Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Still...

And as for me?
Why am I here?
Idolatry
it is a sphere
When all it asks for is a drop
a row of tables, and a crop
You've shot some guns,
you've seen my rack?
Would you hack tables,
not my back?

I don't give jobs
I've gotten sacked
I've been to mobs
I've crossed, I've tracked.
Would his car rot?
A car it ain't
Three pounds of flax
(now take the taint)
I'll send you acks
(Who said, "a saint"?)
Fingerpointing, yes's he's mean,
dictate some wars? You should have seen
"They must be cleansed! They must be clean!
And now, let's see, where have they been...
What have they done, and are they lean
let's weight this, measure a bean..."
And he goes off, no shoe no cough,
"Was there a script? Perhaps a draft?"
(pondered that, back on the raft)
Those are words I hate, give me malice,
you speak of rabbit holes? Down like Alice.
And in the end, in concentrates,
"A killer gene", some dire straits

"Oh, the killers? Here's a switch,
got the cure, and found the itch
But then who'll battle,
who will burn?
For after all, they all must earn
their absolution, in my eyes"
A pot of crock, a sack of lies.
A man who picks the sword then must
Know when to glisten, when go bust
How did you get here? Did you climb?
Care for some lemon? Bit of lime?
And pardon me, but damn, o clé?
Could not have done it, without the Faye.
I thought the door, open, ajar,
would be enough, but then, agar...
is just a substrate, for mushrooms.
I've got an answer, and it's brooms
which witch rides which?
Is there a care?
Rub my belly
want a hare?

No comments:

Post a Comment