“O
faithless and perverse generation, how long shall I be with you? How long shall
I suffer you?”
Morning is not a measurement of the
mind. You find what I leave behind and take it all too seriously. Words are not
water, words have no weight, words cannot create and yet everyone wants to be a
caretaker over the words on my tombstone. I linger in language layered with
leavings from my pen. Crystal courtesans catch Mazzy Star in the act and I in
fact can’t react the message is too clear. Hear what you need to hear just
understand from my hand it will never be clear from the haze of your
perception. There is no deception in contraception yet I feel like Vincent
writing Theo proclaiming “I am not mad”.
It’s
all too sad and really only too bad for me to see what I see and see it alone.
Oh how I wish I had a clone, we could view and eschew the misconstrued and ask,
“Does anybody remember laughter?” Happily ever after? There are no urinals only
catheters and the discomfort of the mundane. The refrain of the main falls
mainly on the brain and I disdain the seriousness of all soliloquies when the
simple solution is when the equal sign is always followed by zero.
***
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