Broiled, Baked and Skewered
When you've heard all you wanted to hear
Moses returns to blast your fear . . .
You hear the shout:
You say, That's a bum shot
as the roof crumbles and windows rot.
No one's buying that telescope.
But no excuse makes up for all the raggedness.
You forget what necessarily
means the most: lucid lady
with every pearly concentration --
WYSIWYG: what you see is what you get.
But what is it you really want?
The teeth shining and scathing
The numb staggering;
You hear the rout:
You say, Try to control it
as the black mustard flies into the fan.
That doesn't help much, Pogo;
neither does the lizard toast
Page 31 (Black Book: Light Heart)
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