Wednesday, November 07, 2007

Union Meeting of the Dead

This day is worse than the first

A scratching hand is still at the door

And this is more than beyond will.

For the Fork Salad and a Brain Trust local One-O-Seven

They said it couldn’t be done

Benefits for so many needy and of course deserving


Departed. Or, just the same,

A food line, the chapter organizers here and there are

Pushing over some bits, fighting to ascend the podium while,

Unmolested, the keg of beer in the corner returns unhurriedly

To room temperature.

One legless member, hook ear and half an eye, plans,

In his after life, which is through a graying

Slobber of preserved being, some

Self revoked to membership through a mirror through a mirror.

And while they still glimmer to vote on limiting dues,

A gobbet of the Exchequer

Gores down Member Fifty Seven’s

Neck and into a pocket-protected front pocket.

There is a motion called to detonate a snake bomb,

And who will inherit the bite to the mouth on the mouth

Who the chunks, see

The members in dredge colored skin,

Skin of rivers and rivers polluted by grabbing smoke stacks

Hungry for sky.

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