the open era of the waking lobotomy.
the pirates in their smiling ships.
has my agent called? and have my agent call me.
[how can a sky be yellow?]
there’s a harshness to the buildings –
all that honest-to-goodness metal,
i feel a harshness in the recollection of you:
“what little steps we made. what little steps.”
[i’m sleeping too much aren’t i?]
love is that foreign phone number.
it’s the ocean water pushing at my cheeks.
am I wasting my life again, waiting to be hit
by its carload of cars?
in this tiny kingdom of the brain
i am a popular boy today,
the alpha male,
the phone singing its lungs out
would you like more towels, more food, more company?
Just say the word and we’ll be at you
like burning birds
a clear, cold message when it matters most.