What I Was Saying When I Was Trying To Say Something
build little beaver damns in my
forehead. I even have a waistcoat
that I keep in a paper bag.
There is other stuff.
A pair of scissors in my stomach?
Even if I understood modern physics I
couldn't lift it across
the kitchen floor.
My problems are more like
gossamer. Gossamer problems.
I sure do.
And they are a terrific band.
I once saw Gossamer Problems
on their "World without a With"
tour. They more than
rocked. I was loaded.
In the deep of the corn fed night,
I come running through thick
music. The muzak in the background
is the music to the muzak behind
the muzak. It is not exactly
a series of Russian dolls, but
it is more stupider.
Once, when I was hurdling through
the milkshake of a relationship
I spelled a word with straws, but now
I've been stabbed by a blue vein.
From this angle, I appear
to be robbing something.