Remnant threads of grandpa’s clothes or else

badly depleted whole forms still out there (somewhere)

in defiance of death, suspended fibrous in air or

plaid on trash heaps

Animals, creatures of the small fur or woodland-grazing band

wounded by car tires and blunt fenders

instinctively labor to the side of the road to die as if

consciously avoiding being rubber pressed into the

mindless cement tracks of boring, fat-assed commuters

still technically alive but essentially useless

The hard evidence of memory and life is reduced

to specks of dust on dressers diverse enough to

represent a broad base of obvious, televised reminiscence

as well as those too broken down to register (mentally)

on the basis of variety or culture

A column of filtered light emphasizes particles on their descent

in dying seconds of spectacle until roused to once again

join the brigade of foraging wild hide or polyester slack

even if only as part of dander flake or a lint ball    

Reassurance resists, blends hesitatingly

with visual confusion as Beethoven’s bust image

appears on rotating blades of a ceiling fan in the morning room

wiping crust from cracked eyes

it’s the first thing registered

There’s no music but rather wild death associations

prompted by blackness of shiny reflection

and the funeral-whir symphony of fan keys

chopping air

into silent hymnals

Ricardo the Hunk once slipped a pill into party punch

and festive goers experienced a similar rendering

of musical genius, wavy hair on every fourth imagination revolution

poetic and hue inspired

by chemical or waking

Waltz, he begs until movement desired shifts the head

and its appearance into two bolts of elderly Italian hair

Now instead of symphonies, you’ll wander to the bathroom

stymied, considering olive oil, tomato sauce, oregano, sausage

instead of the harmonic bratwurst

you thought you’d be comparing yourself to

upon the ritualistic, associative ceremony  and catharsis of morning urination   

“I reek of the leaves”

screams deaf Fredrick, pawing triumphant

from earth fodder piles held cohesive

by nitro sweat and crowding

The new cool, packing sidewalks

with population confidence makes him forget…

sweating and stained by

tomato picking smells that some calendar moments ago

served as his wafting sheen, turning earthy

he felt like peppery soil

A bald man in round wire spectacles

sits next to a bare bulb debating geometry equations,

fantasizing Speerlessly of Nazi architecture

ideal in its blueprints

He has 57 monocles and is presently, constantly

debating two more

            His headaches divine

yet pissingly irritating

Rage and fantasy possess his direction

manifest in petty destructiveness

the electric heat sweaters him, the dutiful socialist

out of element and time

Fredrick, jogging pointlessly and grass-stained

strikes the Premiger type as a potential Aryan subject

yet he knows very little of the young man’s

disturbing obsession with lawn smells

which he passionately considers his

political, nationalistic agenda