The lights that are put up during holidays
Strung from telephone pole, gate, tree
Blur together, become fuzzy balls of yellow light
Cast a glow on the back seat where Terry and his time lords suffocate reason
And the streets rub against each other like cats in East Parkway
And the man with unusually hairy knuckles
Plants fearful paradoxes in the heads of lifeguards
Now they don't swim at all
In full and drowsy minds
Content in air conditioned cocoons in East Parkway
What we know of memory and what we know of doubt
And what we know of carnivals
Could be burned alive in pasty cellars
So unlike the healthy smell of burning leaves in cooler outdoor places
Not that far but not that close to East Parkway
There might be two of every animal
And three refrigerators
In every kitchen cooking up covetousness
And a surprise that makes your tongue swell up
Indigestion handled as a family matter in East Parkway
Welcome to degenerates who practice non-fiction
Brandish a letter opener as a weapon when they hear an opinion they don't agree with
Creation in the laundry which has been programmed for a bigger load
Electricity bills going up in East Parkway
David charts the rise and fall of man in a given area
He boils eggs and sleeps on the floor
Never withstands the apology of the marketplace
He has made a report that ties all all loose strands together
But all that is revealed is that parking on the streets at night is not prohibited in East Parkway
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem