Post by moseley on Mar 5, 2020 0:37:47 GMT -6
what is the answer without the question, or its punctuation
does it still inquire, or is there an urge to tell it without
when comes the answer without the asking, as if it needs permission
to enter our ears, for without invitation, it does not give the mind
a party, to be in or with, just an answer without curious need
such as knowledge that we will never use, but somehow have
like chains to Ebenezer's old dead friend, clanging tools dangling
from our belts as if Batman needed a caddy on a busy day
should there be a crime, without a criminal, or a sin without a saint
a bargain for a plea, and a discount on everything we need
but no matter the price we pay, the cost is always the same,
it is the counting that we miss, as what goes into having as much as having not
makes a rich man's whims extravagant, and a poor man's extra vagrant
can we not stem a thornless rose, and not still admire its beauty
the wrap of yet another petal into something meaningful by matter of layer
chickens could learn of this, should we be in need of eggs
what is love without its letters, or its word or its spelling
if it is something never needing a name, but for every pain, we have the means
and in every pain, rarely do we fret the end, because it is ours
if nothing else but to complain about or fret or suffer,
as we are often best when rapt in the throes of bitching about something
when everything else is not something we would rather do
as we run to distraction, in little handheld things, so often the day drifts
into somewhere far away, and never right next to you
like being a pat of butter, just two glass bottom's distant
from a steaming bowl of grits, but, then all them carbs befucks my glucose levels
and I cannot make way even for one meager slice of toast
albeit, the onions are sliced and waiting, there means something to come to an end
answers without questions, friendship without friends
weeping without tears, some terrible Tom and Jerry,
sometimes, in time, we lose the remainder of teeth
and there is never close some goddamned fairy...
or anything so interesting left under our pillow
if dreams may come, they canoed in on a river of drool,
what is life without a breath, or an exhale without a sound,
a sigh pulls everyone in to do the same, and often
are we wrapping ribbons around trees, because everyone else does
and there we go again, again
yeah yeah yeah, tie in to the category,
without lips no words or kiss, without arms no hugs or waves
pull in close and whisper with your eyes, something best unspoken
but still needs audience for
does it still inquire, or is there an urge to tell it without
when comes the answer without the asking, as if it needs permission
to enter our ears, for without invitation, it does not give the mind
a party, to be in or with, just an answer without curious need
such as knowledge that we will never use, but somehow have
like chains to Ebenezer's old dead friend, clanging tools dangling
from our belts as if Batman needed a caddy on a busy day
should there be a crime, without a criminal, or a sin without a saint
a bargain for a plea, and a discount on everything we need
but no matter the price we pay, the cost is always the same,
it is the counting that we miss, as what goes into having as much as having not
makes a rich man's whims extravagant, and a poor man's extra vagrant
can we not stem a thornless rose, and not still admire its beauty
the wrap of yet another petal into something meaningful by matter of layer
chickens could learn of this, should we be in need of eggs
what is love without its letters, or its word or its spelling
if it is something never needing a name, but for every pain, we have the means
and in every pain, rarely do we fret the end, because it is ours
if nothing else but to complain about or fret or suffer,
as we are often best when rapt in the throes of bitching about something
when everything else is not something we would rather do
as we run to distraction, in little handheld things, so often the day drifts
into somewhere far away, and never right next to you
like being a pat of butter, just two glass bottom's distant
from a steaming bowl of grits, but, then all them carbs befucks my glucose levels
and I cannot make way even for one meager slice of toast
albeit, the onions are sliced and waiting, there means something to come to an end
answers without questions, friendship without friends
weeping without tears, some terrible Tom and Jerry,
sometimes, in time, we lose the remainder of teeth
and there is never close some goddamned fairy...
or anything so interesting left under our pillow
if dreams may come, they canoed in on a river of drool,
what is life without a breath, or an exhale without a sound,
a sigh pulls everyone in to do the same, and often
are we wrapping ribbons around trees, because everyone else does
and there we go again, again
yeah yeah yeah, tie in to the category,
without lips no words or kiss, without arms no hugs or waves
pull in close and whisper with your eyes, something best unspoken
but still needs audience for
