Only in moderation

"Shit, quiet...it's on...."

He scrambled to the ledge of the table and quickly sat down.


Never too poor to watch television.

Never too poor, for Wednesday nights at eight. Aside from sleeping, it's the closest to death you've ever been.

"If I just wasn't too mindless, I'd invent a way for me to eat food and watch..."


But that's what this is, isn't it?
The invention of imagination.

Imagine losing your mind.

Hail to the metronome.

it's leaders, cease fire,
rhythm standing between the argument and case.

lay low, business men, lay low:



it's neither safe for you, nor the rationale that's encased your game.

ring ring ring,
we swing together on beat,

swiveling a mystery; of up and down,
following or leading,
our foots tapping or our bodies moving,
slaves to our own decadent ownerships.

we lie, do we not?
we steal, do we not?

jingling our thoughts in sporadic succession,
like the construction of eminent rain,
canvasing the ground to form puddles;
these signatures of the earth.

we swing back to what we are.
we swing pass original thoughts.
we swing, centered.



hail to the metronome.