Wow, I‘m sick of doubt Live in the light of certain
south cruel bindings
The sevants have the power dog-men & their mean women
pulling poor blankets over ur sailors
I‘m sick of dour faces
Starong at me from the T.V. Tower, I want roses in
my garden bower; dig?
Royal babies, rubies
must now replace aborted Strangers in the mud
These mutants, blood-meal
for the plant that‘s plowed
They are waiting to take us into
the severed garden
Do you know how pale & wanton thrillful
comes death on a stranger hour nannounced, unplanned for
like a scaring over-friendly guest you‘ve
brought to bed
Death makes angels of us all & gives us wings where
we had shoulders smooth as raven‘s claws
No more money, no more fancy dress
This other kingdom seems by far the best until its
other jaw reveals incest & loose obedience to a vegetable law
I will not go
Prefer a feast of friends
To the Giant family