Was it the boarded-up Hollywood Video,
The pi**-stained train car,
The string of six-degree days
Or the giant,
Phallic downtown skyscraper
Poking the sky…
.
We reach
Far
.
Into the
Night
.
And
We reach
Far into ourselves
To kill ourselves
To drone ourselves of
The crushing din of
Everyday life as
.
I cradle the malady
At arm’s length
Singing a funeral dirge and
Smiling in my pink, metal distance.