Sounds of methylated muttering… hand stretched out for a mark. The mark
Of death stamped over one eye — two flies wrestle on his raincoat….
Copulating to the muzak. But the people just fly by….
Finds a sanitary sanctuary… foot stretched beneath the door. Takes a drag
On a fag and it’s good ‘cos it’s menthol. He throws back his head and he
Dreams of the mountains. He’s inhaling the muzak….
And as inebriated evening spat a path for nausea night; the lights went out
With smothered curses. A young nurse cried-a cop cried with her. Cops are
Dating to the muzak…. He got an apathetic epitaph… There’s no name on
The headstone. They buried him on Tuesday. It rained. No-one came…. Busy
Listening to the muzak.
