THE SONG OF ALFRED MINER
In my ways of desperate means I have tried
so many things : filled cartfuls of despair
with outlaw angel wings. To both sides of
me, in little ways, others have tried their
with outlaw angel wings. To both sides of
me, in little ways, others have tried their
infusions, theirs aids. No avail. I have stood,
both steadfast and alone. Those strangled
doors of perception have long ago faded,
a laughable crew, an ample petard. Now,
what passes for my soap is but a cleansing
skull. I leave little behind. I move, crablike,
sideways past rubble and trash; letters
left hanging, dreams that have crashed.
My tent is pitched in graveyards,
all I see is past.
both steadfast and alone. Those strangled
doors of perception have long ago faded,
a laughable crew, an ample petard. Now,
what passes for my soap is but a cleansing
skull. I leave little behind. I move, crablike,
sideways past rubble and trash; letters
left hanging, dreams that have crashed.
My tent is pitched in graveyards,
all I see is past.
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