On the End of the Fork

Mr. Bill, you scare me to pieces
accidental or not, a gunshot
right through my head
on target to eviscerate my reality.
Those empty eyes, hollow cheeks
a spy for the uncertain. That
iconic hat, buttoned to the top shirt,
black rimmed glasses. Drug-induced
postmodern Clark Kent from Mxyztplk’s
Fifth Dimension where typewriter
becomes intratextual and everyone
becomes an agent. I have you on record
as a Priest yelling at a God of musical
deconstruction and dissonance. Your last
recording beyond that look. That empty look.

4/22/11