The Future

from Perfect Sleeping Weather by Larry Fulford

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Scrawled into notebooks from the familiar comforts of temporary homes and the passenger seats of mechanically unsound vehicles adrift on the highways and back roads of America, Perfect Sleeping Weather is fifteen years of thoughts, observations, facts, and fictions hammered into a collection of poetry that, according to one reader, "sounds like a sigh."

In this, his first book, writer/drummer/comedian Larry Fulford reflects on the usual -- life, death, love and leaving -- while still managing to name-check Van Halen. Twice.

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lyrics

A sore on the arm and an evolved growth on the finger
to hold this pen steady.
It nearly functions automatically:
eats, sleeps, and breathes for fuel
and burns its way downstairs.

I imagine The Future
and it is without sun,
without streetlights or smiles
and action figures are obsolete.

The ocean is salt-less, deserts are sponges,
snow spills out of the sky like blood.

It’s as bleak as an old writer’s attic
as hard to avoid as a bad habit.

(notice no one ever says “good habit.”
notice a lot of old writers have beards.
weird.)

The arm rests buckle and cities separate.
The banks crack open their safes
until money doesn’t matter
and it’s back to the barter.

More people are fishing again
fewer people are living.
More people would be reading
if there were any books left.

Science has all but killed itself
doctors have rattled the rhyme and reason
out of every bone.

The wealthy peer out at a blank horizon
and thank Christ for their parents.
The middle class is held back a year
and the lower class is gone altogether.

Kids aren’t so fat
in my sleep-deprived late-night sketch of The Future.