Yo La Tengo

ira caplan’s sonic squall rips
new york’s fourth of july gulls
from the captivities of silence
like a chainsaw through a bough
of glass or chalk on yesterday’s
pavement; a soul possessed by
demons determined to explode
his body jerks with stock-market
indices richter scale on jersey’s
fretboard; blinding sounds erupt
then ribbon out dangling notes
along the blue-green themes in
a park for homeless evangelists
shredding civic programmes deep
in a feedback dream blooming
into atonal squiggles of sound
an express blast of manhole heat
a peacebomb dropped on america
heaving swollen thrashed a loop
of pure non-violence & entropy
a firework of stars & stripes
tearing the sky a new arsehole

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