Sunday, 13 May 2012

Perfect Stranger

You met a stranger at a fair
Whilst wheels turned everywhere
So you drew a perfect circle
And you wore a perfect square

But the edge of anything
Is to be close to the clouds
The source of all your water
Do you feel a rich man now?

I too am a fool like you?
Was there anything I could do?

You can draw a perfect circle
And you can draw a perfect square

At least I know real bastards
Like Neptune and Venus

Conceited foibles
No one would read
The land of spiral attraction
Dime poetry
And suburban clam 

The lights have gone
The ships have sailed
The dead have graves
The magic lingers on

Robert Ellery Phillips

(About a psychic bitch I didn’t meet. Not a woman. That bit got me fooled.

Not now.  Howler monkey.  Where they can all go find themselves.)

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