| And the blind lead the blind in the dark trail winding
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| Turned eyed mimes find finds reminding us
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| That our compasses are inside, and a GPS is not required for this ride
|
| We will be fine without our eyes closed tight
|
| We will be fine with them open wide
|
| Sit in the back or you can drive
|
| Either way you’ll get there in due time
|
| Sitting bitch, splitting head
|
| Spinning through the zigging hedge
|
| Back into the primal goop
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| That spit him on the blinking grid
|
| Sipping on his eyeball soup
|
| A pretty mess of I.O.U.'s
|
| Quiet scars, science, art
|
| Tiny parts and giant shoes
|
| Cause we all get to the end of life
|
| And the best laid plans can change overnight
|
| And the best made maps will need updates
|
| As earthquakes shift tectonic plates
|
| Clearcut topiary Braille animalia
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| Molemen navigate for sailors
|
| Stars negate creative failures
|
| Pants romance taken by tailors
|
| Holy Moses, Hokey Fright
|
| Like ghosts into the strobing light
|
| Rebels play the record once
|
| Mothers pray the rosary twice
|
| He knows uprooting, broken tuning
|
| Poker, pool and okie noodling, Drinking blood and eating brains
|
| Pissing colors free of names
|
| Great Danes serenade their jailers
|
| Brittany spaniels speared by whalers
|
| Whopper junior malted milk
|
| Some earworms weave the softest silk
|
| That we don’t mind stuck in our heads
|
| Like blankets handmade by our friends
|
| Thermostat for the temporal lobe
|
| Warm it up feel less alone
|
| Freezing cold and more afraid than normal folk on warmer days
|
| For reasons we may never know
|
| Or know but never chlorinate
|
| A quarter for the closest gorf
|
| 20 on his bowling score
|
| Distracted to the point of accident is what we’re going for
|
| With a lalala and a zigga zigga zow
|
| Harvest corn crops, big toe plow
|
| Can there be a babe without a Paul Bunyan?
|
| Wizards crave wasabi funyuns
|
| I’ll hug bobb’ys hugging tree while landfills fill with huggie jeans
|
| I’m a hoarder hoarding jeggings, stuffed doggies, books and craft-makings
|
| When home is mostly gross behavior, stolen mail and nosey neighbors
|
| Earthlings in a metal crate, Accelerate with poker faces
|
| Focused on if they woke up in the time for lobby omelets
|
| Then its a pile into the rocket, destination delta quadrant
|
| Like, «pchew!»
|
| Safety Scissors cut through leather, melted butter, gently severed
|
| Tether clipped
|
| Start to breathe
|
| Undone dishes self release
|
| This is the collective voice of animals and misfit toys intruding
|
| I’m kidding it’s me, what are you doing? |