There’s really nothing more than the shapes of
grating with the music of
idity: also frightening velo-
city: yet in the terror of these times we find the com-
action of virtual rubbishing and
catering to tastes of all such kinds, re helming
minds of choice I mean: no freedoms left it seems,
and yet, even then, hope
streams our de-
sires into re-
I used to love speed so much; I used to drive so fine; I uzed
my machines as obvio-
tensions of my pass-
ions – whirling scientifical-
ly inside my breath like great twirling sex.
And now, more curiously, I just watch and reflect
and sit and dissect: out of love, under-
stand me: but don’t stand me
And in shapes we ape what our ancestors did from
rocky cave to cave: a resistance to a brut-
all world: a love of be-
auty: a fight to lite-
ral death, casually ap-
plied and processed by life, and yet we continue
to find beauty in life.
In all its forms and shapes we ape.
In everything we see.
Now ain’t that right –