2044. YOUR TEETH GONNA' STAND ON EDGE

YOUR TEETH GONNA'
STAND ON EDGE
I am living under the bridge. In all these
expectations of tomorrow there has to be
a way to forge ahead and then - as much
as that - forget. Forget this measly life.
Forget this moment, this time of strife.
I am living beneath the bridge.
-
I am living beneath the bridge, in a tomorrow
somehow not already here, while the shaman
is rustling, already, his beads. For here is
where things grow, beneath this bridge:
wildly, in profusion, in colors and rows and
rows. So much here is jumbled together as
to make a show, a stage, a place of exposition.
People come to view, yet they never stay
nor listen. 'Businessmen they drink my wine,
plowmen dig my Earth...'
-
Legendary fanaticism has beaten me to the
end of this line, but why? I am living beneath
the bridge, where the accolades incline - towards
the others, the dead and the finished. Those no
longer vital or trying. Like that prophet with
no honor here at home, I've lost whatever I've
had far away. Butterflies get better deals than
this one : those with pins and under glass, with
all those beautiful colors. 'None of them along
the line know what any of it is worth...'