Una May

Sanity Gone Bankrupt

Beautiful, the current fantasy, but how to tell them ?

How to tell them of the adrenaline, calamitous devils in cadillacs.
American myths as a sort of horsepower.

How to tell them of eggs dyed for Easter.
Up with the Devil. Oh, but it’s great to be an angel and be dirty all the time.

Hush, cock your ear.
Below, the capital weeps shrilly

This city is not folding, it is not revolting it is busting at the seams like a neon brassiere stuffed with socks it is hemorrhaging hippies who are not hippies they are children with mothers and fathers and lunch pails and Digger dime allowances. Every stop sign a figure of authority, they shook their fists at the indifferent, threw back their heads, and laughed

spat back out into the warped, exhaust pipe blight.

Let it bleed. Let it bleed. Let the walls bleed.

Indentured servants wail.

All yoked necks and cracked backs,

They leaf through splintered pages of The Iron Heel or Animal Farm found beneath a storm drain.

Sanity gone bankrupt.


I should have been a pair of ragged hooves. I’m pinched.

I need to go West, bend my hitchhikers thumb til’ it touches your hobo jungle.

My intestines are packaged in plastic. Bulbous telephone wires beneath my skin pulse, I can hear my heartbeat like a drum in my temples.

There is a sand timer in my head, when I tilt my ear, it’s as if I will pour out through my nose in a mosaic of vaporized kaleidoscopes.

Haw! Haw! Haw!

It’s that feeling.

The feeling of a luxurious delusion.

a glorious age

A tooth-gritting, orgasm-rousing, snakeskin fantasyland.

Insanity gone mad.

If I close my eyes, for a moment I am not here,

all thorax and mandible and impenetrable shell.