The sun, that yellow spider’s web,
revolves again around my head.
The ground, alive and full of meat,
pulls back and down and grabs my feet.
Seems the constant need
one feels for elevation
ties directly to the genes
of caste and station.
Gravity is just a shill for politics.
Evolution’s just a bag of dirty tricks.
To gulch or to disgorge,
another mesa forge.
Environment is in like flint
or bears who covet porridge.
To butte or to abut,
tree or adobe hut.
A rock well placed
is soon erased.
All nature is a rut.
To flood or scorch the earth,
another big bang birth.
Each mountain tall
one day may fall.
And all for
what it’s worth.
Nocturnal fumbling
aroused the piddling clouds.
Near-tragic happenstance
reigned over dampened spirit.
The drowning band flailed on.
The very unnatural anthem
clung to the marchers’ steps.
The wailing tubal wind
sustained a mourning pace,
depressing the clowns of death.
To a beetle eaten young,
I dedicate my tongue.
I’ll cut it up in thirds
and feed it to the birds.
For words will not suffice
the nature of this vice.
A beetle eaten young.
Who now will roll our dung?
I’ve seen good gods up and die, or grow old gracefully.
I’ve paid for some bad advice, and gotten good for free.
I’ve laundered all my money, in the hope that I’d come clean.
I’ve been caught top and bottom, and, one awful time, between.
I’ve squandered time on things I hate and hurt the ones I love.
I’ve pondered death upon the brink, but never got the shove.
I’ve swallowed magic buttons, herbal cures and acid tea.
But life goes on, I don’t know shit, and that’s all right with me.
Play the roll, over under. Play the roll, place your bet.
It’s a sure thing odds’ll get you, but the game ain’t over yet.
Play the roll, watch for snake eyes. Play the roll, press your luck.
When you’re down to your last dollar, hand it over. What’s a buck ?
