[14-September-03]
What a goddamn paint job
on a rugged walnut.
What's that on your nametag?
Your money is fodder & slag,
for dear life slips inside narrows.
Who carries silvered textiles
or clever whistles and rattles?
I am a casing,
with no motored caboose.
I'm driven by you,
dear dirt and & poor pedestal.
A thought is on apples, not sulfurs;
no matter what you feed him, it's in his feet.
I live by a blind bellows,
what swears I say when fools come my way,
binding to trails.
Oh, empty is elusive.
Ther curtain on the mind
extends on all kinds of suffering action.
Never need to expose an emotion, a history,
and what you tell just takes up time,
just sitting on excess,
the baring of breasts
makes the soul's arrest.
Get off the train.