Secrets become agreements, myths from Griots' lips, grievances, givens (man keeled over at the railroad station is waiting for his woman's train (to arrive) on a discontinued line... he is very patient, do not pity him, there is a phase of love coloring his heart to blind and giddy, he rhymes with himself and can you do that, can you lean that over... it suddenly recurred to me, to whom who keeps a record, weather at the strip club or the red party meeting, or here waiting, all of these are part crimson/ brutal. Each chimp is property and it belongs to grammar, each chump too, each chubby pole dancer too and emaciated streetwalker/socialist, day/night, all forbidden by silence, so what if...........
We all sat down naked under khaki trenches in the middle of an unpacked strip joint on the side of blackout highway and singing an anthology of by the way while I was singing I could tell we are no longer assigned to this movement we are now its functionaries, we have inherited its function, we have replaced grammar with a glamorous hush fell toward the room, but could not quite reach it Free these mimes from their mute imitations and they just dance a percussive speechlessness into our shut-in/don't shoot/souls... I sing to you. So you can shine some way. Home
