I shall now final nail coffinate
soon ideally when some insipid sugarfilled marmalade
you're at
the real tragedy
no one could get into any song essay or poetry
i discovered quite by amazing smiley little faces
someone isn't fake, in her sincerity
gee wizz what was that quite good thing i dozed off watching on the last-time-small screen night before last
all io care about is accurate history something from the early eighties
yes its cummin... ..an [F] stating " my mum a Mistress of self pity... better off forever free
from her dangerous neigh lethal hegemony.."
hahh hahh "Touché" (pronounced too-shay)
smiley too
culture is SO important a therapy when
honest and true, and goin' where there's no money in goin' today
Now i will even critique number first equal fave goddess when i see cant and vanity
Her good vibes not even workin' on her angst and un zen inability
to just let go, when there's nothing we can do about the destination
the next fake little Laurel canyon
or the mountain above,
if the pilot's scratching his bunyon
and doesn't notice the 'whoop whoop pull up'
till its coffee cup, internally,
time for, if you ever fly, soon,
edited highlights of how just so many of them crash and burn in such a way still today that even i gasp in consternation
at how tech's done so little to even assist their concentration
never mind the FACT that angels aren't afraid of flying
and the top commentress
should have shut up and go and tug at someone else's flowery dress
with illogical, wrongworded, fake metaphysical profanity
never mind
I sat next to Minnie on a flight to Chicago, back in the early 70s and she confided she was uncomfortable flying. We talked easily throughout the flight and she didn't realize the flight was over until we touched down. As we were disembarking, she thanked me for making her feel at ease and surprised me with a kiss on the cheek. Truly, I was Kissed By An Angel and her gesture stands as a memorable highlight in my 77 years on this planet. RIP Minnie, you are missed by many, including myself.
something else, later
But yes a pure proof of total sincerity!
Here at the one place i knew it was always dangerous even to smile at them
never mind them and their so friendly "hello Simon" when any others would scurry on by
and back home, actually proof theytoo live out i do think my first great book
she had a dead other animals on her funny little poo stick
oops i keep forgetting, as it wouldn't look quite comme il on their Desert Aisle...
Actual booky saudade, gosh at the beginning of this phase of perfect unmade
up the junction, to angel rocks...
It must have been one of my very first,
bit like Bella's magnificent How to Kill..
Felt like tearing off the outer layer
I wont be seen reading that underclass vile player
of the sex up all, so as to say nothing, game
perhaps a little like Monseweerr Charrière
validatin' violence via some sewer rat, turned tame
tale of nothing deep and just the same
old hyperbollocks sensationalising something better left crashed into the rocks
but i was wrong.
He did it with such gentle and honest alacrity
I really do think, Turgenyev, Gabriel, even the Rachels,
nope... if i have to be castaway with only one, until all hell's
wrath is spent,
and rereading it a few times til Bullimore
gets unlost at sea and finds my sactuary shore
I really do think it would have to be that one that seemed so ultimately cliché
Henri and his butterfly does in fact win the day
As heartfelt truelived travellers tale
truthtellin' and true skincolour free idyllic equality
