talk to myself, don't wanna
but these fantasy declarations
are surely indicative
of an underperformed ratio
from the bodyless reality
where true knowledge lies
sure as a pie is nice
an' Spock is a captain
but by the love of a horse kid
I just can't seem to shake 'em
tracked through the forests
of winter intoxication
tried to pin 'em on this an' that
but under closer examination
was unable to resist
waving my hands in the air
in an open salutation to the
cylindrical pump wash
manifestations of the
what the hell is goin' on
in the fucked up debris of
those mind projector towers
where day is always night
on a dark powered arc
all power to the dunce in me
the head spliced energy fool
who runs away from wisdom
and can't seem to knuckle down
to the puff and tickle
of a normal life lived in
no danger of twitchy ascents
up the pole of hopelessness
with the cucumber devil
in search of the essence
and all manner of other funny
peculiar deviations
- from London Works
