On The Streetcorner of Technology
Just swaying into the poison’d breeze
Admiring the handiwork of artificial Hell
Thinking, as the last of the pemmican juice
Slaps down my throat, what a fine place
This would be to die out of
Pulling switches, the old block & pulley bit
Permanently wash’d out of consciousness
Yes but it sounds a bit much even to me
Let the word go out: I’ll settle for less
Whoops the light’s changed & my non-animal
Quasi-instinctual reflex co-ordinator is
On the fritz again sounds fantastic no?
Everywhere they are gathering together lonely
In unison await another chance,
Another toy, another miracle faith
In the old blood has been transferr’d to new masters
Who are self-anoint’d effigies of the gods
If, indeed, they are anything at all
Wish they would all go live on moon & planets
Leave the earth to those who want to stay
& love the old gal like crazy cha-cha
if that happens maybe the earth would,
like your lungs if you quit smoking,
come back pink & healthy brandnew
hmmmm no good polishing junkyard delusions
this planet is going down the tubes dying kaput
dead men in a house of certain death
