the musical uncanny

Psychedelic celluloid.

my days that slip away
with hardly half a taste
in the moonlight yaw--
not one of the dreams but gets it

my nights that cease too soon
& leave me scarce a thread--
weave splendid the noose
of my march to total dearth

O while away the whelming
be chary to name it
tomorrow in enamel
or, certes, bitumen

Museum of Street Culture.

(via)