Dream Song 99: Temples


He does not live here but it is the god.
A priest tools in a top his motorbike.
You do not enter.
Us the landscape circles hard abroad,
Sunned, stone. Like calls, too low, to like.

One submachine-gun cleared the Durga Temple.

It is very dark here in this groping forth

Gulp rhubarb for a guilty heart,
Rhubarb for a free, if the world’s sway
Waives customs anywhere that far

Look on, without pure dismay.
Unable to account for itself.

The slave-girl folded her fan & turned on my air-condtioner.
The lemonade-machine made lemonade.
I made love, lolled,
My roundel lowered. I ache less. I purr.
€”Mr Bones, you too advancer with your song,
Muching of which are wrong.


1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 5.00 out of 5)

Dream Song 99: Temples
»