Legs scream at bikes and bikes scream at trucks. And motorists curse their lousy luck. Crossing guard's not doing his job. And traffic's not about to stop for the first casualty of thought.
The man 'cross the street he don't move a muscle. Though he's all covered in dust. When constitutions of granite can't save the planet. What's to become of us?.
Whether laying down yourself beside it. Or slipping into its cool and rushing effects. Or drifting on it to where it broadens. Your admiration for, for it's more elusive aspects.
By design, by neglect. For a fact or just for effect. When they met, where they connect. At the confluence of travel and sex. More a trip than a quest.
Rolling hills all covered in suede. I'm heat nervous and out of road. Downtown there's a parade. But I don't think I want to go. Smart as trees in Sault Saint Marie.
I want a book that'll make me drunk. Full of freaks and disenfranchised punks. No amount of hate, no load of junk. No bag of words, no costume trunk. .
We were a blow out of wicked proportions. An accidental company. If we said, "We were going to go out and get all tore up tonight". Then we did, we got a little happening.
In the ulcerating silence perspective comes. The way it always does for it's ransom. So randomly somebody calls. The phone rings and it brings Niagara Falls.