Fancying himself a gun dealer after watching some primetime tv, a real catalog reading expert, you know? Learn the lingo, pay some unsavories. Bank roll comes, multiple homes, a chicky-poo at every home.
MKL Observation Day. You know? Flares in the air, RPG's and stuff. We all love Momma. The republic, rending at its clothing, preferring some sort of dismal dirge to a message of light, wot as what wots in the abysmal dotage, the estuary turbulently whispering, like fingertips on wood panelling.
The view is pretty good from my hill, you know?
The nave, 30 spokes, only the blankspace making the wheel useful, the rest being like, a rind of sorts. The rest is just waiting, the other on the wire, you know?
People movin' out; people movin' in.
Why? The encouraging of sin.
Run, run, run, but you sure can't hide!
Only person getting ahead
is the preacher.
I had to get straight, get righteous, and talk to the rat squad behind my caterwalling. It was a "come to Jesus" kind of moment, soul-searching, catharsis, and Norah kind of like wanting to slap me rather than hold hands. But I thought they were supposed to be nice?
It's not a bad question, Bert.
Then the movie lied?
You know, back in 68 at the Pittsburgh VA hospital. Some kind of chemical that was being developed to spray on marijuana or something.
The nave, the crux. 30 spokes. Blank space. Does a wheel make, and you know, where there is a wheel, there is a way, as Dolly is apt to say. "That was Daddy's motto." And you know, the empty space within a terracotta vessel makes that useful, otherwise its just a plug of clay.
A sort of unenumerated space for the brain yet to grow, perhaps, a space for business, something not like a back corridor or a parking lot, but a kind of propitiation for checkerboard tile or Trabertine and all that other, 30 year industrial grade with the ammonia film lift over it, man. And they were experimenting with doping the dope, you know? A chemical to spray on the weed, like something to eliminate part of the Dem voter base or something.
Something, kind of an unofficial executive order "up yours" to the lovers at Haight Ashbury.
The nave, the crux. The Cheever. The Mikeman. The bus. The beaver.
The nave,
30 spokes,
a tutty-toke,
on a smokey-doke.
I put my bible and pen,
in my smart canvas tote.
I talked to some old friends,
and made some grocery notes.
But what's in a day,
Dick Sprague?
Between the dawn and dusk,
the middle,
what's that about,
Dick Trickle?
Specimen cup and Seamus's face,
entangled.
The nation divided,
yet oddly all star-spangled.
They love the president,
whoever they each think is POTUS.
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