Sunday, September 08, 2013

2.858 : 9/8/07 : Wedding Can

I dreamed this song up
in the Wedding Can
a perfect crucible to song
the make of a real man
on a farm that smelled so
God damned much like home
I beat the fucking cognitive
to sea foam
This is real:
I am God damn here
I can’t take it with me
but I aim to be; clear
as the sun
on a morning
without cloud or haze
I’m the fucking narrator
the author of days
show me another
I’ll gladly bow
to my mother superior
my own private sacred cow:
I’ve overstayed my welcome
I fear I’ve tipped my hand
I’m an everyday adherent
of the Bible of the promised land
I sanctify this sad position
read by some wise glint
I’ll ride it like a comet
end up full of piss, and skint

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