Somewhere far below me in the valley of the madmen where the shadows follow shadows and they cast away the darkness
and the moonlight fights a battle with the candle flames in Harlem,where the movie makers haggle over starlets in the making,
I am home.
Southeast in the castles where the abbey men are sleeping and the shining of the bells will make for clearer sounds of morning and the dogs eat Chinese noodles as if they're waiting for a wedding but the moon still fights its battle with the candle flames in Harlem,
I am home.
If this home is where the heart is and we start at some beginning,does the ending come before that,have we been here,is it more than,just a sheepdip in the evening, where the flames lay dying,bleeding and the dogs have finished feeding,is it abbey men on battlements dispersing holy sacraments,
is it life or is it cheesecake,,is this why I ache to taste it, is it why I want to waste or feed alone.