The idiot

Existence matters still
or so I still think
even if cut to the bone
of its rawest
animal
basics

exist the best way you can
exist against the tide
exist in night's comfortable womb

ain't it how we used to
kill time...

ain't it the way that the trees used to
whisper...

now
cut down
to conditioned reflex
to the rubberwall society
rule
to the swayin' hips
to the stiffening tongue collisions

stripped to the makeupless nature
stripped to song
near the fireplace
murmured only into the echoing empty
horizon airwaves

stripped to the skeletal love
only

aired only for the radio
lonesome & weary ghost-listeners

they sometime use the open line
their condolences are vastly
touchingly
deaf

who deserves a song these days?
who deserves a poem...

this chemoreflex Hades
creeps on...

makes all our efforts
an idiot