The Neighbourhood

 

And the music from the neighbourhood waxes,collects smoke from yesterday’s conversation.And the tea kettle pot puffs another faithlesstranslation of a strange intervention.Which is like placing the beers with toy gunsand sanitary napkins. Armageddon is comingto you when you least expect it. Heavy,quite the world babies in cribs want to hugwith their tiny T-Rex arms unmindfulof its axis mundi that supports the insectsmarching around a crumb called curiosity,or maybe patrolling one winter nightabove the clouds sprinkled with graffiti art.During overcast days out in the street,dotted with basketball courts, you wouldenjoy black motorcycles muffling the noiseyard after sprouting yard, rocking the entireneighbourhood with the only music that isrelevant to a perambulating landscape:Eunoia. Such emergency won’t breakmy bones. Ashtrayed your intentions in.An aubade in front of the TV set, you wouldsay was written for Dinosaur Jr. to playin your head like skateboard silhouettes.And danc