Songbird sing.
Song believe become to one.
Dying in the order,
Leaving behind law.
Songbird sing.
Songs become beliefs to none.
Dying for the moment,
Leaving behind form.
Botch the job.
Greetings fellow followers,
Close in upon the lair.
Truth is love is death can’t none
Be told to tell a truth.
I said believe
To my good friends
And newly confused acquaintances.
Songbird sing,
It’s a fairy tale.
Spots, lines, planes (dimly pale).
Don’t compare lust by dose.
Here you’ll stay—inside my grave.
Dying in the order,
Leaving behind law.
Take the tab off of your tongue.
Believe strange dreams—the strangest ones.
Take my walk,
A walk of death.
Here you go,
Songbird sing.
Song believe become to one.
Dying in the order,
Leaving behind endure.


Shift the center of harm’s delight
To the martyr’s wounded funeral song,
As parents of decayed presence believe
In charity for sister’s denial.
Fragments of illusion forge regret
Inside a building, cold.

Once removed from the entertaining light
Of clever fortune, cold and benign,
No bargain to thwart remains.

Insisting on gardens once enshrined,
The simple pleasures dried
Until the stream of blood adjourned,
And shallow silence died.


They had a policy.
It was a work in progress,
unknown to me.

I became very ill
at one of their board meetings.
I danced alone.

They had a formula,
it was on display: 15 March 1990.
Nobody knows what I’m talking about.
One of them escorted me to a grassy knoll
on the day after the above date.

His evil smile, just for me,
confused the rest of them.
I was very happy.

Nobody told me to go buy a pack of cigarettes.
They were very polite.
After I left the meeting,
I cried for the time of my death.
Their policy forbade conversation on that topic,
so they told me to be quiet.

Creating my very own earthquake, I spun.
Some of them tried to talk to me,
the policeman didn’t.

I thought I knew what was coming next.
God, it was embarrassing.