The Psycho-pseudo-hallucinatory world

The psycho-pseudo-hallucinatory world
lies curled at our feet
in all its sweet despicability.
What pass for faces pass.
That bitter note you hear
is fear. The symphony is many notes.
The incomplicity is breathing worlds
as worlds and times go by.
These cold, castrated, trembling functioneers
click-click about their work
until the sun invites the night
to cover shame with silence and with chill.
Playtime, boys and girls! Have no fear!
Your faces are unknown, and who’s to care?
Who dares concern, that twisted shapes
and minds more twisted yet,
beget, regret, forget and spend their nights
in quivering denial of themselves?
The would-be watchers have no time for you.
They too are torn by private passions,
creeping sleepy in the dust. Lust
comes and goes, leaving sharp mismemories
to garnish the winters of their age.
Rage is never spoken of, and love
is talked to death.
Goodbye, goodbye! The tide is full
of meaning, and Meaning is hog-tied.
We sail tonight. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye!
It’s time to go
you know

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