the words weren’t mine

no entertainment then Martha was wired
so his love’s love is like Herself knows what
and the hook isn’t in the way enough
although it’s not so much his rush to fix
the solo brain at the centre of things
even if there aren’t many kicks to be
had by doing what seems most natural
it’s more the automatic rerouting
of the agitation to some symbol
or other as if that was art she stretched
out the instances crashing harder now
satellite this               angels that              Jesus wept
either start making a proper racket
sweetheart or else turn your lyric way down