Sun 6:26 am

when my fingers begin to grow
like feral stalks of bamboo
i attempt
to calculate
and average
the facial expressions
of every person in line at the DMV

there is a second moon of this planet
i've seen beneath the earth
i've seen it beneath the earth
when i was an old man
clumsily walking the beach with a metal detector
a robot dog eagerly sniffing the sand

in the subway tunnels
i've met the bureacrats of yesterday
settling in for the night
with the paper

after the red milk wars
a generation of lost cowboys were found
in a bomb shelter outside tulsa
behind the blood bank
where plasma spins
and exposes itself
like some erotic dancer

oh injuns
guard your kin
put them on white horses

and send them forth
to trample through pre-dawn black
resembling, in their speed
a thin, moving creek of milk
across the static undulation
of rolling green

if you are reading this at your desk
let us not forget
that some day
long past
not a single part of this bureau existed

and while charles
is standing above the concrete plexus
tearing pages from a novel

and watching them fall
like dying moths

i am writing in red pen
all over the bathroom stall
a short illustrated history
of man
its really funny
and so are you, my darling
in a different way
ive seen you swallowing ice cubes
like diamond pharmaceuticals

they travel in your stomach
and die off
a series of tiny miscarriages