| Sick uncalm claims my brain. An all my wants r wanting. whatever it is that'll fill them. My sighs bleed under the lights left on by the last one I let inside. An my lips crack an chap from slurping these words. Blue streets. An rancid meats. An sadness. The great grey maze mind used. Mis-choosed into hunting sex definitions. Moon-faced greatness stalking through midnight eyes (Oh eyes! that have ever been a mouth t swallow the world!) My avant-garde plate. Smashed. Crashed. In no no-nonsense serious way. An my feets drowned in barroom brawls - sticky floors. My toes unable t move I watch people's brains constructing pointless towers. Pillars t themselves. As they eye my lines. I spin an grin t the tingle of bells. The fallin' of leaves. An windows (where black widows r weaving restless webs). An the green green grass. An a melted butter-yellow sun. |
| An the Green, Green Grass |