| I’ve often dreamt of a conversation
|
| That just keeps on coming up again and again
|
| We’re sitting in the baby bar bereft
|
| At a shadowy table out past the sentence’s end
|
| It’s an emergency without end
|
| From until it’s no longer fun
|
| To that’s no longer relevant
|
| From until we’re no longer one
|
| To the bona fide embodiment
|
| Of an endless emergency without end
|
| We’re an endless emergency without end
|
| We often stop in these conversations
|
| Things we say here stay here forever, amen
|
| When everything seems either funny or lousy
|
| Funny or lousy, that’s where it usually ends
|
| We’re an emergency without end
|
| From until it’s no longer fun
|
| To that’s no longer relevant
|
| From until we’re no longer one
|
| To that’s no longer permanent
|
| From the last survivors of those terms
|
| To the bona fide embodiment
|
| Of an endless emergency without end
|
| We’re an endless emergency without end
|
| We’re an endless emergency without end
|
| We’re an endless emergency without end
|
| But your finger starts to wiggle
|
| And landscapes emerge |