Tomorrow, yes, tomorrow
there will suddenly be new success, like Easter clothes,
and a strange and different fate
and bona fide life will arrive at last, stepping from
a nonstop plane with silver wings and chromium
doors and a straight, white, staring light
There will be the sound of silvery thunder again, to drown
the insane silence
a new, tremendous sound will shatter the final unspoken
question and stifle the last, mute, terrible reply
rockets, rockets, Roman candles, flares will burst
in every corner of the night, to veil with snakes of
silvery fire the nothingness that waits and waits
there will be a bright, shimmering, silver veil
stretched everywhere, tight, to hide the terrible, ter
rible end of the world where people
fall who are alone, or dead
Sick or alone
alone or poor
weak, or mad, or doomed, or alone
Tomorrow, yes, tomorrow, surely we begin at last to live
with lots and lots of laughter
solid silver laughter
laughter, with a few simple instructions, and
a bona fide guarantee.
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