you
are
the
bare-chested
cowboy
in the movie
who whips the naked girl with silver chains 
see her pink nipples bulge while her eyes bug out
and you die like Schwarzenager Hamlet on the airless moon
and tracer bullets tear your
cardboard brain
and spaceship of Styrofoam
apart
what is this ache inside
that sings that you are nothing?
that you are captain nowhere,
talking big
and striding over butts of cigarettes
and buying stacks of cheesy things
to prove yourself
pictures vacuum-formed
and noises made of air
what
a
bunch
of
chicken
shit



somebody owns your pale ass
and as greedy crackpots
program the drum machine for which you march
you got a sole out there
you got a sole outside to build and put inside of you
otherwise, you're just collages of the crap you're told to do
you can get your fill of taking orders
the stars and fields of loving eyes are cliffs of consciousness
and everything you'd ever thought you'd feel
or touch
or taste
might be there in cliffs of consciousness
where you can rub your hands and brush your fur



send
back
the
hype



and tell the manufacturers to drink their smoking oil
then use the silver chains
to bind them and their lairs
that's one way
that's just one way
to be a real outlaw
but maybe that's too hard


listen to the jingle of your spurs