Celebration day. One hit.
No comedy divine that spins
It\'s circus through a coin.
If I hurry will I see the shrunken heads I crawl upon
To the neck I cannot touch?
Much is all now merry to the pivot of an ear.
Mourn not the death of solitude
There are many stars more elegant than you.
Walking through the red meat
To the bone that seeps saliva
To where November woke
And spat it\'s metal deeper than a spark.
Now slow the chase that drives the inner-wheel.
Hark no angels singing for the breast-bone of a shark!
Bark no more this moon
That chases nothing more to catch an eye.
Is it your smell of fish I have come to love the most?
I cannot ignore the foreskin
Or the ornamental figures you despise.
Disguised as love, the ruins and the far right tangerine.
Music makes no more than all deserve.
Your elbows sing a love of all preserved.
Bite each whisper gently though conservative and lost.
I am as you,
no more a purple tenderstem
than you a price than all can ill-afford