|Once upon a rude rude box|
Oh hey the happy happy. The dark lined curtains are drawn, tied, and held fast. The lurch of it in the fake noon of a midnight sundries shop cowers like a pie of lazy glut. Glue, rows and rows of handsome blue bottles on the narrow shelve's behind the plate glass. Piles of sticks and old blind tissue cram this stupid puppy space.
Lift this wheel Lift this wheel my legs are going to fold My horse is in the hey hey hey I think this hole is going to stay stay stay So lift this wheel lift this wheel the sand is so unkind I'd look you in the eye but I haven't got the time time time - O' March Hatter at the Swing of this Field
Next door is gloomy too there's hardly any light at all. The old day's hunkered away behind some old light that's just hanging in a self defining pall of notchic catatonia. Crowds of math putter filing in too stand under the cheap seats that are under the wooden clock in the middle. This math gets brittle and then it gets bent when it's surly. Then it moves in circles slowly when its robe gets open.
Damned arsenal of blindness, damned roses in their frame, Inching further along the quarrelsome pit of my innards. Only dregs, spit, and ash. The counters closed, it's door is chained until day.
Storm of reverie to teach, stewed eyes agog in TiredLand. This is our talk. There's work here, there's work no more. They've moved the season to the left, now it's too dry. Doors for work when the time's on. Not in the day, not green like this.
I know I know.
Than why'd you ask?
For the sleep'n all. Open that sash and pull me the light. This bottle's nearly spent.
Done to near stump stump stump, a taste of dusty wine, Crabby knees pop away like knobby pills.
If only we let it.
We can and deeply too.
At the door there's a fern of flowers and a gathering of guychic. These are the dudes in the round hats that really and always talk about the ferns and the flowers. They're saying, It's the first of the bloom, that it's the riches that fade, 'cause. They're saying, First at hand is first to leave, that's why. Good bye virtue, That's what they've said.
Then they said, Don't not so fast Dude. Stand this matter up to tall. Stand here this day in and of this day too. Watch as the pioneers go go go, just watch and they'll come. Then you'll see friend, they're blood and all.
Only to be virtue at the expense of virtue's sake.
We can't wait, not for more of this. Let's wrestle in the flesh. Let's stand and wait on this matter of virtue and it's aim Sir Bang. Let's throw this best widest net at the long snake of its answer.