Chapters in dust, olden days don'ts
we done on a whim from a song I never hear, but I think
that song is one
of those lies people pretend is true.
It's the glue, I'll be there,
and love you,
until the twelfth of never and make you feel included,
like you were one of those then,
listening to the cities on the radio,
insisting we don't listen to country,
no KAAA, local gay DJ, easy rock,
no, gimme KOMA fi'ty thousand watts,
rockin' top forty across the plains,
skipped up the staked plain and looped
plumb straight down in a radio metric chaos function,
ley line like, on the most ancient trail we know,
to the navel of the world, it went from there to Chaco,
-- sing any eliyaheyliyah hai hai awatha, tonka go on
you know, it's a cricket solo, such a time, your song
in the dream, you flew, you know you did, and did not fall,
but landed lightly on your feet, not the least bit,
curios as to why now… my feet walked that extra mile,
my time stretched by about that amount, on many given days.
In the future, this is part of what comes tomorrow, and fits like it was made
to fit from the first intention to stir up some potent chaos... in time reflection
