Bring out the noise makers
and kneel at the alter.
Blow your kisses to the breeze
and let midnight fall.

Charity mesmerizes me,
comforts me and brings me around.

The people are dying
and soldiers bullets are flying.

Old Mother Earth
tells it like it is.

No terrorist threat,
just slam the coast
one time,
slam the coast two time.

Blow those noisemakers
and throw your kisses to the breeze,
kneel at the alter
and let midnight fall.

you be


                   a             surrealistic

      bird          

                     mister green.



           did i

smoke                         it?


                                                                  no    
                                                                             i
                                                                                 took          it



effin                                ******.

If anyone's going to put their foot in my mouth I want it to be me.

"People are so hard to understand.
They are like earpieces casually stuffed
in the pockets of their private lives.
And when they step out of their stuffy
homes, they demand to have others
locate their origins, their mid-points and
their ends where you stuff your ears in.
Demand that from cords in infinite loop.
Demand that without an instruction manual."
I wanted to interject, but your sentences ran
into each other and morphed into these
pseudo-words, pseudo-rants without ends
to stuff into your ears and listen.
I would have said that people were fine
without beginnings or destinations or
instruction manuals. That behind the
metal prisons of these speakers lay
sounds, to be played into ears and
listened to. Told to.

Fell                        FALLED

T
  H
    R
     O
       U
        G
         H

The floor
landed on his knees
and did think             OW NO
                                     HERE I GO Again.