Blathersday. Whattatime. Another goody. Wanted that big one, though, wanted to push it, out there in the gardens and steep slopes. The magic, the wonder. Amazing stuff, every last song. It's changed every time.
Once in a while there may be the possibility of a dreamscape that does not compound upon the ego, therefore disrupting malefactitious embarkments.
Perhaps hunger will inspire me now
since it has been a great time
since the last of the last cow.
But upon what shall I feast
what things are there
I wouldn't remember
I wouldn't care
If it weren't for the very
least.
Matter of fact is matter of mind
and enters likeness and orange rind.
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