Essay: Suggestion, the existence of w

The first of two surrealish lyrics today:


The patrons are confused by canned music,

I am not.  I understand the logic.

It all suggests the mightiness of the small;

There is little to comprehend.  Be quiet.

I refuse to flog myself;  there is no future

In carnations, however scattered the petals:

My dog shat tinfoil.  It is impossible.

Here, where the wearing of flour is forbidden,

The cars all hurry to parking.  No. Wonder.

That suggests the peace of the mediocre.

Why title anything anything, but anything.

That is not a question, but a declaration,

No use trying to weasel out of an elephant.

How indignant that punishment is foreworn.

That suggests the shrillness of girls.

The skin is broken.  Who can see the infancy?

Pass on the disease, in all senses of the conundrum.

This is most difficult.  That suggests

We were wrong weren’t we when we wore wood.

Ban all consonants.  Who can deal with tissue

Will snot the uprising till the eggs brake.

No one else will know,  It will be our banner;

Such is the power of suggestion.  Truth is

There is always something to deny coherence;

That suggests that only suggestion is.

Published in: on May 23, 2012 at 5:27 pm  Leave a Comment  
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