This guy wept

and told us

he wanted to touch

the earth

with the fury

of a falling star.

This guy wore snow-

storm glitter and bangles

of lightening and tears

back when our slogan was:

Never Pull A Slow Gun

lest your children's link

with you be broken

and they janitor

a blank banner of surrender

into and out of

all the iridescent cities

of War.

All modern thought

is permeated by the idea

of thinking the unthinkable.

Ziggy Stardust,

Ziggy Stardust,

A moonage daydream, Baby,

put your ray gun to my head.

Black as a black hole,

why does your big electric pupil

keep looking at me?

I could write my name

in the makeup

on your face.

Sweet blue boy

with a black wind


through the spaces

between your teeth,

O, whoa, whoa, whoa,

you're a rock 'n roll suicide.

The song has gone

on forever.

And you say, as it is said

Samuel Beckett said

at the end of his life:

What a hell of a morning it's been. . .

To read another poem by Terrence Hayes, please click here to purchase JUBILAT 6