On the streets are many sounds and sights. Like, dragons jumping traffic lights and busses buzzing through the long and lonely nights. In the stable where I stay some say that,'I'm unstable' well they would wouldn't they? I lay me down but get no peace the sirens from the local police begin to blare How they love to share that noise. A different place another poise escaping from that awful sound I start to burrow underground. Lie down in a box and smoke cheroots while watching daisies lacing up their 'daisy roots'
I'm waiting but there is no evidence of anything vibrating it's very still and dead even spiders stop the spinning of their webs in wonder then the thunder of the day above hand in glove with the cacophony of that lunacy I often see spread all about me finds me out and digs me up.
I take that cup of old Laings building site where once the labourers might have dream't of men unkempt in ***** rags begging for some food and **** and a bit of work to pay their way. Not today or any other day I heard them say it watched them spray it on the walls and as the failing hope falls down the ballgown that she wore is worn again as second hand by salvationists from the army band who try to fill the dragging days with songs of glory hymns of praise.
What's the use we suffer more than shock, abuse and yet we stay where we as dinosaurs no longer play but plod. Life's a sod laid on the Earth we animate and give it birth and then it bites us on the ****.