i’ve got eyes on fire in the five o’clock hour.
my kid is calling me to come down from the tower.
i wasn’t wandering in any space worth remembering.
you can wipe that dream from your book of reckoning.
believe me, oh Lord, i’m not in love with my flesh.
i’ve got no spiritual ego like some david koresh.
i would fail trying to fool folks like franz mesmer
once did. and you know i couldn’t pick up klesmer
music like some naive, culturally appropriating
young kid. (yes, it would be sonic masturbating.)
my eyes are on fire from finding a way to focus
on that one weird thing that really has no locus.
my eyes are focused on the approaching last hour.
my eyes are set in a red, white and blue glower.
you know the kind of moment that came beckoning
when i would be caught waiting for my dismembering
that was sure to come when spirit trumped the flesh,
and there was no difference between our king and koresh.
because our king had spent a lifetime fooling his flock
with naive quotes from angry white radio talk.
that was the day you wished i could play or sing
any kind of song–bad or good–you’d take anything
rather than listen to another claim of hocus pocus
from the grand wizard charlatan we crowned our POTUS.
my eyes are on fire, they are burning red, white, blue
there is nothing out here left to see, nothing to do
except wait it out, with faith and doubt for the hour
of no return from the fire that fills the tower.