The vise grip of beauty

on a broken man

long days lit only by the parking lots

and uninhabited fields

reflecting a crazed sun

are we moles in our cozy blindness

do we shine where the linoleum bright

drops off

or hang glide

into a time rift laughing

Is there resurrection for the punks

for the freaks rejected by the new freaks

will there be a rebirth for disfigured heroes

and neglected spawn

will there be a light that shifts the burden

or just these gravity suits of inertia

does the soul breathe

can it find me

can we meet in buried history

and halve the galaxy's collapse

or put it right like printed tin

and go under it

regardless