A wonderful world and a burning airship

I'd be dreary on canned heat in
the world that used to pound against
our temple doors, the images screened
on our shaved ugly heads like polished
heretic television screens beaming,
screaming if only we'd admit it's

over over over over
over life over eternity over
paranoia over all ended
over thankfully god awfully over--

the world wavering
like a top without substance,
filled joyously, hard won cold horror
brilliance,

I'd scrape my hands through the weeds
and dry dirt and pebbles and dust
shoving it repeatedly down my throat
growing hoarse feeling my thoughts ebb
thinking ah ah ah--eh--

a wonderful job tonight, a wonderful job
on and on repeated