Ah let’s do new where scarabs click

Resonant dust from hashish headlight

Forever dream thing sweeps through high brocade

And mind is central, serene, lavender mists
With a sucker punch below the graft,

Below a mortar and pestle imprimatur —

Those long licks, those trance flings,

That flash of dry out of the wet;
Remove the quotes and flounce to sun ship

Kingdoms crashing hard with strange assonance,

Ululations distorted by deep rattle, O and

Spoiled silence languishing in its rowdy pleasure.
That’s what left us to our own resources,

To that megaplex of realisation: mode of transport,

Hub of communication, a brutal parrot flying low,

All shadowed in our pastoral no-show.
Pataphysic pill reappears in soft library

Love tongue slips into life time masque

Darby Crash and pals push down Mohawk

Upending trash cans and prepare for (death)(happiness)
And so say all of us, hustled and hoarded,

ridden into the dirt. An echo of track success

grates their nerves and we take a collection

from what’s left — misfire, undertaker, less worthy.