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Songlet is Best

fig.0231) FizzGraf MT.


"Magical, like a chorus of like minded souls in a froth of cotton fumes." Over fake doors, under refurbished ladders, gypsum board and bent yellow pipes offering us an unmade bed and a stained window. Our one chance at tomorrow. 

Magnetic guts from at least a thousand cassettes are strewn across the room. Hee-Haw style, fancy dress shoes cling to the floor like it's '86 all over again. Hee-Haw, goes the sound. Hee-Haw, we're closer then we were. Hee-Haw, it's hilarious. Listening for trains, leaning out over the rails like two people with no time at all.

Better maps, that's what we need. We could use a melody for singing with this chorus; in whose curious presence more patients wait to be found. With hands over our heads, someone passes by and asks, "gender?" 

There's stars in this sweet tooth of mine and some atoms left from the sky, Tonight the whole angle of heaven sleeps without light. Ordering its coffee darkest, taken as a dry run with some gin. So lets go around again, dancing. Lets goon it up in the park. Lets dig up some itty-bitty atoms. I've got a shovel in the backseat of my heart

The parking lot's full, there's Cops out in the dark,
they're busting up rich kids, 
in all the brown cars, rooting out goals
they're burning up fire, 
they're making the smoke 
Eudora Welty, they're our man 
If they into to it, Dan the Flavin man stands
to be punching up, to be in the minute 
their money's worth saving 
and the bank gonna get it 
It's another sunny day, 
so meet me at the cemetery man,
oh man, OH MAN, oh man, oh man, OH MAN!!!

Setting their shoulder towards dissatisfaction, humming a noodle wet hum, people of my blood type, they gawp about family and the rum that's left at the church. Stumbling around and around the rug, rich in purpose but very much lost. With so much ambition, but no way out of the box. Something grey slips down along that deckled edge, to where the lake gathers the train of its skirt. Anyway> Over the cooling sand it goes. 

Seen poised, wearing a paper suit, the accountant stands over our box of the day. It's scattered across the lobby where a plastic wind gently reminds the listener, "Romper-Bomper-Stomper-Boo! Tell me, tell me, tell me true?

Our van pulls away and we laugh.
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