Today

Disease hangs to 
The edges of the box
(in bats or rats or snakes),
In lots of words, too
Too Many 

Then the glit and libs
Come out, Play swords, 
pour le drame,
for the spectacle, for
the show, for the now 

And Under motives 
Revolution! 
Across the tracks 
socialists take their
territorio,  
For Hollywood glory
(From the dead past,
They plan 
a shallow future)

Only the fascists
Care to win
With their pick axes
That’s them !
They carry their narrow goals on their own shoulders 
and care for nobody 

And there’s me and you 
Who say 
“All the Years”
“All the Words”

If you strive for the rock  
Your head breaks down 
The world in 
paint splattering
Deafness 

Who is the same? 
Who is gone?

Let us count all the bills
To the very first one -
The shell of future promise 

This disorder is the cross 
We bear for Time 

As we hurtle through space 
Holding only our Name