It's The Light Of The Oncoming Train.

We Are All Old-timers, Each Of Us Holds A Locked Razor.

But Sometimes Everything I Write With The Threadbare Art Of My Eye Seems A Snapshot

I Will Catch Christ With A Greased Worm, And When The Prince Of Darkness Stalks My Bloodstream To Its Stygian Term . . . On Water The Man-fisher Walks.

Everywhere, Giant Finned Cars Nose Forward Like Fish; A Savage Servility Slides By On Grease.

The World Is Absolutely Out Of Control Now And Is Not Going To Be Saved By Any Reason Or Unreason.