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s c e n e s   f r o m  
t h e   g r e a t   b l e e d i n g  
m o v i e   o f   m a n
 

:   m.  a.   l i t t l e r    

 video frame : m. a. littler :

Crows above
And rats below
Circling the sewer of man.
Sap is running down
The trunks
Of the trees
Not unlike
Blood running down
The pierced sides
Of the Lord.
The unfortunate
Triumphant failures
Urinating at the pulpit
And cursing the congregation.
I'm strolling along
The deserted harbor
Dressed
In a dead sailor's peacoat
Shoveling through the gravel
Hoping to find a gem
Or two.
Amongst the dissonance
It is said
There's always a voice
Speaking
To you.
Over yonder
Toward the crack 'o dawn
Over at the
The golden canal
I see
An old haggard man
And a mule
With old gray bones
Towing a calliope.
There's old Fulton
Traipsing along the main drag
Like an old elephant bull
Looking
For a clean place to die
And beholding
The youngsters
Hunting
Pink young flesh
And taking it
Eventually
Like wolves
Take sheep.

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