We are the bearded men in union halls
grown tired of the world as it seems.
Until our demands are met,
there can be no more search for truth.

We’ve grown tired of the world as it seems
from folding chairs in union halls.
There will be no search for truth—
we’ll gaze at our navels and curse.

From folding chairs in union halls
we shall pontificate our malcontent.
We shall gaze at our navels and curse
these indelible holes in the Real.

We shall pontificate our malcontent
at the crack in the wood-paneled wall
that indelible hole in the Real—
it must be filled!

The electric moon in the wall
streams in seductions of blue shadows.
It must be filled!
we cry.

The seductions of electric moonlight
make thinking difficult.
We cry,
but the tears only make un-forgetting harder.

Thinking has become more difficult
with each failed arbitration.
Un-forgetting’s so much harder
when forgetting pays the bills.

All arbitration has failed and
our demands remain unmet.
So long as forgetting pays the bills,
we shall be the tired beards in union halls.