Dislocated and undone
The movement of the moment is my last replacement.
Shadow the field of discouragement
The unconscience misdemenour
Are we rich or poor?
I demand my hat unplugged
You are remeniseint of that time
Could I not hold the field:
an unknown. and the water is more wet than that
Can you feel it make you spit?
I am the roger for it
are you less than perfect for it?
Stomachs lined with stainless steel
March hares lost in silence. What becomes my what when we stand and deliver on the promise reneged? I got my hands strapped on to the end of my arms, the rope enough to hang yourself with. We turn into the least of our problems. Which way what happens to my inconsequential movements. Get yourself a reason to believe in and the end of it excuses us all. Do the dark recesses of your mind stop to smell the roses with you? I believe in the nearsightedness the generation before me had. I hope to have the same and more. Restructure the debt that falls mainly on your plane and hope to god (if there is one) that the moments of our lives exist in the channels of there station. I move along like a dog that barks for supper. The jailer toss the key into the hands of sea. I catch myself a rail and off I go to jail, this time to find my time. Do the red ranked masters of it spit out the flames with words of it? Is the opportunity to exist in it directed by my hands? A place I’ll never go for you, I am this so sorry. I don’t think so, no.
from Appliance-Centric Circles by Brendan deVallance performed at the Kitchen, New York 3-10-95
