Once buried,
our clocks are sure.
One who lies flat at six
will not sit up at three,
the life that flies at nine
sign on for more
or rise hands tied
at midnight to applaud.
In the name of clarinets & soft moons
of blacklegs & tycoons
of shipwrecks & swoons
of sudden darts, of cupid and calhoun
of hotdogs & harpoons
baboushkas & balloons
of whippet waists & whalebone pantaloons
of shrouds & spitoons
of coughs & cocoons
of razor blades & real estate & runes
of any satellite you care to name;
and soon
come on,
let's stun
some angels.
Pessimism of the intellect,
Optimism of the will.
Faster, pussycat
kill, kill, kill.
crown o' gems | darkwaves+larkwings sky
jewel@gleeful.com
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