mr 3, or should i say the sum of number 2 and number 1,
i thought i was clever, and i could be one with the world. i thought the bares were only ladies, and not hairy mammals from unclean woods. i thought many things. things i could never speak of, and things i've done i could not forget. yet in the end i'm not so stable of mind, i am not a level person, and if i cross the wrong righteous one i will end up in a brand spanking new pair of concrete shoes. the systems that have been set in motion long before the coming of those who arrived before, these systems have made the bed and set the dinner table, and these in which exist must we abide, hide, subside, and decide, again and again.. that in the holdings of a few randomly placed letters there is meaning. when convenience seems too easy, then it is, in all likelihood not going to be all that great, just like the honeymooner's, all promise of straight to the moon alice, yet we always must wait for a plate of pie. ubiquitously proportioned in wax & leather, mind games were foretold, fore four folded, in troves. still waiting on the corona's, and something yummy from beyond, i play a silly game with silly luck, look at the truck, shake in disarray, for it's just another foray in the woods with the bares. those natives will eat you alive and cook you more than once, so i will enter in my captain's star log to be weary, at least weary the pants and not droppy the soap. star log, star date, 30210 over.
~ red
ps: i'm still a partier and still on the crapper, n that way it seems i will stay.
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