A baby cried, reminded me of death
in the midst of my headache walk.
Rough work to carve a self.
What else was there to do?

In the midst of my headache walk,
the evening lamps were lit.
What else was there to do?
The street glowed, softly white

as the evening lamps were lit.
I checked my neighbors out.
The street glowed, softly white
under blackly marshaled branches.

I checked my neighbors out:
perhaps they were doing rudeness.
Under blackly marshaled branches,
I saw slippery TV pictures.

Perhaps they were doing rudeness.
Missing my own rude past,
I watched slippery TV pictures.
I saw the President’s face.

Missing my own rude past,
I beheld the world in its writhing.
I saw the President’s face.
I saw the harsh bones of abandon.

I beheld the world in its writhing,
I felt tired of history.
I saw the harsh bones of abandon.
I felt like eating organic ice cream.

I felt tired of history.
So what else is new?
I felt like eating organic ice cream.
I felt like drinking Lethe water.

So what else is new?
A baby cried, reminded me of death.
I felt like drinking Lethe water.
Rough work to carve a self.