It's Been a Honeymoon

And you are eternity and you are the mirrors

Here there's always room for one more; town, island, or kingdom. Are you dumb, man, aren't you the junk adam.

Cannibal at a red banner, bull, scampering toreador. There was blood everywhere, there was memory. Wind,

you'll have a terrible time smothering my clarity. He took me of the supper club, we ate like lucky cards look up when the other suits us, spade, heart,

straight face as you save true circles for a round two. Sluiceway. He lifted the proof axe out of cake batter, brought it so near to me but couldn't complete the sacrifice. Something about how two forces infinitely approaching one another is rite-erotic, the talking reich. God against God, again. Who's vigil is it. The one with the father. The one with his free, spirit. Could be, couldn't it. Sleepy axe, so sleek, so spatula as the cubic sugar that led us up the free trade to pluck the rubble from each triangle at a time. Delta, deal us of us. We're all such sluts and then we find enough language to call you mine. There was love everywhere, there was memory

certain emperors
certain ballads
less and less subtle
affairs we had with the attitude of fairies comes the bare wand or wanderer, disorder on a tv monitor-- there was us, everywhere, there was hymn
feral spin, c'mon feet, come-in, run. This is common. There was memory everywhere we were coming from the future to spare ourselves your tournament or torment we went around some thin rhyme like town and our- town up and down the hours on our far-out referential; spindle, in walked bud, and so forth with the force of nothingness inherited as a shore. Greet us like strangers, that would be kinder than the kind we are

Remember, members, your showmanship, your shango, can't go no farther, can't go no farther and onward, and on the blood of bull swans, and on the want we want and want and want until the pond is slim and haunted and hunted and under it with flashlights and fleshlight we look as bright as math, and happy-- that half backwards papa word was the last pop song he plays me up and down these charts. That way I'm in more places, cumulative as a lapdance is a last dance unless you get a whistle stuck in your wheel and it's real, so loud it loosens your will into awe. I don't know what else. I am eternity and I am the mirrors. The difference between an offering and a sacrifice is self-evident and imperceptible hold on my people, hold on until you're felt like flying