it’s the king of burning pyres it’s the sacred grove
it’s the fever we break it’s the train we don’t make
it’s the truth on every side it’s the painful rebirth
it’s the flick of a wrist it’s the poise i can’t resist
it’s the lassitude of forethought
it’s the ominous reruns back-to-back
parking a mediumship in orbit baby flickers of heaven
born into pleasure and rotten weather
out this world in another
either way takes forever
this is wealth and this is the weather
born into pleasure and rotten weather
it’s the mind at rest
it’s the pause out of time
the loss of speech
the bewilderment of reason
it’s the drunk on patrol
it’s the ghost of dawn
it’s the just born dance
it’s the mirror against the flood
There is no use there is no use at all in smell, in taste, in teeth, in toast, in anything, there is no use at all and the respect is mutual. (Gertrude Stein)