In other words, you create.
Jazz background atmosphere, static tube radioWithout any work, downtown movies swinging clubsFilled mega large– and then we part our ways.Happens anyway, choices weighed, left in sofa king mattressSipping lemonade. Living pelican bay every day.Enough of the serenade, let’s go back to the old ways.
Let’s go back, back to the vitruvian turntablesMust, break, few eggs, to. get. to. pulp matterThe occult shatters.Forcibly entering into another hazy day on the magnum opusIsland leviathanClanging and trumpeting down the hallof forgetfulnessof secretive substancesHitting you in the center of the panhandler’s galaxyThrough rhythm’s eye
Washroom-cleansed carpet shawls, drapery <- I hate that wordSongs like this make you wonder about life.What a nice, concept- religion, the grand schemerAs if he was fooling us all, meditation!Collab on life, no hesitation, no insinuation.Wind chimes singing in the background, what do you do?Accept the prophet missionary, emissary?Or silence again, and return to the gardens?
I think… I don’t know but I probably do.It’s like a novel from Dr. Seuss, but not obtuseCount, tip-toe red fish, blueDracula moved about the corridorin barracuda slippers -Sign reads: Beware the Cuban RipperBut look past the yield, jack the cornerstoneAnd refit it into the Earth- The way I want you to
Like the eggs?
In : Poetry
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