it’s probably nothing more
than the usual grinding rainbow machine,
the usual pirouette of skulls laughing
like the moon, crying like a sermonette
my friend says who also no longer
exists, at least not so we can split
a bottle of red. I myself make no claims
Wordsworth wouldn’t about
a centralized self groping towards
transcendence in the reified night.
I’m all over the place and doubt
I’ll ever be properly born. All music
after all is redundant meaning it won’t end
without starting again.The depths
are above us.
Dean Young’s most recent book is Shock by Shock published by Copper Canyon Press.