My arms, they are broken.
I cannot protect my children.
They stay up very late and wander
Through my streets filled with
Drugs and
cheap sacrifice.
The more I grow the more I learn
That bigger isn’t always better.
My heart beats with
The grooves and my hepkats who sit
In their
smoky coffee shops.
My language changes from second to second
And nothing comes in first anymore.
My visions are graffiti scribbled
On subway walls with magic markers.
My fears hide in every street kid and bird.
Both afraid of a collision with a
Pickup.
My darkness is glamorous.
My light is welcomed.
My nightlife is swinging.
It captures my many suburban gods
In their many urban underworlds
My artists are loud and militant but provided for.
Everyone is selling something.
My teens are divided by colour and shape, like pawns.
They play some adult game they shouldn’t be playing.
My mothers are tired.
My fathers are restless.
My sun rises and sets upon a million
Silent revolutions.
My murderers are handsome.
My cult leaders are clean shaven.
They live next door to everybody.
My summers are too short.
My spirit is dusty and allergic to pollen.
My hair is messy and tangled
But it's mine.
My mouth is sealed with contact cement
and airplane
glue my sons are sniffing
Under my bridges.
Super Saturday Lotto tickets
Swirl about my many sewers.
proudly bearing the
Wrong lucky numbers
My mind wanders down every alleyway
And downtown highway overpass
Where the wind howls -
cold and penetrating.
I watch over my rioters
And sleeping punk rock dolls.
And dream
A NIGHT OF FICTION.
?dream...