Treading water Mr. Jung
up and down up and down up and down,
pavement melting into amniotic fluid, dreams coming out of the night
flanked by pink flamingos holding guns, great big roast beef sandwiches
float by
hymnals, broken dolls, Reality TV cameras watching the child
die in Africa, Florida, the Bronx, South LA, Colombia,
Oklahoma where ghost bison stampede the night,
driving stars over the horizon.
Treading water Mr. Jung
the God bits drift by like Chinese noodles, now you see 'em now you don't
know anything now you're going to drown, now you're going down
euphoric with failure, you can't wait to find out what failure looks like.
Will you finally get to rest?
Is it boring, is it cold, is it hot?
Is it a campsite in the woods far from town?
Will the birds of failure sing their dreams on summer nights?
Treading water Mr. Jung
going up going up going up,
kaleidoscope worlds swirl swirl swirl
up your nose confetti choke pulled full–length you
a curve of soldiers marching, marching, marching chanting chanting chanting
TWO FOUR SIX EIGHT WHO DO WE APPRECIATE?
GEORGY BUSH HE'S OUR MAN
IF HE CAN'T DO IT JESUS CAN!
Treading water Mr. Jung
going down, going down, going down
past square dance clubs, Bible study classes,
past sanity, past death,
to lie in the cool mud at the bottom of the universe
and sing "Silver threads and golden needles,
will not mend this heart of mine,"
I'm fine, I'm fine.
