these things grow on they push up the music's paid for we've put in all this work learning just what music sounds like making our mouths move to it. It plays anyway. The tree in the yard is there thwacking its fronds on the glass getting bigger bright tips winter didn't stop it these the blue spruce toothed scale foliage not knocked back by frost like our voices we have to speak we sing no tune no timing we do anyway we have to it's a human condition do we get salary here? In the bar they've got the record machine on too loud lean in and ask what next. drink. go home.
we open our heads and let the light in surgeons help Homer Thomas Carlyle the Green Knight Carlos Williams Zarathustra you know they can sing too it's not just a matter of search beams and great splashes of understanding brightness like yellow paintings on the wall when you don't expect them. There's a thing about these new centuries that wants us to own as much as know, to tag life with our spray logo I'm with sloop doggy he doesn't care a damn bout fronds just money get out there and buy batteries then find they are the wrong size. What next. Mr Spock would know.