Tuesday, October 23, 2012 (While listening to Captain Beerheart)

 I’m starving the carbon that flows within.

Mines are removing mountain tops and

the poor vote against their best interests.

Who’s watching who? Who cares?

Naked children run across a still lake,

laughing and crying, floating forever.

When the many false faces of existence

are peeping-toms, mirrors are dust.

Who has the original Trout Mask?

It seems all we have is replicas.