From: monte merrick
Subject: when will these criminals realize you cant fight two wrongs with the same stone
Date: 30 May 2011, 20:19:01 PDT
To: monte merrick
here we are in the age of formal
requests for the last place
we ever thought we'd look and it's,
cherry blossoms and that sort of thing
cups of green tea in the tanka of the day -
and we think we'll just go along this way
and wait for the next two or three things to die -
oh dont worry this aint gonna be
a ranting song about no
modern age -
these black cats have already crossed this path
this isnt the first time
we've seen the pulmonary
or the mainline or
that block of
we have certainly been far enough from our mama's knees
to know money's never
going to grow
we know when the fire jumps up from the sewer
its time to start building some kites or
take your last things with you
in a clear bag to jail.
"in the coldest morning yet"
running engine, parked, red smoke rising from the bottom of the
night, and all the rest is spilled into the honshu sea and of course
the air is sweet on a day like this - old man TeeVee gliding
down over the dunes
with a little memo from
the day the bear will ask
what we mean
when we say think.
what we mean when we say
"hands in the air or i'll fill you full of lead"
and copper and silver and gold and
uranium and arsenic and
here we find it rather a bind that
some machines dont know
how to shut themselves down.
we can plan this for another time, you see - but that doesnt mean
the calendar knows.
see you next to me in a broken heap
at the bottom on these boulders
in a storm called repair.
spend the spring cleaning the spokes, spend the night
usefully. spend the night in tutelage.
this is when the moon comes up. dont weight for another sign -
these things arent cheap and its a savvy muthafucka
who knows which way
some of these beats drop straight through -
the rest we contrive.
spend all day in the internet,
a battle roar - a blank side.
try on this coffin for size - nobody dreams of
a-waitin' the resurrection in a mass grave - or slipping forever
to the bottom of the ninth and you dont have to play.
we let these phantasms make their own way home.
we offer bread to the time of day.
a little stick props a box and is tied to a string.
it's a trap, they all scream.