When without a doubt
as the imagination can be
critical never doubtful in flight
the bleat of a dark sheep
beneath my hovel's distressed facade
coming through definite
from an otherwise at
that time of night empty
street with my name
some place under it's breath
someone or something
spelling somebody else wish to death.
Nope, I wasn't in fact stone dead
asleep three and a half
under that side of the AM
I was up actually reclined
to cold cock names of power despite
no moving water in evidence
above or lower the grail
of a wan headway moon instead
skimmed lost rivers
only glance my upper window sash
ushering in Saturn against each House,
then again while I pondered
Edgar Allan Poe besides
myself but most the mad girl down
Spring Garden Avenue prey to night
mares venting steam grates
on disembodied fears
jacked up the broken battlements
of tenement squares
relieved by palsy white
blotched vortex of the blood
sucking autonomic,
the neon-liberal gentrified right.
Life is better every time
than say car exhaust this way or
that just being driven away from it all
went out swinging head held
high as the eyes of Poe in that
Federalist daguerreotype period
all up and over the pitfalls
rude boy dogged the take
upon verily condemned masonry
second sands fell as he was
being born to wood awake,
come to the surface and make
us a demon in your image
beneath the mirror of the gutter
black ice sharply focuses vengeance.
1.19.09, PHILADELPHIA
BAGDADADELPHIA CITY PAPER'S INSULTING OP ED, DERIVE
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