Everybody dies
Man
I just passed one lying on the street
Writhing on his back over the warm white paving
Stones
People slowing to stare
Maybe to help
Not me
I have places to go
Someone to be
Even being in the death house
The big white building
The stench of cleanliness burning the back of my tongue
Only confirms how little I care about it all
So many of them lining hallways and
Waiting
Waiting for it
I’m sure somewhere deep
Down
Down
There’s a feeling
Something
But for now
I have things to do
Places to be
Time to kill and
Well
Hell
What else I couldn’t even
Say
It is not anger or resentment
Man
But prison calm
Learned
Necessary and engrained
Not just in here but
Out there
For you and him and her and
Them
And I know inside that
I am still here
A little bit curled up maybe
A little weary and hiding
Away
Sure
Everybody dies man
Everybody dies man
As we are taken over
By the framework
And the structure of all things
The baseline order
Defeating our unique ability to inflame desire
And manifest anarchy
We all speed forward out of control
Even the snail
The tortoise
A straight line
Invisible
Comical
And upon our backs throughout all
This
We have these flies at our picnic
(stolen words to describe the banal presence of all bosses everywhere)
As they push and pull and press and eventually
Break
You
Or not
Whatever
But they will try nevertheless
For reasons unknown even to them
Just because
They are told what to tell you
To do
But
Having to breathe and eat and shit and
Fuck and love and sleep
Takes all of our heartbeat and clenched fist
There is no surplus adrenaline left to heighten our defences
To raise shields against their grey threat
So what to do
What to do
Adopt a smooth hard face trained to indicate nothing –
Neither resistance nor slavishness
Words written a long time ago
Still holding true.