I'm Just Starstruck On You

A rocket age.
It's nobody's fault.
I hear them all
sing Katyusha whistle
and ring, ring the rage.
Ring the rage
dragging the martyrs
all over the set.
Slit by the heels,
my awareness
gets dragged
and dragged around
circles of autumn cannibalism.
Internecine ejaculations
of heated discourse
and
shell fragmented offal
dance around the radio,
flicker in the monitor,
scroll across the television
and
I just stare at it all.
I must be looking for
some kind of comfort
in all of it.
Something certain
beyond awareness
that never explains anything.
God.