The way the words drip down and fall away.
The way the rain makes me feel today: small, fallow,
Like Issa, rocking a devil to sleep.
A young girl's smile to seal the king:
Twenty centuries of stony sleep,
Rock-a-bye sphinx. Dimebag Dee,
Rest in peace in peace. Underneath
All that apparel: America.
No dice, unless...
But what's under the hood?
Life, then everything dead.
Woe, I don't know,
What is dying?
What is death?
Why does the smoke ring come from my breath?
Psilocybe cyanescens and some demotic french.
Et tu? Endless,
Unless...what's good is bad and what's bad is dense,
Making nothing from simulacra, no Guess? I digress,
This is a long drive for someone with something to think about:
Nothing, that is, nothing in particular, nowhere is best.
The limitless void. The limitless light.
Lemmings or Sphinx, onto the brink:
X,
The birds always know best.
You get fucked then turn into a finch.
Or maybe a nightingale if you're into
That shit, but a very quiet finch nonetheless.
So rudely forced
And still her woes at midnight rise to fill the air
Under her bended wing
And I will always die, I will always die so you can remember me.
Attis, Adonis and Osiris
Speak.
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