A P O C A L Y P T I C  T H U R S D A Y
 
today i drink in disbelief
drink in the newspaper
gulp the radio
open my gorge to the flow
of traffic delivered
by the Bureau of Vehicular
Misunderstanding

all motors at a standstill
in the crowded street
of my brain:  gridlock
bridges jammed
trains stalled

who would have thought
before i bought my coffee
to read of a baby trashed
or 12 jackals in a jurybox
it's May for chrissake not March
and in L.A. afterwards still
raining corpses

who would have thought
on a Thursday ordinary
as laundry
i sit waiting for the purr
of helicopters the news
about to drop like horse turds
over the clogged aortas of New York

who would have thought
on Saturday the public murders over
i too would be abused by--
oh, i have forgotten
some snail-like penis who tried
to buy me dinner and take over my soul

Why is George bush laughing?
this, too, pops, calls for blood and fire
but let's retire it for another poem

and my friend fills me in on
another grim item:  a greek maiden
named Ianthe one arm
stumped by Thalidomide
beat another girl over the head
with a baseball bat
funnier than the short-order psychopath
who cut up his Swiss paramour modern dancer
like a chicken or a side of beef
her head floating delicately on top
of the broth gave him away

THESE ARE THE KINDS OF IMAGES I LIVE WITH DAILY
my delicate Swiss dancer's head and feet
asleep on some East Village trash

anyway Ianthe
out on $100,000 bail
beat and beat this girl in a bar
until she was as dead as bran
as colorless as braille

it might be Medea again
except for the psychopathic grins
of the actors
not even the decency to borrow a mask

who would have thought
who would have thought
that JUSTICE
GOD'S TORTOISE
would be so slow that Rodney King
pulled over to one side of the law
some time ago and left for dead
his legs in the air
like a tortoise's

near what's left of America somewhere

that'll teach 'em you know
said somebody
to have mothers
to wear clothes!
to drive automobiles
even shabby cadillacs
the observing soviet's couldn't
get over that

like LePen with Jewish gravestones
the red-eyed Americans
have planted the flag
right up the asshole of the Constitution again
and will listen to it howl on talkshows

who would have thought
that lurid and red-eyed morning
of their decision
i would sit in the dark
like so many in that tenement in Newark
sit in my hat and coat
my mind littered like the tenement courtyard
with the broken bottles of hope
BECAUSE THE DATE FOR GIVING HEAT WAS PAST

who would have thought
such a cruel wind would blow
through my eyes and ears
as if they were broken windows
who would have thought
who wanted to know

it's May
and unbearably cold.