blink and/or breathe
Complement with refreshing
bin-boxes of stale e-mail
Because that is how we now, measure time
With narrowed views and broadened waistlines
She will bury brown coins with crowns
And wish corona crowns be coins
Instead,
They gave her a few Liberty
And some short lived sympathy.
Her eyes, too inflated for morning light
To ever wake up. Try as she might.
Too much make up, they sighed at the funeral
She lay dressed in a costume from some carnival
Wanting to die like an artist from brooklyn
Who could paint marvelous portraits of brick kiln
Lost in some warehouse in a bygone lane.
Where she claimed the world was too simple.
"Find another", said World, ever so humble.
And so from her sleep, she leaped
From the first, missing the second
And landing on the third, instead.
Repeat. In reverse order.
As the Planner patiently placed
circles in squares.
This is not on you,
Blame the System, that is who,
Said the erudite-looking Planner
"Oh, I'm the Executioner"
She explained.
I continue to be puzzled by what the prefix post- truly means. It remains one of those tools that can make any mediocre word sound insufferably abstruse. Oh well, I know What I know! This is one of my favourite songs from Paul Simon's Graceland Album. I don't think I can love that song enough. And I don't think I can love 2013 enough either. Thank you, amazing year.
Complement with refreshing
bin-boxes of stale e-mail
Because that is how we now, measure time
With narrowed views and broadened waistlines
She will bury brown coins with crowns
And wish corona crowns be coins
Instead,
They gave her a few Liberty
And some short lived sympathy.
Her eyes, too inflated for morning light
To ever wake up. Try as she might.
Too much make up, they sighed at the funeral
She lay dressed in a costume from some carnival
Wanting to die like an artist from brooklyn
Who could paint marvelous portraits of brick kiln
Lost in some warehouse in a bygone lane.
Where she claimed the world was too simple.
"Find another", said World, ever so humble.
And so from her sleep, she leaped
From the first, missing the second
And landing on the third, instead.
Repeat. In reverse order.
As the Planner patiently placed
circles in squares.
This is not on you,
Blame the System, that is who,
Said the erudite-looking Planner
"Oh, I'm the Executioner"
She explained.
I continue to be puzzled by what the prefix post- truly means. It remains one of those tools that can make any mediocre word sound insufferably abstruse. Oh well, I know What I know! This is one of my favourite songs from Paul Simon's Graceland Album. I don't think I can love that song enough. And I don't think I can love 2013 enough either. Thank you, amazing year.
