KISS
I think it was a Halloween concert
in the nineties, when they were already old
TV cameras picked up a slice of
Gene Simmons’ ass cheek
visible though a stylish hole in his leather pants
It looked like what you see when
you first open a can of spam

I hate to argue with you,
but I must say the sky is not blue.
It is studded by blemishes—
clouds smeared by the oily effervescence
of sunrises, sunsets,
bisected by rainbows,
vivisected by the worm-trails of airplanes.

All pyros know
the instructions on Black Cat firecrackers:
Light fuse and retire quickly.
I should have lived my life like that.

‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Felt dread of something after death—
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Long life—To die, to sleep—No more—
And by a sleep to say we end

someone will take you, poem
don’t give up
keep fighting the good fight
chin up