twisted that nonsense newcentury, newword into a parody of itself
even if said, *man, couldn't keep his posture upright without a black strap around his brown knee
I knew it all along there was only ever poetry
Hesse's prodgeny
A long time here and its all about "me"
And my pain sorrow and lack of methodical merely tolleratin' so as to sustain
Organised, always
ship shape, always...
cup half full, of nothing needed
Always
oooh that's rather good.
Anyway 'narrative' - as usual one realises peeps just chip away at ones 'story'
That isn't any moan,
it is merely, the remedy to the endless knawin' at one's ankle bone
Or just how one douses ones toes with 'toxic' sludge
As not one, mentally, will ever budge
Grief - every one...
Except the Widow Naz
And maybe just maybe Ms. surfin' fancyvan
was
Was...i (not me not this century) was, part of sucked in to the problem... and did indeed find my way out into that healthier paradigm.
Righty ho: to do:
film of THE JOB still to load
The wheelchair REAL man we didn't goad
A black crow
from 4 months ago
And.... those flutterbyes...
I had never seen them do that in front of my eyes
And that bit o' 'nature' really did at last change my life.
