The day the Stones took away
my satisfaction with bad radio
was an ugly grey evening
dipped in good men’s sorrow;
There was nothing on TV,
no others, no masturbation,
no nothing but the sound of a man
talking, talking paid words
and driving the movement to blunt the world.
It was good to care to not care
about everything they built while we
were asleep and thought to find the grass still green
on the morning shore of tomorrow.
It was all I had to do;
the surging need to withdraw from
the lost flocks marching Monday streets.
It was the day the Stones took away