the nameless project1

1st chorus

cars roaring on
out in the black
(endless beads of bitter-
glitter clack mute as if thumping
against my blinds at a speed
above octave) the clouds

have retired to gray
above the harvest
of bulb-seeds
that grow beams in(that
breed breaks splitting
in passing)terrupted
along a slate
of nothing.

2nd chorus

layers of sound,
only a dog could delight in,
lay themselves-self-
composed (compliment-
ing
train-
horn overtures) and the dark
dances dodging life
like vampire hearts
or overbearing
death;
as a bird's gay voice
squeals scared and unwelcome
before drowning in the wait

for morning.

3rd chorus

cigarette after
cigarette; puffed cherry
flashing red neon dot
breathing one-word fire motel-
sign braille
             scolding the air trapped in my room,
blinking slow morse-
code; soul vacancy.

killing
and calling
and tiring
and
     dying.

4th chorus

twenty little toy soldiers
pulled out to war
'll never know their box
again; but protrude half-devoured
filter fragment corpses
burrowing their severed necks
into ashen graves

(their gun-
smoke searching
for a sky,
becoming stains
on the ceiling.)

as
the kick
           and scream
         of life
survives the night.

5th chorus

sun corrupts the day
burning along wavelengths
of morning breath
and drying eyeboogers.

suddenly everything
is singing along to its tune;
except the rebellious little shadows

holding out for dark
to come.

6th chorus

Bukowski-
              you old son of a bitch
         there are things
I have to ask you;

but the fire has taken you
or the sky has taken you

or the devil himself
or the government
or the white light
or the black void
or the gods
or the earth
or the final tired
or the eternal nothing-
ness
      has taken you.

(was Whitman laughing at you?
are you both now laughing at me?)