When Every Hour is a Collapse, Moment by Moment
can you stay for a moment ?
with a whistle and a hop
the thistles and briar rake naked ankles
and the whirring little kettles blast a fecal matter steam
to be eaten and sought after while you wait
in a space with disorder and no games
be sullied and filthy for the sake of a clown
be tired and sickly for working so hard
alienated
drawn criss cross and cat's cradle for a stranger's amuse
and dismissed forever empty
to a touring group of smiles
and when the needles fallen, empty to the left side of the dial
crawling angry angled letters to another different state
in a bitter deppreciation of what it means to have a worth
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discounted for a banter of wittled pitted names
to suck the worth and value from every single frame
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but it blends in all the damage and you have to say you're through
moving half cartoon into dangerous derivatives
known to bare strangers as two dimensional
yet
to children better, to children better
better known and said hello
without brandishing a craft of bother
so from jacques and junior is a word
to be quite content with
a relation without some blistering immediate dismiss
something other than otherness
and needed primarily for favors or bother
spattered with half predicted natures, locked into a shadow artist's fills
so from blindly laid systems in a bullshit institution
and a team of Irvine Welsh's 'so called'
we get ourselves distinguished as a moment in a day
which was best spent asleep
as with every waking hour
a collapse
moment by moment
make no appeals
and leave