Something in the midday

 

Musicians should be young, and poets must be old. Work and worry in the middle, deep mind freeze of eternal 3 pms. Don’t you feel a lurking lately? An entity, a force, a feeling, like what I’d find at church if I didn’t know

not to go. 3 pms are getting later, weirder. Let’s get so rich we’re illegible to ourselves, Let’s get so illegible we’re just drawings again. Let’s draw deep let’s dig grief, give credit to our dead friend when we’re least prepared to stay composed, let’s all go to Mexico City to be forty, let’s lay low let’s follow ley lines through the barrows of the afternoon, let's raise a tumult

in the tumuli,

let’s be the lurker not the lurked.