Homage to George Sanders, 1977

Neil sings on WDBR
Summer cold stops my breathing
the phone must be out of order
it never rings, not in any language
I know. I wish Neil would go away
or that it was rich earth and
nineteen sixty seven again. I wish
I didn't smoke or I wish I was
a professional celibate or I wish
I had new love. Mostly its today's
removal~the need to escape
the confusion. And I always seem
to know too much and not enough
at the same time. Why can't it
always be fun? If there is a deity
why would such a knowledgeable Joe
tolerate us? For petty reasons
such as a reference point for
His own existence? Why would He
allow me to become so friggin' tired
of myself, giving Him a reason for
cycles, perhaps? I can't stand being
this static~yet I refuse to move.
Like Roy Roger's horse, they'll preserve
what's left of this human suicide
with plastic wrap, stand him in this
corner and wonder why he ever breathed.
Everything gets forgot.

From 1977. Why can't it always be fun? Yes, I know, pain is necessary to give ecstasy meaning. "Without a hurt the heart is hollow" —from the Fantastiks, ca. 1954.