Exquisite pillars are the pre-umptrive string of the chord
Of pearls that whistle past
The moss that travels through loomy sees
And bird nest ravines
Ore speculation and gold diggers became phony and the panners
Chose to Live Like Pan
And treat the labyrinth to schematics
And suddenly the whole world has celebrations of the geometry
That aligns the chemistry
Where somehow time just moves a long
Like polished stone skipped across that finds its way in maus
And the nautical blokes seem
To function on earthquake siesmography and see ]
The inherent dysfunction of a barnacle blown to blow off
Than the hearing that seems forceful yet necessitated.
Reassurance in rare in this world.
I preach of self-validation and validation all the same.
Night-time Heroes and Nite-Lite Weirdos became
Something hopeful for me.
Easy-watching and cruisin’ for bruins games and
Even I turned the channel off and stopped watching the playoffs.
Only peek so i don’t get obsessed and caw at everyone fang of a panther
When lord knows i love purple and gold and black.
Family colors from way back. And I think of double-chocolate bars and I mentioned
The potato spud sack thing and all I really want is a
Latke or fries or pointtautee or poinachae or knish or delish patat dish or shawarma wrap gryo meat
In juicy jus that unites us all in electrolyte fortitude.
Either way In all the silliness I have to say and I hear
Samantha – Samantah ~~ Samaya and Soumi ;
I don’t hear much . Deafness doesn’t count to tock when I beat the clock
Just to walk the walk and even then I struggle to rest under shady trees.
Prevailing Westerlies spread the scents of the Cypress of the River and the gold-flake
Of Crete is really where all the yellow luster-muster-dust comes from
That the world doesn’t seem like daylight tone;
Yet – amber in soft notes.
Play a chord on the mandolin and the harpsichord reminds me of silly
Balls of drenches and hoop skits to statuette a woman of much fame
With roman toe and Borromeo has me curious why Liberty would be such a freak
To-to-to-toe
They like Africa where I’m from.
Hey kids – we’re the MOORS!!!
petrichor - archive 