Late night
take a walk with me
through this rambling cemetery
with the stone angels
watching over the graves of rotten people
the worst people
the richest worst people
who don’t deserve
such bodyguards now
when their rottenness is baked in forever
to local history
maybe they could have used the angels
when they were alive
to smite their heads
with their stone swords and wings
give them a decent bruising
the way they did to others
the poor schmucks they used
men, women and children
worked to death and fought fairness
unto their families like the curse
the rich all talk about on yachts
crucified amid highballs in country club hells
but they got away with it
no flaming sword met their greed
and their family name grew like mold
all over the city and its buildings
they kept that blood money
and bought these purebred kennel club angels
to remind you of that nauseating fact
still, at the back of the boneyard
it’s quiet it overlooks a bakery
that glows all night
though you can’t see the people inside
the smell of bread
comes drifting over and through
that place of the dead
and you think what an enormous thing
hunger is and how wonderful
the simple people who bake bread
the smell of that rising good thing
floats through the cemetery
where snow lies all over the dead
and they won’t rise like bread
and someday this will be a parking lot
where people run around screaming
what is life and why does it kill me
because eternity is getting shorter
every year