Gedicht
Michael Farrell
blood on the futon
blood on the futon
blood on the futon
which leads to new territory goingoff on a wild with desire goose chase
everything bad everything funky lifts
off the roof making distinctions between
minimalist & excess absurd we can
learn to loathe all forms everything hands
down from grandparents if youre unlucky
greatgrandparents can make you gifts
of separation guilt poverty general
meanness particular cruelty you can
tell ive gone over to the poor white side
of the equation ill throw it away when
ive sucked the blood out of the old
mattresses the lying photos are a far
removal from religious revival i can
pile up detail on unnecessary detail
i can list the chooks & cows by name
that i abandoned for a life of random
now everythings under control again
im not going out like i did last night
like a flashing siren like a regular moron
pretending to possess something resembling
rhythm dont follow me im heading
for a cliff im brewing with resentment
ive a presentiment alls leading
to plastic in the afterlife cheers
© 2002, Michael Farrell
From: ode ode
Publisher: Salt Publishing, Cambridge
From: ode ode
Publisher: Salt Publishing, Cambridge
Gedichten
Gedichten van Michael Farrell
Close
blood on the futon
which leads to new territory goingoff on a wild with desire goose chase
everything bad everything funky lifts
off the roof making distinctions between
minimalist & excess absurd we can
learn to loathe all forms everything hands
down from grandparents if youre unlucky
greatgrandparents can make you gifts
of separation guilt poverty general
meanness particular cruelty you can
tell ive gone over to the poor white side
of the equation ill throw it away when
ive sucked the blood out of the old
mattresses the lying photos are a far
removal from religious revival i can
pile up detail on unnecessary detail
i can list the chooks & cows by name
that i abandoned for a life of random
now everythings under control again
im not going out like i did last night
like a flashing siren like a regular moron
pretending to possess something resembling
rhythm dont follow me im heading
for a cliff im brewing with resentment
ive a presentiment alls leading
to plastic in the afterlife cheers
From: ode ode
blood on the futon
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