Friday couldn't come quick enough
after all that **** and stuff we have to wade through just to get through what we always knew was at best, a waste of time.

It's time to cast out the net again
see what we can catch and
reset again,

and if you're thinking,
why not jump through their hoops
why not sit up and do tricks?
then
you have become
a part of the
Matrix.

What sticks in your throat should choke you
but they'll make a joke of it and because
you've become a part of it
because you're
plugged into it,
you'll laugh like a madman
they'll laugh like hyenas.

They built a mausoleum for us and called it a modern museum for us where people could go and cry, but everyone passes us by because nobody wants to cry anymore, every one of us is all cried out, there are no more tears, there's only tax and those blasted monkeys on our backs.

Now they've built a museum for the mausoleum,
deja vu for the few in the know

Stalin would be having a field day
if only he hadn't passed away

we're still trying to pass water
and
some are still trying to pass go.

we do not write poetry
we write mirrors
which are held up
to curious faces
who read
looking for their
own reflections

Yesterday, a cloud burst in mythologies
and the rain fidgeted over the retreat

of a tidal pantheon; deities swept away
by a current, and we stood awhile, watching

the moon elbow out the dusk. Breathing
is burdensome when cars float on water

and corpses leak out of cavernous
basements. Every tablet, etched, in the cold

heart of building code was read again
and then again. It wasn't enough to blame

Aeolian whim or the raging riposte of Apollo,
now that we had marvelled away Gaia's

ozone skirt. Her amnion always leaked
in folkloric floods each time she birthed

a parable. She once asked Noah to build
an ark so he could ride her waves

and we scrape the sky to impale her
in shards where her womb is soft and yielding,

as we sour the air and burn the water and strip
her of her emerald sigh and melt her hills

and silt her wetlands. Mostly it was the asphalt
plastering her yearning that calcified her veins

and arteries, as she died slowly under our feet.
We could hardly fathom her sorrow for the tears

rolled off her torso like an oil slick
and rode far into the subway for sewers.

She said,
'you're hot'
but
only because
I've got a cold
and I'm sweating.

It's time to take time out
before
time decides to take me out
permanently.

What happened to Hollywoodland
where did it go,
what became of the legends
that we used to know?

people like
Crawford, Garland Hepburn Bacall,
Dietrich, Garbo, where did they go?

And Tracy, Douglas, Hitchcock and Flynn,
Clift and Valentino, where did they go?

It's all gone video and somewhat to hell
and not one of them left to tell
the tale.