Fill

 

 

 

The flesh covers the bone and they put a mind in there and sometimes a soul, and the women break vases against the walls….and the men drink too much….and nobody finds the one.

 

But they keep looking. Crawling in and out of beds. Flesh covers the bone and the flesh searches for more than 
flesh…..There’s no chance at all….We are all trapped by a singular fate. 

 

Nobody ever finds the one. ….The city dumps fill . The junkyards fill. The madhouses fill. The hospitals fill. The graveyards fill………

 

Nothing else fills.

 

Meanwhile the people wish and fight and sleep as much as ever.  

 

Only now we learn to shorten our thoughts…

so that they don’t wander out into the darkness beyond tomorrow.

This is what happens when you get high on freshly harvested marijuana that seems to project a particularly intense cerebral high when smoked still slightly wet…Then get on a lawn mower…and push up and down for hours while listening to Dylan paint the world in a light that frames your mind in black and white.

"When a young lamb is lost on the mountain. There will be a cry. Sometimes comes the mother….Sometimes the Wolf."

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nxPwoXghz9E&feature=BFa&list=LLTIBFDMPSgvhhoTmJ7qOekA