what a long sentence to be caught in!

in the morning i shall voluntarily
turn myself in, riding blankly up the elevator
to nothing better than work: disturbed by
vague feelings of self-reproach, helpless
like the rest of humanity, respectably employed

every time i look out the window from a room
full of fluorescent despair, i wish i was a tree;
even a dog mangy and hungry seems to me nobler
than my own self-inflicted half-being: there must
be a way of willng my life into sunshine and joy

religions file in for examination and so far
every one of them has failed;
another way of looking at it might be
that it is the failure of the examiner
within me that prevents successful singing:
hung up on question marks!

politics is a moronic exercise
in mass misinformation and i want no part of it;
make me the government and i shall declare
each day holy: every night will be saturnalian
beyond your wildest wet dream!

a brand new typewriter hasn't made me write
any better; words continue to curdle in my
vocabular vesicle, coming out in lumps
digestible only intestinally by the colon
of cortex:

this is merely a record of apparent processes
necessary to the manufacture of brain cheese,
which isn't necessarily good for your mind,
though it works wonders for the constipated
conceptual thinker with a real estate problem

the drizzle has enlarged itself
into the wee hours: my head is empty like my bladder
and not a line of this drivel
has turned out the way the world might have
wanted it

i guess i'll never be good till i'm famous


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