The wharf went under,
Fettering to the sea,
Our pops just kept watching
The tube, and all its flicks.
The next thing to do
Was to go find a job
With a pregnant
Opportunity for uncontrolled pandemonium.
Life in Mona Lisas
Of moments without the sedan
Turns from rounded bridge traversings
Up in bank accounts to spreadsheets.
Black urban musicians
Sing of drugs,
Because that’s the color of which
Now saturates the TV.
And
It seems only
Logical to numb yourself,
As you’re amidst a whirlwind of administered pain.
So if some person
Tries to describe the plight of another and ends up a henchman of muse,
That music might give the unlikely message:
Stay always with me.
You are beautiful by hearing this,
You are fully flourished by
This form we’re in,
Wherein we’re all imperfect,
And every effort you make to try to conquer
Only leaves you swollen with need,
A needle’s need for narcotic diplomacy
Within a mind gone singing.