Everyone is Howard Hughes

Everyone is Howard Hughes

Everyone is Howard Hughes

At the end, on the edge of the bed

Washing and wringing hands, 

dirty faces in the dim light 

Flickering fluckering in flux in flames, and the phone keeps ringing....

Is there anybody home?

It’s all about the Me In America

The I is silent

Unpronounceable

All those actors pretending to die

Rehearsing their desperate lines

Putting lives to memory

Impersonations of sad slideshow music

Play the blues forward

for the Red and the Unread,

the Unreachable,

the Dead and Deplorables,

the Unteachables, and The Great Unwashed.

There is no you in America.

But there is a whimpering I in America.

There is a self serving me in America.

Most of all there is a “they”

As in THEY want what we have!

A “they’re”

As in THEY'RE gonna get us!

 A “They’ve “

As in THEY’VE waited too long to save us!

Listen, we get one shot,

There is only one life that we can save.

Yes, there will be walls, tunnels,

silos, silver linings, and

a few beautiful halos.

And you will find so many

holes to fall into

Beds to fall out of

and yet here you are on hold

holed up in a Whole Foods

Waiting like Howard Hughes

For the end

Sitting on the edge of your bed

Slightly Intoxicated

Breezy Beautiful and

Perfectly Unrecognizable

Sporting fingernails grown long 

past recognition.