A moment ago (an era discarded for light?) the hero
stepped off the plane and shuffled his way from the jungle tarmac to bed.
It was a long flight from the kingdom of now that had left him
looking stripped down to a folksy fault–left him not looking
at all–that left him here.

Who brought you down to earth my friend, asks the everything else.
What did you forget on the way? Do you still hold that

missing-person-flier in your head? We have vacated your apartment
and interviewed your belongings on their whereabouts.

Is living really that important? Why all the fuss?
Ridiculous, walking in the rain and the cold in faux-bum’s gear.
Ridiculous, what you want rattling inside.

What do you do with what you hate and how? Will it be pure?

Equal to undone. equal to finished. but burning still.
Equal to fractal. equal to diamond. equal to franchise.
Equal to catacomb. fuck-you’d home via a fever of wings.

During the in-flight’s deep sleep an akrolith stood for the being her.
why couldn’t the hero swing? why wouldn’t the hero reach?

A mobile of diminishing returns installed above a crib of hate.
Once service charged, when we’d pretended doing something meant.
We meant what we did, but who is we?

All hands feigned to deck, of every rubbered foot, beware beware
the twist and temperature of the lover’s hair. Which is mostly fair?

Tell the sinking boats of tranquil proximities once beloved, to clever back.
The word(s) cellphone something to the breast — what of it? — last night’s
percision intimidated you gone. admit it, little hospital gown
torn from the kidney down, to the rib’s

where breakfast.

Surprised? Ye, a bloom once in awhile. toxin or fairy tale?

Hate, you stupid child, blind, hate, you stolen labour–get your own.
no such thing as own. no such thing as number one. such a thing as no.
collar grabbed and gaunleted like an artist’s rag in the room,
groom of a useless heirloom, rhyme us to death.

Cheer us up! But no the devil says. no the asphalt in the rain, and no the boot.
Head splitting with infinitives from the night before, heart full of disobedience.
Angry in the knee and swollen eyed and pickle mouthed. the loss!

loss is so much hungrier when have’s had.

Part Duex: Nothing to go on.

Part three, part four, part five, part of the problem…

Part six. There isn’t a part seven, there never was.

It’s a hoax. Hail a cab. An American cab. A city cab.
It’s a fucking hoax. Get out of the devil’s way befuddled one.
You’ve been had.