slugging and chortling all infinite and lax
leaning back on monobloc chairs—
  
some borrowed courage    some borrowed reflex       some leased home
to a figure shadowboxing     in stereophonic eclipsing  volume

         sentimental love song,  some humdrum alchemy    of ale and whiskey,
   feeding us with lies straight to our
fallible ears      as guava and atis whiplash     in inebriated sensurround
of     playful mirth and feelingfulness

   toppling the signs     painting the avatars    incarnadine with black-wounds
again the music     rending the vale
   lying straight to the face something the
heart still is— gears and clash-work
     of    analog deceit  and fecund belief;

some permutation of early, imagined
     falling     into fledgling    beats of
pining softly dancing     in echoing beds
    watch this twitch of my finger
meets to cigarette ember afloat
   in verdure-jazz, lunar offspring of the

tubular     deadbeat  —   crossing this
   side of strife-torn  street,   hopscotch
     in staccato. i believe there is rescue
in here     somewhere as a tricycle blares
   its rapacious   orchestra of metal
underneath the makeshift moon,
  
    why, it is   so much better    to burn out
than    fade away, the song lying
  again     straight to our disgusted faces.