Do we really need you, can you ever sing our song?
I head East into a reservoir called a river
The giant heads of sand rise like serpents
You can't reach me here in this place of water and sky
Prolific little shit falling into the that mix
Bum,Wanderer, Drifter, Loner, Painter
I tell a farmer that I am an artist, and he asks me to paint his barn
John Muir was evermore a walker and genius, he could live off a loaf of bread for a month
The river gives life and takes life, (a body is floating in a backwater
I dearly needed you, more than I realized, that knife to the heart doesn't matter at all
No stretch of this river is true wilderness
Bridges falling, dams breaking, roads cracking, wires cut
The telephone poles sprout with life
The jungle cat becomes king, whatever for, he did more fighting than ruling
A wound stretches across my arm, the sun dries the wound to a crust
There's nothing the good old sun can't cure
Flying pigs and the Jesus of Detroit
Headless chickens run around Miss Van Campballs living room
She tells me she used to be a Dutch treat
Sperm floats from her mouth like a Lawrence Whelk bubble machine.
No comments:
Post a Comment