I can’t sleep tonight
because the bad moon ever.
Because the far dream.
I can’t make a hat
that can hold the lot of us;
it’s hot in here and loud
and cold crystal out in space—
I can’t drift out here,
can’t sleep tonight.
Not with my constellation
of old bones scratching.
Not with all this information hanging off
my chinny chin chin.
Because the wrecks.
Because the silence.
Because the hope and strain.
I can’t make music
up here on the surface.
Not in the craters.
I can’t sleep tonight
because the raucous in the basement.
Because the stretched motives.
Because the abaissement de niveau mental.
Because the far far dream.
I can’t make a footstep in the wrong direction
in doughy spacetime tonight,
only fill up with air
and rattle my pan for jewelry—
I can’t lose the surface tension
I fall to bits
Because the bread is poison
Not as if anything
Not bad moon forever
I can’t tell you
there’s too much to listen
you’d never
I can’t go limp
because gravity and humble
rockdwelling
I love you music hope strain
The right direction has got to be
the only direction
Gravity has got to be for me
Has got to be