Report. "And so shun not your own prison because, your own prison is priceless."

eventually
past the experimental

evolve now
exclusively
into your own
expanse

for no eternity
is exact

but simply
an excursion

of no expect

An hourly Spillage. A daily Floppage. A crash of Crush, mush.

accept all of
your quaintness

accept all of
your quandaries

and without stormy qualm
embrase all of

your adequate
quantity

"for we all tend to suffer from
the urge
not to be ourselves"

dada prayer (a loud raise of ramble that echoes across the shamble) a reply to the that of they to the prattle of them

o amuse me up
by my boot
straps
and in two's
amuse and confuse me with
the loud rattle
and battle of boltclaps
inside a clutter of flings
and flungs
inside the sungs
of tongues
and release me
falling
bawling
crawling
into the clittering glittering
steelpan
of a frittering void

the INDIVIDUAL individuals.

"all ringing
their own bell

but with absolutely
nothing to sell

all different
but the same

in great hords they
came

in great swarms they fell"

The Bagman.

Oblivious. To the Outer World. to The Workmen Adrift.

The Bagman sees. With an inner eye.

A Danger however. Here visualised
in the form of. The Sea. Lurks nearby. "For from his ladder he. Can certainly fall."* Meanwhile. The Crow. Represents.

The First Dying. The first step upon. The Journey Inward. The Bagman also. Possibly because of his greater use of. his Audible Sense. Has a certain affinity. To the World of Music.
Maybe The Guitarist (The Vibrator) lurks. Nearby.

*From. THE ELECTRICIAN. "For while reaching for the light. Down from his ladder he can certainly fall."

stained glass widow

dripping, devoutly she devours every drama