There is a place called The Nile
I would go there every holy day
And there at The Nile
The functional alcoholics
They did play
This is where they would
Sharpen their blades
Unbeknownst to cousins' eyes
Seeded delirium and obligation
A price to pay for a slice of pie
Alas, ding dong there will be no more
Surprise inspections or dog shows
Tits up in the box that judgment ultimately goes
Blood pure legendary secret sealed in an envelope
In a box behind a wall sheltered by serf-forged moats
Perfection and complacency
Jetpacks borne of ocean floors
Flags flown at half mast
In superposition Jesus wept
A last temptation to be not just a Good but an Excellent neighbor
To return the mattock clean,
Minimize poison and pestilence
In Texas, Martha’s Vineyard, or Delaware
Avoiding excess taxation on wheeled, anchored and cemented recreation
Could they agree on what was exploitation?
And what was well won self medication?
For these remunerations and busyness
Would there be reciprocations?
And what was freedom
If not the right
To contentment, fresh air, water
Respite from all sorts of bad weather
And a slice of pie in a truly post-neoliberal world?
Perhaps the saving grace of mediocrity
Is that ditsy unmasked vampires
Could care less for cheese, sausage fingers, whales or spelling bees
BTW, would a shirt like this sell
To a trust fund king?