RUN MAN, RUN MAN
It's not a supposed thing like the halls
of eucalyptus or somesuch : it's real.
Instead of fat-bellied men blowing
flugel horn trumpets on the side of a
hill, we have beautiful urchins sweeping
the walkways and pathways wherever we
look. I haven't seen so much fun since
the barrel of monkeys was let loose.
Inside of a minute, bananas everywhere,
people slipping on skins, and monkeys
spitting at one another. 'Run, man, run'
was all I kept hearing. Then the parking
lot was torched and the new pavement
took flame - it had a good saturation
beforehand of gasoline. Those guys knew
what they were doing : beautiful things
grow like strumpets, rich, ripe, and well
comported to comfort a man. Willows.
A marshland of grasses. Everything
we ever wanted. Everything.
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