2003-01-18 - 8:02 p.m.
Travel down the twisted turns,
metaphicicles on the ferns,
evergreens which never burn,
never seen, never learn.
a garden of atrocities
you'll pardon cosmic apathies
when you survey the only way
to scotch guard all your lingerie
cuz every independant nerve
will not obey the mind you serve
what's the matter? urban sprawl?
like alka-seltzer you'll dissolve
in gaseous forms of atmosphere
when all the while the lifeline's here
and you hold fast to magma plates,
to drive-in rot and soft stagnates,
putrid chances, night romances,
this is how the sasquatch dances,
just to keep from being seen...
smells extinct, know what I mean?
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