the rapture
getting caught up in naked angels in the clouds
or demons in the grass
never step on a stray sod, he said,
you'll never find your way back.
all the complex clouds in my head,
like fog i am composed of
furiously try to make sense from nonsense;
try to remove odors with incense, make work from toys.
try to make music devoid of noise.
a cloud of heads,
and it's saint what's-his-name's stepping on all the babies
in that gallery
in philadelphia...
meanwhile, inside every gas station convenient store blowpop
flimsily dressed in gaunt white plastic,
fresh bubblegum souls sit waiting for him to be used, chewed, haphazardly discarded or poignantly consumed.
or demons in the grass
never step on a stray sod, he said,
you'll never find your way back.
all the complex clouds in my head,
like fog i am composed of
furiously try to make sense from nonsense;
try to remove odors with incense, make work from toys.
try to make music devoid of noise.
a cloud of heads,
and it's saint what's-his-name's stepping on all the babies
in that gallery
in philadelphia...
meanwhile, inside every gas station convenient store blowpop
flimsily dressed in gaunt white plastic,
fresh bubblegum souls sit waiting for him to be used, chewed, haphazardly discarded or poignantly consumed.