SGT. PEPPER'S MUCH LONELIER HEART ATTACKS CLUB BAND

One by one,
by uneasy

one—all he needed,
each was

quite sure?
was love; which was

inconvenient.
Because—

in that moment,

there was—plenty

of silly 
love songs around

but—absolutely
fucking none.

of the actual—
dumb nonsense handy.

PIERCING

White snow falling 

softly on an August afternoon—

and still—everywhere men 
and women walk 

and do not seem 
to see it. Some day—I knew,

that I must die—but I think 
that now 

I must—

finally mean it;

For how 
is this possible!—why?

won't they notice—

how absolute-

ly 
starving—the beautiful,

lapis-
blue sky looks?

AUSPICES

Hulking-
tall 

rooted,
proud 

tough,
old-

but- 
neverborn—those trees!

which—touching their sage 
hands high above 
to hush,

and thus—
safeguard
your illustrious street;

seem to murmur 
wisely in these repeatable
kinds of summer breezes—on and on,

something 
about how—there's simply 

no other way!—how 
you've really 
got to move slow

or better yet—keep 
perfect-
ly still—

if you hope 
to hold

and keep-
safe

and remember it all

just—exactly
the lovely 
way that it was.

But then—how come?

whenever you stop
and look deep,
shutting your eyes a while to think—

you can't 

help but realize, 

that you 

can't really (not—
really)
actually picture

anybody's face—not one

single depression
or light shade 
or shape—

that you truly love?—or ever 
even have once?
in your whole entire 

life this way.
And further—how come?

Come to stop 
and think of it 
some more—

nope—You've absolutely
never been willing to.

AUTHORIAL INTENT

Eating overripe cherries—

She

felt free 
and fine 

in the shining 
black-

brightsmile of quiet morning;

or—
probably.

VALIDATION

In the bedroom 
every 

morning—Jesus

rose 

and—scarcely 
believing 

the unconscionably

sublime
art of his own
body's

reflection—would invariably 

hasten 
to throw

some period appropriate-
ly stupid-

looking 
clothes over it.

L'ART POUR L'ART

Don't bother distracting—old
Mr. Sisyphus Jones
by questioning

his incentives—because 

the fact 
that you 
want to—means you 

probably aren't properly
motivated to know yet—that 
there really

is no compensation!
for any 
amount—of hard 

labor he performs.
But—

strangely enough, 
that's exactly
his reward!—it's

learning to work

without hope—that's his goal.

It's 

still getting-

up and leaving 
for work every morning

knowing—

that your gig 
is pushing 

the car 

right back 
home again, and still 

doing it willingly—
to get a little 
better handle

on the beauty 
of that futility. 

GIFT ECONOMY

Cheers!—to that alluring mister 
portrait of a swirling 

Vincent Van Gogh over there—with his curiously 
well-pared 
finger-

nails and ginger-
ly mannered
sunset-

red 
beard 
and purled hair—For he!

always seems
to take 
better care

than you 
or I do
to remember—Art

that is simply
too pure!
doesn't sell;

better by far—to take
a preexisting 
piece of weird work

and just—
cool

and off-
handedly—stick 
a clock-

radio 
in there—somewhere.