Huckleberry (After Huck’s Tune)

If being is light

and time
is a sight

hang a nose on a rose
and come in

If circles get square

and blinds
lose their hare

hang a bill on a sill
and come in

If the smoke gets
so much

and my cup
has a touch

hang a cone on a stone
and come in

The shore’s gone dry

or today is
a lie

I hang a chain on a train
and get in

The Ooo

O they assumed
the kids were alright

o they believed

I was just talkin’
’bout my generation

o they really didn’t know
what it was

to be the bad man

O they were terrified
of a teenage wasteland

o it had really

been too long
since they did the stroll

o too much time

had passed since
they first believed in

rock n’ roll
O they never were amazed at

the way it pulled them
out of time

O it didn’t really move
much faster

a rollercoaster

I Don’t Call It Anything

Beyond this melting
point an allusive

pall of evasive

the propelling
tyrannical rhythms

betwixt foreboding
and botanical schisms,

accumulating to what?

An era-inspecific
terminus engorged

on those enfeebled;

A hummed about
science or license

for this

used demotic opacity’s
standard predation?