when walt whitman spokea multitudes

he meant     did he not     that within each ovus

an obsequious beer soaked indie boy broods

about steppin in front of a fuckin bus

        t burrow down intae the freckled id

    where coffee torns t treacle on the hotplate

and borst fegs are embedded in the carpet

    what i really mean is that ad hate

to be that kyid again          rollin along

crash barriers at some gig in the union

while the country is sold by the furlong

    drinkin what i made at my forst communion

on a nightly basis     then starvin maself

of breakfast & lunch & good mental health