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Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Epitaph, from Memory(original in... like, 1986)

...Think I may be fading out of Existance, soon.
Soaked up by tree Roots and field Mice...
Paint me like the sky, Momma...
...cause I'm ready to jump.
To soar.
And then maybe I'll fall, like rain.
And live quietly forever in deep woods and green fields,
and hollow logs,
and speak only with birds and turtles.
Or, maybe, disappear
Naked and Glorious,
with my Tangled Mop,
into a blue grotto on the west coast,
and haunt people on the Beach...
Then again, I might Exit, tomorrow...
A flaming ball of steel and hair and denim,
screaming into my afterlife of woods
and dirt.

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