there was a fork sticking out of my orange

wires and random messaging

the language of television

and the synaptic schizophrenic snufflings of streetlights

where crows in bad taste laugh at death

and electric eels writhe in delight

But overlapping, overlapping, overlapping until there is only this.

Lines following what’s finished, not getting the hint –

my anxious heart is beating out a rhythm of concern

telephone poles and telephone poles and telephone poles

Neon lights pulsate penetrate my spine

which collapses under images devoid of ancient story

where once a child fathered the human

now the rain very slowly tears down the walls

and the comet pacifies desire

sold on as a ring-pull can of bully beef

bully beef, bully beef and beef jerky like

some guy with red orange eyes that haven’t closed, no, not for thirty

              nights days moments

stranded on a logjam of jangling neon striations

reality quivers, maelstrom hustles and bustles under blinking,

              winking lights

lights winking, blinking, slow lights, quick lights, low lights, high lights,

the Errol in him drinking, thinking blow nights, slick tights, ho bites,

             fly delights

drunk never there, floods of drool falling

so i took a stab at a pear and said brutus, this isn’t right

wrong then, he said, and so what –

we were just method actors in

the fallen branch of life, craving

nectar and the slow honey of the hive

then the 30 days of sleep, which after 30 days, left me sleepless

standing, planting three matches in a box of soil

I lit one and told the other two, “this is what happens when…

as casca on stage you stab your caesar, stab his back,

     stab his chest, stab his groin, stab his lychee soft eyes