August 30, 2009
in Category: Noise poem
0 2601 0

I’m just a single celled soul Selling myself to the system Oh yes the cistern Pull the chain and flush With this weeks wages I’m down the drain With all the sh*t and the condoms. My single sell soul swimming With a lemmings chance of Bringing the minging miracle Of multi-cellular salvation To fruition. For creation is a loop A hoop of hygienic hierarchy a Higher plain of majesty a steeple Chase of saving grace that you must Face and hope to be lucky. Thank the big booky in the sky If your odds are even. Evolving consciousness Coalesces into an alphabet Of bitter sweet betterment Worth a mint and meant to Be miraculous, But ignorance Is the bliss We all miss Once we (think we) know it all.


Cassette concepts connoisseur

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