This now [our hopeless place]
reminds me of it/ It is time to
cut back tarrying at long haul
stuff – a life-bled mortgage &
such charges [folks’ll get done
in by old banks & institutions
speaking about rate cuts] – &
debts compound/ We are too
long buried says that old man
[Johnny C knows who]/ Here –
it’s a six-foot trench calling to
swallow me whole [& I’ll fall –
less a few rich organs]/ Lower
my box into a quiescent place
of slow-earth silence & divide
what remains across memory
sticks – that’s all we will have
once our funerals are paid up