All unresolved and whispering
For the fabric of resistance,
That limestone that must choose
On whether to let the water through
Or hold it at the willcall for the people.
It's much like the cops on Santiago
Blocking up the road at one
Head-on collision too many,
The one where the casualties are fatal.
Static comes off with the dust in the brush.
The horses bray like mules in the gusts
For the donkey in heat, each scent evokes
A consequence, as each bluster of breath
Turning in the blue leads somewhere,
A further avenue for deeper reflection
On illusions learned, truths overcome,
Ways of being no longer essential to the mind,
The glass sphere that takes in all of the light
But only becomes what is shadow,
The mask of clothes that become the man,
That fly like scarves now along the road.
The EZ-Go is loaded with shit and hay.
It still rolls uphill, just so you know.
