Somewhere on the west coast  —
a peninsula of mist,
drug abuse and fading
light  — that evensong resonates  —

even time, not three-four
but four-four, and vespers  —
not the same as vodka
and lime but who's kidding who here  —

in your rash rush to madness
you neglected the other world  —
the "hive" world of corridors and mirrors  —
in that world hell is for those who stand out,
who don't conform to the unthinking whole  —
the hive world is a stumbling man
a bullet in his brain
fixing his tie

the litany over
the transubstantiation
about to commence
your body resonates  — ((bang)
                                             there)