2004-07-18 - goodbooty
these words are meant for you not me
I meant to say they ought to be
that is I really write to see
what gaseous form of literacy
streams out from this cacophony
a salvaged perceptivity
like bending mediocrity
into an artform you can see
so you might reflect back to me
with touches of your own
then thoughts don't stand alone
this philosophic story goes
in thought-out allegory prose
about a man suspended in
a world of make pretend and then
what really made him rather bent
controls on this experiment
he could perceive but not emit
his box receives but won't transmit
a thought to those outside
but none would be denied
affected by what others say
unable to himself convey
experiences felt
time under his belt
the things that he goes through
never to affect you
and so declining this false world
I know refining isn't hurled
it's aiming with a steady hand
it's eyeballed straight to where we land
it's trusted minds we acquiesce
and afterwards there's not much mess
�
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