Bill Berkson

Accounts Payable

...cantered light-heartedly downstream to their doom.
—Patrick Leigh Fermor

Somebody down there hates us deeply,
Has planted a thorn where slightest woe may overrun.
 
Disorderly and youthful sorrow, many divots picked at since
Across the thrice-hounded comfort zone.
 
Can’t cut it, sees permanent crones
Encroaching aside likely lanes of executive tar
 
All spread skyward.
You got the picture, Bub:
 
This world is ours no more,
And those other euphemisms for grimly twisting wrath,
 
A wire-mesh semblance bedecked
With twilight’s steamy regard.
 
Look at the wind out here.
Delete imperative.
 
Hours where money rinses life like sex,
Whichever nowadays serves as its signifier.
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