They went, like that which is not
in what is the way to go.
They took blue dolor in a bauble.
They burned it down.
They found yellow steam
in an alembic & smashed it
up with a pyrrhic victory. In this vat they put
the pleasures you knew
when you were young, held above
steady flame, collects on a black
globe & shatters into a green
effluvia; they made it so.
They took from you
your lunch money, knocked the scholar's
cap from your head, burned off
your baby fat & handed you a candle
made from its tallow. They
made honey from your mud: their
floor is a checkerboard & your
scooped-clean skull the
crucible for so much sticking.
Their giant brown bellows strapped
to your back, you stumble after
their caravan from one
generation to the next.
We all float down here, unfeathered & fettered against this patch of blackened velvet. Another year & we can all just pay t...
Peachum's Morning Song Sing this as anthem or hymn depending on which false prophet ho...
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Darling, my heart is a slow fox flitting under the tables of repossessed mansions. My heart trots ...