HEAD ON A SWIVEL (original version from Fetishist 4 the Dickensian, 2012)


Any moment now . . . disappearing.
I'll be one of the ones that disappears.
Clampdowns live-tweeted from 50 or so separate vantage points.
I file that away.
You can understand the density of the mirrors
with their polyglot temperatures in the middle of Hell.
A blurred impression of an ilk could get you thrown into the path of a thresher.
If they can chomp through titanium, they surely can chomp through you too.

I can't presume this new monsoon season
ringing between our ears isn't entirely something else.
I guess we're too in tune with too many things that go vroom vroom.

Any moment now . . . disappearing.
I'll be one of the ones that disappears.
I did not exist in the minds of the solipsists
exhaling the nature of the guillotine.
I'm thinking your morals might be just like a wizard sleeve:
the image of totality's impossible.

I can't presume this new monsoon season
ringing between our ears isn't entirely something else.
I guess we're too in tune with too many things that go vroom vroom.

Maybe like back in the day with Pinochet,
or just like a snowflake that's melted away.
Keep your head on a swivel and your eyes peeled.
Keep your eyes peeled and your head on a swivel.

Disappear. Any moment now . . . disappearing.
I'll be one of the ones that disappears.