Gotten quiet in my life
this night of lies unraveled
by cool quiet air and soup
as you have to eat somethin'

lined up buttercups signal
yesterday's rain was good and filling
and that face that face that launches
this emptiness hovers outside contact

i've got the genre wrong again
i'm dressed for a different role
it's a comedy of manners
no killing called for

they work me out of their story
in this version of the industry of me
in the pressure cooker soup thickens
into tonight's repast of too much

garlic, onion, fresh basil, garden tomatoes
put together with a little salt
cannot be wrong in any verse
this scripted and re-scripted acceptance

and patience for ships on the horizon
the bleeding edges finding of a cure
for how small your acceptance orifice
passes syllables and synonyms north

so eye could find coherence with something
that isn't alcohol and nerveless solitude
as denouements play every hour in the background
before credits roll up the screen