So now we are all in a poppy field The entire society is all doped up on hope and I'm about to eat your food, homie leap out from the crease of cicero the great orator the toreador roars my phantom tags me and runs we are watching the mythos play itself out watching the heroine as she's made to touch paper in Harlem with an open hand across the street from the nigga with the bullhorn Apollo, sun god Heliopolis the last place on the rock our magnetic field unburdened these were career protesters trying to wrack up arrests for credentials greeting each other: see you in Vietnam, tomorrow these we road hoes with a puppy and a gun large fur lark, slaughter the purple kind dim wine in a backalley leaning against the attack so it dances with me so now we are all in this poppy / field eating from the bottomless vessel of wet light it's finally ready to be Dogon AD could we celebrate when they hung him turned him into wheel grease Could we at least pluck a few orange petals and arrange them in our Afros like fangs
oh, by the way,
The sunlight is changed by the moon. The moon is a parasite, We are not moon people. The moon has nothing to do with us. The moon is not our friend.
Grace notes (8)
