(Lights frame my head.)
You could look down, you could see it, but only from high up: it looked like
God was angry at something.
What moves us forward, what moves.
You say, “We use telescopes for prophecy. People are scared of how things’ll
turn out.” So they don’t want to look, you tell me.
Now what can I do.
They sit around and don’t talk, just throw curses down the lightshaft to Hell.
I’m so glad I found you.
Is there somewhere we can talk? My feet are tired. Someone’s been following
me all day.
I’m so glad I found you.
They were fixing to strike him dead, so he waited around all afternoon. But
still had his own head. Later, when he got into the Masonic Lodge, he said, “This is
a good thing.”
“Your body knows what it needs,” said the doctor. “Little failures.” He shows
me out, sends me down the hall to Accounts Payable.
You come to a team like this where every day, we’re going out to win.
Engendered endangered, outmanned manifold, bearded.
“You only eat thoughts in the house.”
My distribution system’s tongue is frozen to a metal pole.
Now what can I do to get? Nothing like styles.
“I wrote it in my mind” and the ink froze on paper.
I don’t have no control the red banded snake held in my palms, clapping its
jaws together, buds snapped pollen falls out to the wood floor I don’t have no
control.
I’m not looking for the joke I’m looking for the sequence.
I stack the spice boxes deliberately in patterns that’ll indicate their
importance to my family’s local cuisine, truly their own.
He Laughs at Ancient Comedy My Greek teacher in California used to say
that anyone who laughs at a piece of ancient comedy must be nuts— there’s nothing
funny in it.
“Satisfy my wishbone.” He prophesies.
“Give me something to eat.” Prophecy is a full head.
Prophecy is a noisy stomach.
Prophecy prophecy.
“it all happens for a reason” I don’t believe that, I truly don’t think it all
happens for a reason.
but it does, there’s still some chain of rational progression tied to my ankle
under the pants leg, when I walk down the street by the elm stump, the tree that
used to rise up in front of our house; when I drive to impossible work each
morning—it all happens for a reason.
but no one ever knows what or how they can profit by it.
You could look down, you could see it, but only from high up: it looked like
God was angry at something.
What moves us forward, what moves.
You say, “We use telescopes for prophecy. People are scared of how things’ll
turn out.” So they don’t want to look, you tell me.
Now what can I do.
They sit around and don’t talk, just throw curses down the lightshaft to Hell.
I’m so glad I found you.
Is there somewhere we can talk? My feet are tired. Someone’s been following
me all day.
I’m so glad I found you.
They were fixing to strike him dead, so he waited around all afternoon. But
still had his own head. Later, when he got into the Masonic Lodge, he said, “This is
a good thing.”
“Your body knows what it needs,” said the doctor. “Little failures.” He shows
me out, sends me down the hall to Accounts Payable.
You come to a team like this where every day, we’re going out to win.
Engendered endangered, outmanned manifold, bearded.
“You only eat thoughts in the house.”
My distribution system’s tongue is frozen to a metal pole.
Now what can I do to get? Nothing like styles.
“I wrote it in my mind” and the ink froze on paper.
I don’t have no control the red banded snake held in my palms, clapping its
jaws together, buds snapped pollen falls out to the wood floor I don’t have no
control.
I’m not looking for the joke I’m looking for the sequence.
I stack the spice boxes deliberately in patterns that’ll indicate their
importance to my family’s local cuisine, truly their own.
He Laughs at Ancient Comedy My Greek teacher in California used to say
that anyone who laughs at a piece of ancient comedy must be nuts— there’s nothing
funny in it.
“Satisfy my wishbone.” He prophesies.
“Give me something to eat.” Prophecy is a full head.
Prophecy is a noisy stomach.
Prophecy prophecy.
“it all happens for a reason” I don’t believe that, I truly don’t think it all
happens for a reason.
but it does, there’s still some chain of rational progression tied to my ankle
under the pants leg, when I walk down the street by the elm stump, the tree that
used to rise up in front of our house; when I drive to impossible work each
morning—it all happens for a reason.
but no one ever knows what or how they can profit by it.
