Out on the street last ((night)) with the moon shine
And Black Sabbath screaming into fragmentary space sacks;
A neon street gal sits atop the window sill
Of a cruising machine, swaying
To the frequency of a fist
Pumping in mimetic fashion atop the sallow wrist
To a fading drum beat
Strung out connecting him to her to all the
Lost, lonely people
Hiding like puzzle piece rejects in constructed sorrows.
That half-mast fist, combined with
Silence and
Unconscious churning tired and
Her gut pouring outward
(In hopes to retreat from its poisoned demigod master),
Assaulted my group on the street
With mad-cap laughter:
Are these kids the Revolution?
Neon-Gut and Silent-Half-Fist?
Let's not forget the chump on a tiny bicycle
Who yells (in perfect, precise timing following
Gut-and-fist procession):
'We're taking over these streets!'
Who are these misdirected trash-diggers?
Where are all of the prophets?
Dead like the pharoahs?
And Black Sabbath screaming into fragmentary space sacks;
A neon street gal sits atop the window sill
Of a cruising machine, swaying
To the frequency of a fist
Pumping in mimetic fashion atop the sallow wrist
To a fading drum beat
Strung out connecting him to her to all the
Lost, lonely people
Hiding like puzzle piece rejects in constructed sorrows.
That half-mast fist, combined with
Silence and
Unconscious churning tired and
Her gut pouring outward
(In hopes to retreat from its poisoned demigod master),
Assaulted my group on the street
With mad-cap laughter:
Are these kids the Revolution?
Neon-Gut and Silent-Half-Fist?
Let's not forget the chump on a tiny bicycle
Who yells (in perfect, precise timing following
Gut-and-fist procession):
'We're taking over these streets!'
Who are these misdirected trash-diggers?
Where are all of the prophets?
Dead like the pharoahs?