Forgetful jazz speech, and another step comes again.

I know, It's late, and I know,

there's always an old cargo,

never sailing adrift, among,

my corrupted and gilt ribs.




None,
of my friends, fleeting relatives; none,
neither lonely tineid dogs or
sadly walking neckwears,
none
of the city guilds know...
how mean its keel comes.

With each rational stare of the morning,
with each used oblivion of dawn,
bloody loops, clawing nooses,
Greed for nothing, surfeit hunger,
No more house of the rising sun.


Stopped,
raised up near the slim carpet skyscraper,
the boat seems to defy:
floating nothingless,
the leak of the primal absurd.
My essence in a cheap pack,
offensive shrieks of laughter,
offered from overseas...

You,
despite,
of you.
Me,
by the way,
about me.

Sharks, awake nightmares, sharks,
under the shell of my chest,
even built with rotten corps I know,
they are,
yowling the damnation of our insipid
brightness.


It was ever so,

even more dead souls

than all alive beings.




And the questions came:

who ' s burying who?
Athens to Jerusalem?

It is not so simple
to keep still human
in this distopic Eden.