The World Was Naughty Last Night

"You are pure literature no matter how you feel..."
an illustrated weekly of our primordial failing
& now, kids wrestling in saw dust,
frescoed animals & adolescent iconography
on an elevated track through Brooklyn to Queens
the quelling of its florid uprising and what you might call
scandals gathered quick and fast
as in, the last gasp of romanticism found a Spaniard
named franco whispering to his harlot,
				"The monster I am is here for you!"
oh no, that was not a man Standing By His Word,
that was a man asking directions
and things were getting shakier by the minute
a big band came on at his court martial
the inherent "what the hell" marked by a trail of death & ruin
sliding down the white sluice of treason
into our novel of bombed archives & puffy mothers
delimited by focus and heroically coined:
"The World Was Naughty Last Night"
franco crying in an elevator,
				as if, as if...
franco, come closer.
				feels deeply.)