Monday, December 7, 2015

The slick city people we became after the exodus

Having redistributed god  next man  wistful for profit    our   willingness    our   lottery   bottle   will, collective and singular  / so  sinner / sew  nerves together           into   the lining  linen   Shine   been signing autographs, in the blind name,   daddy had,   and bashful poster     near  the mine   reads :

                                                                                                            We ship to prisons

Picture all our favorite   men    in a   van     on the way somewhere,    subsidized

                                                                                                     We  buy     gold

We ride   the   shy  horses
We are good to think with

And it's still   only   morning
It's  only morning    still
         only  morning

                                                                all these  things   we do   this early,   this easy              remote  rituals  of the village  turned  as  urban      as  barren  

                            Therefore if you value your liberty ; and the welfare of the fugitives among you

Something about how we behave in the darkness is   the total   will  of  our light