“In the name of Annah the Allmaziful, the Everliving, the Bringer of Plurabilities, haloed be her eve, her singtime sung, her rill be run, unhemmed as it is uneven!” James Joyce, Finnegans Wake
 

Catching my death
it's an English melody
it's mean travelling
from heat to freezing cold,
from culture, religion, sexual orintention, trans-this, sans-that
sans fuckingeverything.

This means nothing to me
people eat, shit, eat, shit,
just like that
i wear a funny hat
no smiles, no men o'pause,
just the barest necessities
that's all

We freeze, moan, groan, bee, alone
I say words into this barely-mystic air
that is always, and forever, everywhere,
like in one of Solz’s gulags, it’s a European thing,
every songbird says

I make the wrong signs, 
I am so out of line,
a triangle reappears
in -b + or - sq root of b2–4ac/2b
that’s one way to pray.

I have a guilt for my best friend,
how can i keep him warm when he's dead?
what stops this inclement shivering inside?
by all means there’s worse to come
sans teeth, sans everything.