A rambling mess, a babbling fool like the jester to the queen his heart a suicide jack, his heart the suicide jack. A one eyed man to the two eyed world, crying out that the sun is bright and the skin is fair. The king he stares blank and unhappy, and that queen? Tall and regal, learned and wise with the hidden heart and the razor eyes. Does she see the reason to his words? The wonder in the fool poets single orb? The crazed notion of the hopeing fool and his peg legged heart? |
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Motion is motion, in car or in mind one will take you farther than the other but the distance traveled by the mind is of little use to the passenger of a car, or a train as the trees slip by and the bridges fade past in the setting sun. And night, glorious night when the dining car comes alive with soldiers returning home and drunken thieves with their notions of love... that is were the mind is, the heart is. Life is all. And as the sun slides over the horizon, bringing with it the gold lit haze and the bleary traveler, long on the road has the time to think of more than the bright lit dinning car night that covered a fear filled heart. Fear covered because of the wreck they hear of on the tube the other night. All were dead, all of them passed. From the car, from the mind, right through the sun Will the car flip? Will the engineer pass through sleep? Yet none of that matters, it all is a sham when lightning strikes in the middle of a cloudless day when cars, when minds, strike us down where we live. |
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thE trutH abouT misteR fingerS | ||||||||||
homE | nexT | |||||||||