Berkeley By Hearseback - WHY?

Lay me down in a hearseback

It’s where my new best look is at

If I slit a purse or two then I can’t curse

If my cake is cooked and minor veins are mapped

These tits not filled with milk

These cold bones wrapped in hunger

Like a bundle of sticks in a fire

So slow it leaves them unburned, black and yearning

Will this New Year’s see my rotting hair’s release?

Will my new black book pull the sick from my deepest creases?

A gift from The Maccabees to mom to me

No more flyer-backs or receipts

Using magazines for tables

A girl’s down bed

And corresponding naked wings unable

When I felt my ribs come closing slow

A row of snakes set to strangle

I’m survived

Lay me down in a hearseback

It’s where my new best look is at

If I slit a purse or two then I can’t curse

If my cake is cooked and minor veins are mapped

But you might find me in the white pages yet

My name is next to numbers

Like someone’s father’s father

Left listed in the Book of Numbers

Like someone’s father’s father

Left listed in the Book of Numbers