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in all the vast of day's pyjamas
art works the instances to light
how is it?
who are we?
no one's to know
it's thoughtless
come past weary meaning
never in this story before
all are tickled
hold sides to laugh
mouth dry
in a tummy rumble
all the world rolls round
so something's to be made of it
there are those of a simple
struggle to know
there are one's who weigh to know
what's worth
but some we few must make a mark
must piss on those world's end
pillars like Monkey
deeper and deeper down in pyjamas
bringing ourselves to light
we're under, aren't we?
like a pill gone down
up a garden path
grubby thus far into the journey
still wilting, in pyjamas though
even before I'm awake
I'm at work
even especially
hard at my dirty little secret
art
the all-falling
and fumbling to catch
to let go
one cough and the ship's down
because in all the vast of day's
pyjamas
the tune is first thing bright
chords construct themselves like
clouds
because you were never in this
mirror before
because it's not the same old story
and all of this amounts to
the one thing you have to believe
it's a draft
Sure. It's a draft. :)
ReplyDeleteKit, this has echoes of "All tomorrow's parties" (for me at least!) mixing with all the vast of day's pyjamas :)
ReplyDeletethen where shall we go?
ReplyDeletewhat shall we do?
when Sunday comes around?
...and I thought I saw Vasco Pyjama having a cold one in a bar just the other day.
ReplyDelete