I am the dead man you killed my son.
My car took a train across the boat
over the bus through the tram and
via the telephone on the aeroplane.
I've seen wit. He's got grit. I can
beat the Germans five to one baby one
in five. Love is the hope the heart
literally needs in order for it to survive
without which it can stop. Emotional
balance is more the gift of the liver.
I can drum up a drum bigger than
a dream bound in the leather of a
Jim Morrison trouser. I can whip
up a frenzy as easy as cream. Pretend
it's still a dream-with-open-eyes-er.
Death is H suspended in deafness,
not the frozen abstract tangential
angel of angles of light thawing in
emotion you want me to mention, but
death is H suspended in deafness.
Hover like the dragonfly over the
pond that codes the kiss of the wind.