tired blood / the grumpy part

looking back to where darkness dwells,

to where pleasant dreams are disassembled,

to the place where everyone is condemned

to an equal silence circumventing their concerns

of what actually is;–– to where the ultimate

disposition has been made and there’s no turning back

leaving me alone to consider the gathered who'll

come to me un-clothed, un-shaven, un-industrialized

and empty-handed.

what's that sweet serenade?–– Harpo! is that you?

what's this mist? will I tumble into Hell

where language is spoken through a failed god's tongue?

or should I swallow a few gulps from the dusty

Geritol bottle, whatever's left on the bottom, reconsider

my options and order in for Chinese?