sneak like the

sneak like the
     i wonder
bluster the rain
     the rude rain
the bureaucratic
     the wind
sneak under

the decrees
     tell to fail
can they
     can i duck
     can i fuck
make a full good
     this job’s fucked
not mere half cocked
string and scissor
     half repair
          no future

this island’s
     trap and trapped
not marx’s gold
     & monkey’s hand
there is no gold
only burnt sense
     that craic
the moat
     the end of language

so if i turned
made my own castle
     burned mud
i’d trap me there
     an ant
          a house
               marx’s gold
abandon it to be

the less you own
     the less trap
i should
     if i can’t carry
               the trap
                    they are

surrender the job
     back to the cobweb coyboys

winter rain
     a violent accost

attested and gathered
a violent accuse
     to do a good job

the violence
     of endemic
          it’ll do
the corporation
     must policies
          of peered
               make do

run along
     a later

make tomorrow’s collapse
     someone else’s grief