ALL MY GENTLE FRIENDS
All my gentle friends, I am tired of so many things.
I believe this will be my last day alive. The blazing
pattern of the eraser blast looks seemingly better
and better. Over in Dunellen and Bound Brook,
where a hundred idiots live, it's a travesty of wind
and air. Mao said 'let a hundred flowers bloom' and
then he killed his countrymen by the thousands at a
time. Here now, small people crawl the streets.
-
I can't make any major mistakes. Firstly, there's
nothing major about me, and, secondly, there's no
major mistakes left to be made. People are pushing
carriages with three kids at a time. Low life, deemed
important, finds riches in the sublime : propagation,
fornication, the multiply of time. One, two, three, four.
-
Having given away the land, I watch : a sugar corner
where some kids are swilling soda, a mother walks a
forlorn circle, looking for her stupid man. I am sick
at heart to keep continued presence. Adios, amigos.
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