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field reports from the financial district - pedestrian (anticon.) lyrics

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1
when night falls on the sell-by date
and the last visible star
beyond the billboards
lands at the oakland airport

a leftover northerly flaps a logo
atop a broadway storefront
itself on its ninth new name
in as many same-place years

when my bed pop. is halved by one
and i’m still receiving the past-due specters
of previous renter
all stuck together like diner slips
in a pinned pile of fathers and light bills

when you find a ragged i.o.u
where your 2 a.m. should be
try counting one hour
under a corner window
without an engine going off

2
the cufflinked ghost of sick days to come
the spirit of a wristw-tch-weaving people
native, scholars say, to a cubicle limbo
set between first floor and god

they even commuted under the sea
from suburbs away, thinking of sleep
this call-out phantom clocked out in time
tugged at his tie, then took me aside….

and he told me — get this– he was like
“you have no future as a temp.”
you know? me!

“in another time, another place, he may have been a seer
a shaman priest, but in our world he’s a shoe salesman who
lives among the shadows.”

i mean we all have our sample cases to bear–
the credit reports of the ancestors–
but admitting defeat is like comparing scars:
not on first dates or as red-light outlines
in singles bars. i’m thinking here
of jesus b-ttons on freezing bums
and people’s “bald men make better lovers”
bumper stickers on their automoblies

i was trained by a compromise in high heels
whose perfect promotion ever fell through
who commuted all the way under the sea
from suburbs away, where the lofts are cheaper
and the hitting of middle softer

3
when opportunity doorbell ditches
and the restart b-tton sticks
it’s all wednesday morning hangovers
and a phone voice that fl!ckers
field reports from the feral front desks
of the grand financial district
where rolling blackouts lead brokers
to count shares in cubes candlelit

when day breaks on the expiration date
and even the lights have files for bankruptcy…
my life as a floating relief receptionist:
dropping names in pockets of voicemail

these days have already shed themselves;
decidious, calendrical sh-lls

- pedestrian anticon lyrics

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