man, doh... lines

release the sounds from wrought soft irony
in our broken loping gait -- and sing
and dance the putrid stench of discoed palsied
balls undiscovered refractions reflecting

hail, hail, hail and die each sot each prick
then songless humorless untouched retreat
from thin to think too thin too sick  too thick
and then, dead words, lead words all sink -- we eat.

but what is this we dream? what tune are we?
gentle silence broken and then we seem
to fold origami-swan-like so peacefully
into unshattered matters a drumbeats gleam

oh wife, save me from this unwashed meal
of hopeless hopes in songless songs so unreal.