Beggar

You are a modern man You are a man of today But you belong to all the beasts of yesterday Drumming out emotion With reference to thickness To the ability to slide beneath these Hot radio Just slid there Send a calendar to you father Send a picture to your mother Neither need ever know That the one contains the other A pathetic stew A feeble home-brew Heating meat from the bone Gives you something to do Chrome shysters Apple-bobbing burgomeisters The chemical composition of which Is new Moth or mosquito Take me to Geppetto Teach him of the errors Of his son's embarrassing measures A mythical figure A comical snigger Drawling out Drawling out Drawling it out To be spelled To be counted To be taught the sweetness of decay Born in the shallow heat of the human mind Teach the poor, ailing father a few lessons in magnitude Oh, the poor fellow The simple distinction is beyond him A simple tool enabling you to bang your head against a wall A simple tribute to death, performed by the deed itself A sure-fire way to argue with no-one A remedy for decay A rack for self-display I'm not trying to defend it I'm just trying to remember No valleys No sheep Just a motorway That charges straight through And dumps you in the Irish Sea Then hooks you back out Under the same moon Half a different side A handful of stars thrown around somewhere up there Bowels are reaching for something There's an overstimulation As if to make up for threatless absence Skimming lines of cloud Skirting rudely around A face of platitude A low line A dim array A bright transport so far it's as dull as my own I throw another stump Bounding from barriers An acute desire for crudeness with a story Defeating every kind of fire It's true that this side of the far line has served me better Serves me better now Not as well as before Those few years eloped somewhere And though I've been away It was me that got left behind somewhere I'm disabled by the unnature that persists In hammy, small, recent constructs By the labour that failed Not without some projection Or hope A shimmer through high bushes The point of the arc of a house Adding me down Again To a buried sum this time I'm waiting under your soil Through it I see the silver fringe of coniferous trees Still afraid to specify But getting there I'm not the only studied one Crippled aloud, I see your friend is not mad Just alone Alive Suffering a shell Like every other