I believe in the gathering of rust

and in the accumulation of dust.

I believe in the boom, and the unpredictable bust;

in the tit, in the tat, even in Carol Doda’s bust;

in the greasiness of phrase and the word dislocated.

I believe in the misery of advertizing, the whitewash

of probability, the gouge of sell. I believe

in jack – the jackboot, the jackpot, the jack

me off. I firmly hold that nowhere is

anyone ever able to turn the rust, the dust, the bust,

the whole ecstatic pitfall off.

I believe, too, in shooting stars,

digging in spades their wink at the grave.

I should also like to take this opportunity

to re-affirm my faith in any bank

along whatever stream of the cess

and the cease of consciousness.

Willie Smith

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