I took my sky hammer & pounded out a few choice clouds, cirrus and I don’t know, nimbus as in a god on earth moving in space as a great auroral mist a god who beholds the sparrows washing in the dusty gravel of frankford avenue giving me cause to rant or giving me means to roll ride with me in the shadowy afterworld beyond the spider of a doubt along a sidewalk littered w/ leaves don’t be plain, said the cloud, find the ornament that please you best or elsewise, sugared in stars go on and rail in a useless manner against the inevitable dawntime people of the dawn come up drumming and beat on a pillow even if a drum is not available happy fortune, fortune has come round for you again in this pocket world of a minor horned god I balanced my lunch in the arms of my ancestors thomcord grapes and weeping cherries they were my arms lackadasic in the sky-sky-sky holding their sky hammer as if it were the baby buddha and I thought, if there was a world beyond... I could become one of those assholes who gets their sugar from fruit and regard the one who points out my faults as a revealer of treasures and regard the one who points out my faults as a revealer of treasures |