I am Jane Goodall's Tanzanian monkeys typing about bananas. My fingers are Santa's little helpers. My hope is a sporadic rainfall - yet a torrential downpour in all creative environments. I am Theseus, unspooling golden yarn. Sisyphus, sweating uphill. Bukowski, scribbling away in rooming houses. A river always flowing. I am the nightmare of stagnancy and a God of Imagination.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
The Sky Looks ILM Fake...
he checks his pockets for scraps of paper
he swears he had things to do
but there were no papers
so now what
he thought
what am I missing
will these things
hit me in the head when I'm at home
will I have to get back up
are they that important
no
no no no
out of sight
out of mind
or out of mind
out of sight
no
no no no
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