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We are gone now, You and I,
As your darkened tentacles splay out across Our Light
Like a Child, Euthanised upon a table,

We are Gone, down every crowded market street
The Stuttering Entreaties
of Dreamy Dawns in alleys behind empty suites,
and Creosote Food-Banks, and Shotgun Shells:

Streets that crumble like a back-handed compliment
of conspicuous mal-intent,

To leave me underwhelmed in our inventions...

Do not tell me what it isn't,...
Let us go and not revisit,

The room where women never go
to change the music on the stereo,

The Choking Fog that seethes through cracks in broken window panes,
the Scalding Smoke spits steaming venom at the windows pain,
Licks my Tongue from tip to throat because I am speaking,
Stagnance ferments in the corpse-clogged drains,

Ashes dust the Crowns as Damned Men tend Funeral Pyres
Enchanted, let slip a sudden peal,
and though it is a Deep Cold December Night,

the Flames shame Summers Heat and Light,

Indeed, there is no time
for the Bilious Smog that rides astride this Meat,
Scrapes its back on razor cracks of broken window panes;

There is no time, there is no time,
To paint the masque to meet impostors in the street,

There is no time, to murder the witness and retreat,
No time for chores or play or prayer or war,
To throw accusations like dinner plates,

No time for you, no time for me
No time for consternated indecision
No time to envision your thousand revisions

Before burning the toast and boiling the tea
In the room where women never go
to pour the tea upon the stereo.

And indeed there is not time,
To ponder, "Do I care? and wonder, "Do I dare?"

Not time to slip the noose, step off the chair
With lesions sprouting through my hair -
My Tattered Robe flies loose in the chilling wind,
My Noose is rough and firm, Adorned with sentimental whims -

Do I dare
Betray the Universe?
There is no moment, there is no time
For Precision of Incisions, the Witches won't rehearse.

For I have never known them, one and all:
Never known the darkness, daylight, sunless afternoons,
Scavenged out my soul with sugar spoons;
I hear the voice of Death, with a graceless fall
Over the unchanged music from a hidden room
So how could I not presume?

I have never known your Thousand Eyes, One and All
The eyes that mesmerize your jack-lit prey,
And as I am remonstrated, seized upon a pin,
As I am nailed and writing on the wall,
Then why would I begin
To smoke down all the butt-ends of my desires and dreams?
How could I not presume?

I have never known your Thousand Arms, Not at All -
Arms, Adorned, and Weak and Pale

Is it the Humours of a Corpse
that makes me so remorse?
For arms that press me to the table, wrap me in a shroud..
How should I not presume?
How can I begin again?

By jha'far, Video & Audio Editing by SatoriD
Notes for the Anti-Love Song of Jaffy the Rough Rock
Parody of "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock", by T.S. Eliot

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