Song of the Free Sector
Knits and weaves and baskets things contain
Interests and intervals and meadeans
And looking past, out, acrash and stuck to refrain
Gone down on a sideways cart eating vegetables
Bag radicals and jumping beans
Carry your slosh slosh dream dream
Caving out on no nothing scenes
Always full up with something
Cacholigious, maxidigious, luck
And mortor, walls constantly beside ye
Warm lip sun have to nod and fuck
Or walk quackly by and not know
Sum of this and this one song
Something about the air and yen
"I think I know" grumbles woman in sarong
Pretty gold sarong, green dingy
Worn by princess in the confusion
Nothing but light from the sewers
No reason to reach any kind of conclusion
And every one thinks they know
No matter what they say
Ignorance paid lip-service in the air Where lips
Are the order of all day
And all night, all night
The bricks are cold and the walls the plaster
Everything is all night
We see people painfully, sharp alabaster
Plants wound our eyes
We see mirrors banefully dropped
Across our lap for pennies
We see the sky in our minds popped
At last, old blackhead
We breathe vomit and we sing sweetly
To ourselves in our boxes
We talk shuddery, shattery, softly
To ourselves
Tell ourselves to slow down
When you squint you can only see the neon
You can feather the dark
Until it's soft enough to sleep on
No comments:
Post a Comment