as always goes on

i take this gun dripping into wood all about changing a watery script trying to keep on the sunny side as the doctors were so damned busy saving table places for marked paper names all printed with a mollusk s quiet ink heads sprouting from that capitol idea smoking in the mother s milky air this flagging flap of head dress ignored feathers on that darkest bird s calling breast winging home with mummy s leather plans so thought i would swim came up trying so hard to stay bright coughing for all that was worth everyone hears but i sound more like an answering or i m asking wrong questions of mud much friendlier than talk bearing more promise than agenda more than mine or this impoundment which will wash away with crude ground stick design s broken lines skinny loving poems hit like pinatas mashed by turbines of maggot party kits a shaking dog splashing to your cork i must have looked like rolling carp as fisherman stabbed bait all the quicker and that cub waved from its blue day a single engine failing to land or speak could only crash in even trade so squeaked its medic in tiny voice its joke of demons with god bound message flown by decoders of laughter in headphones waves so subtle now that reason is lost in doing more to pacify than rally but one can only cry for so long or cough for that matter to come up printing the last trite gasp as always goes onwas delerious i think trying to get over pnuemonia when i wrote this sick of doctors and all tired promise Written February 20th, 2002 © on Jun 03 2002 12:09 AM PST, Frederic Jacob Gutknecht IV   18 • 0 • 1