There’s a tin pot on a hot rock
with a man’s dungaree tongue
licking its remains of clam chowder
If your old mother’s dead, fella
tuck yourself into the dust hotel
It’s billions of blackened lightbulbs
skin from generations before you
and vegetation decay immeasurable
So roll along cold, cod, into the night
Stale fishy remains, all you’ll get served
from other motherless swag daddies
Your poor suit weighs almost nothing
couldn’t bring the price of street whisky
You look no more than a landscape blemish
a tumble of yesterdays and false starts
If you flipped our world using a spatula
it’s the same, you see, on either rotting side
only some sleep, breathe, eat in damned dirt
while others sun and soak on clean sands
Is there a field of daisies and cool mosses, fella
big enough for every single one of us human souls
Even those words are loaded with hope dope
Can you hear through the artificial sugary coating
over the long plaintive pauses between each word
Daisies – for – every – single – one – of – us
Roll along, fella, into the night, soup’s all gone
Pole Vaulting on the Sun 