You're a philosopher?
Yeah, I think very, vary-- (deep-ly de-plea-t'd)
Here we go again into the breach
In former times 'you' meant 'good harvest,' and 'da you' meant 'best harvest'
and bayou meant, the things which we cannot touch because they are too near, all of them in a clay bucket backing back into the well; veiled, unavailable, all the rose hued mansions swelling, bluing, cooped up in ink, defiant--
The shape of a city may change but the shape of the well is constant and we will always approach it with entitled distance. Then one day the well shrugs and there's a fountain. Allegory is dismissed and you're grown and drunk and you means you
and me
(new songs in the old forms, Dasafio, your mamma's so-- careful
and everyone we know
we won
when
the wells back from
the city--
in plastic
and you ask for ice
instead of teeth
give me ice
in the former you form
from the bayou
