Forest follow to get lost
its all a program and its doesn’t need correction–
sugar in coffee but not today, I need
truth because anymore it’s extinct like what defined
California, and in Big Sur I think I see what I see I
think, like a Picasso painting redrawn by a firsttime
brush pickerupper, and how do you do with that?
Waves over the bush’s shoulder, and I go closer to look,
just look, I promise.
The novel, I’ll finish it soon, I promise, I tell the editor, and when
I vow, I hope he
poisons himself accidentally.
That’d make a story of some kind, right?
One I could sell. They only care about selling, sales, and
people like that deserve dirt, to be covered by it– the most damp, heavy and
vengeful of soils.
Becoming voltaic at my age, and I think I’m old even
though I’m told I’m still young. That’s pity. Change the channel, I
hate this show, the acting the cast the props the design the production and
the endorsements, paid for by the following… I don’t follow, so…