From Qeshlaq-e Chukhli Quyi Bahadruhamat to Abraham's Woods
(Tom Brown's Schooldays)
William Bleakes' Wind on the Water at Guishan Island
or Telladevarapalli struck by 13424 Margalida
heard in the Somam Rural District by The Monk
So now Minister Samuel Shaw watches Nakshatratharattu
and eats Beef shank taking Action Against Medical Accidents

Fire questions to the sky
so many bullets rain back down
Cruelty abound by the bookstore in town
Where skagheads rob ragheads and laugh
back to broken scuttle-bug alleys and rain
the pain
I hope your age doesn't enrage you
or I hope the town doesn't become you
Burn all your Matterhorn replica symmetrical dreams
guard all bars by the backdoor sullied sweethearts
the ally of your ally is an enemy of somebody's enemy
but the enemy of that enemy is a friend of the state

Liquid LSD spilt on the raptured structures of this ***-
King city and the all encompassing simultaneous trip
is only the perception of reality we're made to endure
the title you hold is a roll of paper by the door
and we burned them all for heat when the powers that be
rolled over you and me

a special kind of succinct sadness
toil the night long, until day breaks
and eyes water in mourning windy gusts
the river froze over, lose control of you
carried over thresholds in collapsed houses
feeding into tributaries of the soul
through the trees that kiss the sky
or past placid cars in aluminum nooses
needing more

but no end.

Acrid acid in the veins
                       perfect storms over rear horizons
                       She kisses trees in desolate parks
              and wanders down the city light parades
                      alone
                          Oh, yearly comes the fair
                                         or the rains
                  or that special way in which the city sleeps
               Falling diphtheritic on swollen grounds
                       and rolling around
                           doing rounds
        shooting all these fantastical clowns
                            Ah, to die
                                              ah to die

Words meander alabaster wanderers no rhythm for the panderer
Poetic evangelists sliding on the bannister, siding with a barrister
Space flown canister or crushing apples after Alistair
Prose left with the carrier, roses left in the carriages
Verse burst from the hearse serenade the ears and it'll carry ya
The skies are full of lies from the savages and the miracles
of marriages
But this disparages the ties between the higher dyes of oranges
These tobacco stained nostalgia skies are going away someday
to read the words of de Vries, mystique of poetic compromise
The only poems worth reading are the ones behind her eyes