I can’t hear Chet Baker in Tokyo
(whose deathward drift
by ‘Funny Valentine’
is well underway)
over Francesca’s
helium-voiced europop
whose rabid cheer
opens a wound in my braine
from which billows out
a literary night
to cover the earth
contaminate the whole horizon
or else coagulate a gulf
wheels of confusion
are all in motion
no airbrake’s got a purchase
on that
a contagion of letters
in an access of decay
a scun
of sunshine
chucked in the window
tied to a rock
a swivet
a stab
of retrograde caution
against a mob of communicants
you should know by now, professor:
you can’t fight Francesca’s europop
with Chet
that
is an errand
for Sabbath.
