Nightly, empty, luminous ballrooms roll back in your skull nI resigned myself to all the disappearance nI was sure the cops would come callingnSome sick shivering morningnnI live in Newark now where cars speed away nAnd weekend freebasers bury their stemsnIn shaded groves and muted clearingsnnIn Philadelphia, we didn't knownClammy hands and beaming thresholdsnnAnd I'm visited by naked realitynIn the higher gloss of the cars that cut in front of menAnd depression is nothing compared to what's in store for themnnHaving hitched across AmericanLike an itinerant laborer nOr a serial killer on pulsing arterialsnnI numbly recline nIn a filthy slicked lawn chairnAs our garage yawns behind me with tunnels nnThe pinkest sky I'd ever seen nStill pocked with dirigibles nAnd flying machines that opened up nnI thought it'd begun hailing but amethyst and glass nWere raining down from an unmarked aircraftnCovering the cooling tar totally nIn manufactured street sheen nnI've been finding clipped-off Parliaments everywhere lately nI take it as a sign that you're aroundnnSee J passed awaynFor the first time in JunenAnd the last time last night in the WarrennnAs a warm, round, mournful sound nFlooded my room nnLike blood does from the faucets of pitch-black bathrooms during adolescent summoning rituals