I, as we, as all my own people
(I will call them on the phone for night-times)
we are taking the function out.

I am taking the function
to a place, grace, where you can drop down into
a hanging's off in your life
the reddest beads and weight, and when
things are wieghing
they can fall.
they can forget, to
a new home for the function, it's
in a few words.

as I am passing
the street
I cannot help myself but making
ninja signals,
to the mothers and their children.
and the old men with tan hats.

they cut it as "you've got a rythm in your head that never quits"
they cut it as "you're a non-judmental, openly sensitive feeler of feelings" I am these comments and their insidings are true in my text. they are
perfectly in line

what's that convincing whats
that restraining the mind open to its own signals the
mind's nothing but hearing the other people's voices

That's only the best way of saying how old how mean how tolerable stupid how set in stone our world has become

What's the poetry, now, that comes out and says?

What terrors I could speak, of the implements of the function I have seen! our american living is not justified

hold, to the sights, the substance between lies
hold for the feelers, hidden in their homes, silent in their songs,
hold, for each item found which contains what we need.

if we take the function out,
it will be our more adaptive
of this life as ghosts

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