The newborn stiffens at the sound of the siren. In his facial contortions I too see the nightmare of birth controlling. Even as infants we struggle We struggle against our memories of the past. Only to succumb later as men to routine. The mountains now surrounded Our current lowered state of being "We are in a valley". The leader spoke out "Make a firemen to keep the wolves at bay And back in the trees where they belong. That way we will secure the integrity Of our yellowing underbellies." It was always like this so near to the sun Wasting away and breathing helium I know how flammable I can get Coated over by the stink of sweat I wish to be something other than just Mercury. How about the mirror and its blinding feedback? My extension cord has turned way too umbilical in nature What's the danger in wanting the barmaid to take me home? She's so platinum blonde Plus her Levis could pass for having been painted on With a bit of Van Gogh's insanity. My glass perspires leaving circles to stain The already-too-stained counter-top One more shot followed by a dark stout beer Should set me free and off into the dark garbage- choked ally. Did I even park in the ally? Or did I stroll here from the bus stop out front Hmmmmm. Perhaps that's a subject better left to discuss Over tomorrow's cheese-soaked omelet. My sugar headache rules the coop Like the pigeon God, I'm preened To mate forever with all of the eager beta females Second best has me centered with None other than otters unable to float on their backs And musk less muskrats The hands of Indians have traded our pelts Thirsting for fire-water To white men who needed to re-insulate Their worn snowshoes We all come to this corner pub To remember what it's like to forget To pull out crisp bills From last year's routinely given birthday present The dull black leather billfold We then crumple up our change To be deposited firmly into the proper pockets Of our choosing My friends are all here buying drinks by the tray full for my enemies, who eyeball me with discontent And ill repute. They have this fact duct-taped to their bald deformed heads. You can feel the love here in this room Its been blended well and unnoticed Into the magic plum sauce I too am camouflaged By steel and industrial smoke somewhere in Cleveland. I love to steal the coasters and ashtrays On my way out I tip the bouncer ith monopoly money And remind him of the fact that his girlfriend's on my jock We always end up fighting out back behind the dumpsters Last weekend I bit off his earlobe And then Fed-Ex it back to him the very next day In a small ring-box with dry ice It took me thirty seconds to realize That both my socks were soaking wet And the record-setting wind-chill factor Was all the Weatherman cared to dwell upon He seemed to be gloating from the midst of a ten-minute make-up session Prior to airtime Accompanied by their ultra-white dentist-recommended Ivory-stamped smiles. Chemically whitened to the point of blinding shrapnel-like intensity I knew that I was definitely in the thick of disaster Battery-operated socks only work if you've taken the time to purchase batteries. Back to the leaves I feel a deal this real Could only be heard by the deaf When mutant songbirds Sit wired between leaning telephone poles And indifferent sunbathing reptiles I know this swamp only as the always damp rumored tumor. Brain sized and walnut detailed I too golf dizzily behind my grandmother And her bridge-club girlfriends My martini is well enough poised Properly positioned in the grip Of my well-manicured hand Complete with clear nail polish from Neimen Marcus Obliviously drunk, and well programmed.