Big Machines

This dismal epistle

(grounds enough for my dismissal)

wherein I say,

"Things would be great if great things could stay that way"

Maybe I'm just depressed "˜cos

no one's gonna let me starve to death,

or "˜cos I'm doing well,

so much so that I must frustrate myself.

I'm into making hungry scenes,

losing teeth through loose chattering,

and shivering in my dripping dreams,

the kind they make on big machines.

Yeah, I grew up here, but

learned English from the TV, too.

In those young, slow years

what else was I supposed to do?

It's like all your fun-lovers

are only regional numbers:

divided parts to a sum

and vici, vidi where they're coming from.