When I step on the moon, the golden arches will be on the wal-smart
facing.
No matter where ever I go, be it heaven or hell, I will be confronted
with the golden arches on the wal-smart facing.
The pearly gates will have a logo,
"Over 70 billion have entered these pearly gates".
I'll need a card with a magnetic strip to pass forward into oblivion.
Pearls on beautiful ladies.
Sun shinning on golden faces.
Glasses to push up.
Thought, we travel on dreams and walk on reality.
Forward our minds tinker with thought.
Forget the sense of style, we are.
Proper grammar wants to make sense of it all.
***
A Message in the Dust
Red barns with tin roofs rusted. The red painted barns, light gray with
age, are the relics of the past. Here they are leaning to one side. The
farmer is the only one knowing that his barn will not fall or fail. I can
count hundreds on my way to work. Some would not make good kindling, other
could adorn "a cow and barn" by MasterPainter.
I see people asking to say hello, others are beyond being asked. Nothing
has changed in thirty years. Some people play the flutes and some people
follow. Some people look down on garments and hair, earrings and lashes
and chubby cheeks. Some stand aside in lavender embers and watch.
I could stand like "Scarlet" atop a green hill and pour ashes from
an urn. The dust and ashes could move aloft and swirl into our eyes.
Why do we want to impress the crowds with harps and jubilee?
Why do crowds avoid some visions?
Some people seek comfort in style. Some people cry and are ignored.
Such is the style of our system. The haves and the have nots. Dust and
ashes could move aloft and swirl into all our eyes, the haves and the have
nots. We seek who to talk to, the rest we ignore.
What a pisser.
There is a little bird out side this window, picking at a mop, trying
to fly away with the mop strings, she gave up and flew up and dropped a
message in the dust.
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Words & Graphics by Tomas