chanson gauchiste

there are dollars growing in your lawn
There's a substitution, a perdition
Fawned, longing, this song
Its a mile walked on the curb
Its the hand holding the book
Or the book, one or the other
Perturbed, trembles?

As then will the city happening
as if waiting were nothing doing
In what way do you frieze
What's on your mind, would fane when
better than the long list, a short one
certain elements certain
groups certain parties
certain doom, curtains.

Built, that tears it faithfully
the old bandage sovereignty
crown of fire, packers' blood
the pave, trucks, the consecrated
My my lost the thread, tuneful grate
gilded and enplaqued hose
flooded these lonely nights, that crowns
your etcetera.

The East Village Poetry Web
Ryan Whyte