NEW DROPS AND CHASMS?
As I look into my short future,
I don't know what I'll be doing;
neither the whys nor the hows,
or wherefores, wheres and whens!
Well, reiterate, short enough anyway.
Uncle Psyche, I salute you. Your
madhouse is on parade; the air-borne
dirt of a million deceits rides high
the wild wind. That storm is coming
up the coast. Fear thee not; it's got
nowhere to go and there's nothing
left here to blow.
-
Yes. Yes. I'll be watching the new
hollows and all those valley roads.
New enticements and oh so strange
vistas. Already I've seen the precipice.
Already I have seen over the edge.
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