FAT YEARS LEANING AGAINST A TREE

Originally published on June 26, 1996

But now that I've had a chance to catch my breath
I think I’ll toss it back to where it originated
perhaps the passionate sky, perhaps the darling dark sea
home on leave of its seven senses, six stuck in overdrive,
so yes, dear...

I think I'll sling her a drink, or a maybe this calls for a drunk,
system preferences, sad diamonds, auguring dildoes of the mind, huh?

Twas twice as fun as fun
is now in this delapidated state,
and anybody with three kicks in a jar
knew there was not much she could do for him
in that frame of mind, so she said yes, dear...

With four friends in Minnesota, who needs Oklahoma?

The matrix reminds me of thud once rethreaded. There were syrup trees
in the cheap trick night developed. There were syrup drinkers to boot,
heavy on inspiration, but chills in their socks, just like art
supply on the move from the backwaters to the burners.

Four score and another withers, the night becomes long
to certain characters no one can afford to bite without tasting. Eat me
said the son of that word, I repeatedly remark, which makes
me a twinge not a twirp.

Just as fear was seen galloping away in a history book,
the awkward rebellion had to be bricked up by invaders,
so she said, yes dear. Grownup girls are almost
young. Accomplishment is a French word
I can't recall because I am thinking of you
in the towel.

With just this much identity going for me Steve grabs Gene. There
is a general sort of confusion similar to how a flower grows
until I guess the struggle has no choice
but to assuage. God even in my side
stepping sort of hallelujah mind, orthography
finds a slum to dance among.

Did I remind you I rarely forget the forgotten
or the framed? Each tweak of the spy was inferenced
with just these clues. I found myself alone hoping
someone would miss me sang the former Cat Stevens
before he jumped for joy on the other side of eternity.

There is so much we have heard and not cooled. With the sun
everything is hot and Boas changes very little among these notions,
and, uh, eventually I was ordered to stop, look, and listen.

Write back, break this cryptic code with best wish
corollaries made to mix among mouths still homing
the range with wild ideas just barely warm enough to suck.

But equally persistent is the notion that ignorance
and ignoring the chatter combines to complete the path
to verifiable achievement. Dog help us all. Haven't chatted
with anyone beyond the deposition squad this weekend,
however, so far, we still had a good time,

Sorry, wish Alison hadn't missed the gruff, but then
she didn't sashay an exploding extramunificent ticket, did she?

Have a good test baby, have a good test.