The Love Song of J Kenneth Spink

Let us go then, you and I,
When mother night is spread out against the sky
Like a zombie trepanned upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-dead streets,
The muttering threats
Of terror-filled nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust emergency clinics with shotgun-shells:
Streets that follow like the limping undead
Of moaning dread
To lead you to an overwhelming question. . .
Oh, do not ask, "Is it dead?"
Let us fight and aim for the head.