faucet notes plink plank plink plunk plunk plunk plairnk
turn them tight or the water drips night after night
echoes of frogs and ducks munching stuff
\ whilst\ forthwith\ withe without side cycles and pliers flies fly to pie\
the stains on the sidewalk of decomposed leaves of glass
of the door handle left untouched, the gears of commerce
the lonely crazed immigrants with the river and the fish, speaking
to the bullrushes and the dirty water, the roar of the bus
driver yawning down on a sandwich filled with germs
and german old ladies get on and get the paper ink on their fingers
.....
yada yada yada , I can fake a leaf of maple
but would rather have maple syrup for me and me alone on my pancake house
with pancake walls and pancake chairs and syrup glasses
and I cant be with it, I who hates
that fake blind bum who cant see that he isnt blind
nothing special bout the people in the city, the tufts of their hair
nonsense of narcissist slaves all
over thems elevated selves messages selling the pretending
to be olive green or bright blue
or have running shoes for running past lights and grit rocks
old fumes exhausted trees trying to bring in the sun shine
through the grime a million dead souls leave around their half-sad lives
down out bums seiving quarters out of the silver traffic that glides past
These are the contenders, the black shirts and white men and the dressed up women
looking for cars and cranes and dodging facsimile families with amphibious assault style strollers
the ambulance teeters around corners of feathers, fear and flat head friends standing
with thorns to their two temples the synagogues of quaint bagel size hats, the
mission bell tolls at six and the pots and pans are not clean to eat dinner from
any more.
This is the mighty sity of the mountain, that mountain a hungry hand
an open mouth, a look like buckets of water are somewhere around, just out of thirst
for the industry and inside job that it takes to sink holes in the road and fill them back up, one
after one after one afternoon and it starts all over again
turn them tight or the water drips night after night
echoes of frogs and ducks munching stuff
\ whilst\ forthwith\ withe without side cycles and pliers flies fly to pie\
the stains on the sidewalk of decomposed leaves of glass
of the door handle left untouched, the gears of commerce
the lonely crazed immigrants with the river and the fish, speaking
to the bullrushes and the dirty water, the roar of the bus
driver yawning down on a sandwich filled with germs
and german old ladies get on and get the paper ink on their fingers
.....
yada yada yada , I can fake a leaf of maple
but would rather have maple syrup for me and me alone on my pancake house
with pancake walls and pancake chairs and syrup glasses
and I cant be with it, I who hates
that fake blind bum who cant see that he isnt blind
nothing special bout the people in the city, the tufts of their hair
nonsense of narcissist slaves all
over thems elevated selves messages selling the pretending
to be olive green or bright blue
or have running shoes for running past lights and grit rocks
old fumes exhausted trees trying to bring in the sun shine
through the grime a million dead souls leave around their half-sad lives
down out bums seiving quarters out of the silver traffic that glides past
These are the contenders, the black shirts and white men and the dressed up women
looking for cars and cranes and dodging facsimile families with amphibious assault style strollers
the ambulance teeters around corners of feathers, fear and flat head friends standing
with thorns to their two temples the synagogues of quaint bagel size hats, the
mission bell tolls at six and the pots and pans are not clean to eat dinner from
any more.
This is the mighty sity of the mountain, that mountain a hungry hand
an open mouth, a look like buckets of water are somewhere around, just out of thirst
for the industry and inside job that it takes to sink holes in the road and fill them back up, one
after one after one afternoon and it starts all over again
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