& Politics & Sway, Of

Limp, sequestered, amygdalic, I trusted your leonine shape
to guide my spirit onto a libidinous freeway.

I remember nothing more than Dr. Reich moaning.
He had been beaten the night before and his orgone was dull and blue.

And then the fire took me as a telegraph talks to God—
quantized, boost and drop. I sent photons to my friends.

In that late November, Forever became the nightspot of choice
and many of the cognoscenti delivered rabbits on its marble floors.

There are four things to remember about love, but I have suffered
several concussions and only recall one: The moon is always green and full.

You are never up for election in the fetish of my fiefdom. When the king
is in residence, your light smears reasoning like ground raisins.

Smoke. There always is smoke with tires. Ineluctable.
There is, however, also cause for salmon, upstream, ungelded. Milt.