BAD ROCK AND ROLL
by Sam Silva
The magic grows cold
…the heart and heat
of voices day and night
skips a beat
here and there
…the threads of such a universe
of ghost
go thin
in syncopation with anomalies
of sin
which no longer keep upright
flames of flowering transcendental grace
like new years everywhere
…like new years everywhere
just a ball game on TV
and beer and pretzels and their farts
when music fails the arts
in this land of liberty.