"The Clicker Claque"

The antedating forces grew
and groomed and backed and filled
just so, 'til all we ghosts bequeathed
our bones beyond the graves,
into the stones.

So?

Why not simply cremate, then?
Let world stand firm beyond all when,
rock hard and jut. Like fist from wrist,
as giant diamond comet makes moot kissed,
while radicals, blood red by eye turn tossed
in sleep, roll over.

Die.

Some crackling flick of mist
obscured each truck that's struck
faithful parades to cue us then from fight
to flight, by instinct made in human ken.

Oh, intuition does make meet all such
enclaves and juntas sweet, in starred
chambers where all cliques meet.

We danced this once, without a beat.

Let wills and whims crepusculate
from blood to rust in iron sheaths.
For goodness hate! As sushi's sake
rocks rice wine, like ice skate hockey.

Whisky rye: sombrero style!
While some slurp Pescadero's
brine. Why not? Why's liverwurst
so vile?

Clap on Wonder bread, and smile.

What haps, now? Under hot suns?
Just nothing much, til' something's
done.

No urgency by far, yet best
to do before one's number's next.
Let's wait
until

We've nothing on
to bring soft gold,
red, green white, blue
lights strung along.

That's why

I'm here.

To sing this song.