… somewhere in time…
for chris murray
The last human was shot while entering the Dakota,
Howard Cosell tells us
during Monday Night Football.
Our hero had married a Japanese girl,
to Paul she was Georgia trailer trash
or the equivalent in England, of course.
That’s the trouble with fantasies,
they rarely come true.
Not with bullets as big as Times Square lying around.
The gargoyles of everything we knew
broke from cleavage and fell away.
Music had lost its cojones,
ran naked down the street,
took refuge in Central Park,
paused long enough to call Lord Presley.
Soon the Indians arrived by taxi and proclaimed:
“If this is what you’re gonna do with this land,
here are your stinking sea shells and trinkets!”