Desperation

Twinkling goes the ice cream truck
as it travels its distance
of destitute sidewalks,
bearing its freezing escape of delicious
to children whose brows are wet with persistence
and sportly insistence,
whose force is effective in more ways than one
(or less ways than none,
depends on reactions).

"Get what you want, get what you like."

So sings the twinkling, brighter than bright.
But the definite shadow of hunger is greed,
And what you pay for is what you receive.

"What you pay for is what you receive."

So even as hospitals housing misfortune
baffle the howl
the wailing despair,
as midnight taxi cabs jostling, cruising,
searching for desperately feminine fare,
tomorrow is yet still today in disguise
and later is now, but only in time.

"Later is now, but only in time."

Walking past bonekids with cones of all sizes,
I realize I'm limping, shot right in the foot.
I'm told by my head that the bullet was fired
a few lines ago
by a brain embarassed.

A brain embarassed.
Whose? I can't say. Mine, I suppose.
But who is to say if it's mine or no
when I may be nothing but one of its folds?

Feeling my frozenly creamy interior
beginning to ooze out my whistling foot,
I fear my discovery will unearth a truth
hidden deep in the depths of my solitude's roots.
Buried below
some
>>>> holy
>>>>>>> chord
>>>>>>>>>> changes,
timbres embracing my yearning and pacing
and stumbling running on one-and-a-half legs,
I hobble ahead past ignorant eyes,
blindering mouths,
pastings on faces just lost in escaping,

Now is the time for desire to die.
Now is the time for desire to die.

Wrapped in a tunic of self-doubting spite,
I tunelessly sing back to the twinkling:

"No nothing is free in this world but me.
Nothing is free, nothing but me."

So twinkling goes the ice cream truck
as it travels its distance
of destitute sidewalks,
bearing its freezing escape of delicious
to children whose brows are wet with persistence...