What can you do-do
with a banjo or two-two
when you’re lazysome and crazysome
and the moon is a fool?
When the brainsies proud moulder
smokes a bucketlist of clover
and the nursie rides a hearsie
like a fairies-wheel?
I’m wretched-like and trying some
to sow some harmlessness old lying mum
but the violets of rhyming um
keep a-burbling out my nose.
Boil the doorjam of the senses
Forget incasements and tenses
Fool the memory with some moonylight
Leave the'art clogged with a resoundingbite
Log the organelles for the arkive
Leave no nictitating florets alive
The real regrets
what it refrains
to stain to steal to strangle to feign to uh full-feel-fangle
*
i would generally object (!) to the work-it-over-till-its-dead slope of the conceiving premise - thought your first draft was fine & live enough for a moonlit moment - anyway i moved more in the banjo direction towards sillysong and what that can do-do. S.
No comments:
Post a Comment