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•in  your world, your man with the addiction rules • he's
all fists with a mind of a hundred mules• daily he takes
to the bottle • then  atte      ntion to you, he asserts
his ugly mettle•i know        he is pummelling you
out of your  senses•               you can't  hide your
  tears... and brui-                      ses behind those  


*darkened lenses•

oh i do not care
i refu
se
to be
behol
den
to conve
ntion

disco ball of sinew and blood
fished out of little snack box (insomnia chronicles)

watch the workmen work
in their glitter suits
and steel-capped boots
resolutely and arrogantly un-You

disco ball of feeling and rhythm
crawling out of tv screen (little samara says hello)

little wastebasket of hope
floats torpidly down muddy rivers
carrying crumpled paper from the control room
to a pockmarked sky

disco ball of muscle and valve
boiling in a coffee cup (every week the same burn)

ode to the sky and its thinning hair
and the pothole where i was found
by my mother
on the most expensive day of the year

disco ball of not much at all
spinning 'round in an empty hall.