Death Styles

I want that green possibilitythe gravidity of late stylepregnant with self-possessionto spring me to the end of the plotMeanwhile I dream of Iphigeniaand how many times that teen can dropin her altar topWhen my teens are doing nothingthey are doing dance moves off TikToktheir brainwaves alteringlike the ones with wandswho wave the planes downand meanwhile I blow too muchdough on the baby's summerclothes. Ohwell, if he wears it just once*(*in the grave), then it's worth it.I say the secret thoughtin my brain like a sparkIt lays down and snuffsin the mossbane of the earbone.It dies a crib death.Bring me my toy stethoscope. No,I can detect nothing. Two beer canson a cord? No. Radio silence.--from '5.6.21 terminator 2, late style'