Jeff is there he’s got his gun broken down and
put into a case.
i’m in the elevator one by one.
he’s back and i want to go with him
even if i don’t know where he has come from.
he kisses me, says: “i got another way
there. See you at Logan.”
the tornado dropped while we watched
and the new girl went inside.
afterwards it was freezing cold and i had
taken too many pills that froze my
mouth closed into a rictus.
on the summer superhighway, the naked man
wants a bj.
“i’m gonna take 481 into the
city. all you gotta do is this.” he cups
himself as he lays in the hot
summer sun on his camaro.
and we are walking on the roadside.
we. the girl was born a monster. it’s time to take her down.
in the auditorium through the back door the girl band
supposed to be so dope, so deadly.
i laugh, clutching my weapon.
(war has transformed me).
it all happened in a twilight haze of night coming on.
videos of her husband in a godzilla suit while she…
Jeff is so small.
blaspheming at the altar
turning into a black cat
Johnny Cash drives that car
into the water.
me and the bald guy from the Voice
fight for guitars
and effects boxes.
it’s dog eat dog
here in Hell.
down in the city i am living in freetown
or is it greenblade
no. i can’t go home til after ten;
i am living with my sister.
the whole of the Bronx is burned. it is now a new section of Syracuse named greenblade.
mutant children line the bridges, throwing boulders.
the GW Bridge lit up in neon: “THE WAY OUT”.
all the old Bronx architecture demolished: burnt to the ground.
i work at a lingerie boutique down in New Manhattan. finally my sister shows up with my name and address.
“you mean to tell me the Bronx is gone?” i ask the boys.
“well…here. lemme show you a map.” it is all New Syracuse now. The mutants live there and it’s best not to comment on them.
there are lobster claw people and a shrine/garbage dump to the remnants of smoking, with all the artifacts in white.
(no one smokes).
“don’t go home til after 10.”
“Razor’s gonna do something then. did you meet Razor?”
“yeah. he seemed nice.”
“well,” she sniffs, obviously jealous.
it is a communal arrangement. old as i am, i am to get a job in the sex trade as soon as possible.
it’s pretty much the only career path left.
a green cat.
all the mutants at the round table.
the bedroom had a linoleum floor and a toilet in it.
a bank of windows overlooked the apartments across the ravine
such arrangements went on forever.
this is the new way.
Lois isn’t pleased that i work two days a week downtown
for the hairpiece.
but what can you do?
in the process of writing
“Margaret,” he says, “do I look like i’m lying to you?
two geese take off noisily
into a graying sky.