Dillinger is Dead

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Dillinger is Dead

I wish “put some sax on it” was applicable
in this - and in every - situation

if not literally then in spirit

if not in spirit then in nuance.

Because I certainly didn’t mean to flabbergast you.

Every evening after the news, there is
a freshly painted midnight.

What I want, what I need now is a gift.

And *please*
don’t say “you should read Studs Terkel”

It’s time to focus on a dramatic broadening
of our collective circumference

I’ll make my own dinner

like clouds we are colliding

and then watch TV in bed.

------------------

I am the man they call Dillinger

and Dillinger is Dead.

I drank the kool-aid

I took the boat to Papeete

(and its black sand beach).

What you see before you: a bug shell

and bug eyes and dreaming.

I’ll die again on Tuesday

and, until then, it’s quiet storm jazzΩ

and pearls.