In that final instant...
The usual clutter
The lack of anything inside
Paintman smears his oil palms against the concrete
smudges & colored flesh.
A rap on the casement
a dead moth
the frozen lawn...
I can see now, through even blood-eyes...
You can take me away
Scoop out my insides
And leave this leopard's skin.
Two days of fasting & dry...
17 seconds
A 100 days
The future of 4:13 dreams.
A perfect day for bananafishbones &
poison sequels.
The Old Man cracks the newspapers
yellow thick pages
bound.
And I will leave on furious headlines,
inkpots & stabbing dyes.
A song for posterity
An elegy that goes on and on...
You will listen.
And PaintMan whispers in my ears,
clutches my buckling neck & waist.
A puppet on a pumpkin-stained string.
The procession outside
parked in the drive.
Umbrellas & gooseneck for me...
Rusted tin
and coffeepots, cobblepots, wet laiden pies.
In the kitchen upstairs they can't hear
This Scream--
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