Thursday, March 25, 2004

hey people discourse 

chock full of republic
that says a plain song on top of whipped.
it beats the band.
the band goes down in
numbers to the sea.
each blooded river does the same.
a congenial pattern of poetic mop up,
towns in matter, weighted for the critical.
those in perspective
release a class.
of course it's about everything,
the running of random over the political smile
of advertising.
each pictogram has the news.
the grumpy sunbeam looks like next.
all these poems piled high
in the big literate way we weigh.
chuck a few stones into the river
the green hills of West Virginia
are more than the area of rumour,
more than nutty,
more than a superhero's speed of dialing,
more than a few launched,
more than bookable,
more than sump pump,
more than planet sag,
more than diligent over the Andes,
more than sentence told
a hundred times.
Skip Spence tells
aNTHONY kIEDIS to go home.

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