Dwarves; or What is Coffee

If you wished to see the lightshow and pull the
stops from ‘neath the windows of your flippantly halucinogenic cocoon you might
as sweet and pretty asked fr it on comission with the dwarves as collateral and
filip the livine surreptiously sweet with tounge sharpened to an acerbic pink
point rather green like holy holy $$$? Nope nope nope no hope there chile be it
with will or with selicious taints of redeeming light inveigled in your own
twisted hair ryme ryme to the tryst of peggy sue and the seven dwarves rambling
mumblng bumbling hopping drinking down to the straw the marrow the facecious
milky liquid of processing plants and hopeless car ignition banalities and
backwood backdoor barnyard beauties come down O ye maids of scholasting ringing
treasures the dwarves are a-rapping at my door asking for a cup o water cutter
for the lass and lad at home to feast upon the holy feet of hope and vice and
green sediment ash from the tray of our neighborhood walmart that jumps out
windows and never cracks its head upon the pavemement -the insiduous f**k knows
how to fly the b*****d-  fly fly fly over
ye the misty mountatins of hope of ready trains and brick and stone wherin the
servile goblins dole out freedom on an argent plate evanescent hums of fluidiy
and the past and the present and the raucous future (they are all duly one and
none) eating caking loafing resting from the runs and the drums and the
tattered halways of the schools the office buildings whitehouse comissaries
police stations GAOL driving departments department stores gas stops theme park
rides and public bathrooms, all within the divining light of the mythical
realism of the House built by the dwarves treading public lands with a carton
of juice and a cartillage half empty upon their stores

Hail the king

Built with rings

The holy thing

Who will for ever sing

Lust

they certainly learned from the same singing savants
did they not the dwarves with the holy transient voices like a rain pattering
on a tin roof intermittently cutting thought the learned conversations of those
pretty pretty classes inside they could have done no more than roil and broil
the cud stuff it down your throat like anyone would but the dwarves are not
anyone you cry hoarsevoiced choking on your mucousy tears a faint solid ringing
to your ears they lick only pleasues and lust and hope and the writhing plains
of misery interloping with mendacios hope coruscating faint cloudlike over
Sinai eating a pound of cheese stolen from the City of Food and Teats nailing
the coach for his overarching eagerness too play with the girl children in his
class O they the holy dwarves who built play things from alphabetic blocks ye
holy dwarves who break from jails and hide in sewers and garbage disposal bins
awaiting teleological fate (by gawd my gawd things hav a-way uh turnin’ out) o ye
dwarves bidding time in department stores fiddling with toys you will never own
ye dwarves with downturned faces in the rain eating salmon bought on comission
ye dwarves without teeth growing out missing the love of children and
grandchildren who (forgive me ye holy sage) were never truly yours ye holy
dwarves not at all holy no holy only human ye human dwarves who die in their
your own mental graveyard interred by emotional mirages onenightstand visions
carried on a solid coffin ye dwarves human dwarves squandered dwarves radical
mad bitchy dwarves who f**k s***s of hope and love -ye r lane 2 rest: finally.