Not To Do What You Should

There was a day when hollow teeth and streams, The marrow, blood and trains of thought, Of night black dreams, Ran their course and floods did wrought, And changed the shores of all that seems. Nothing will be as it was just before, The vision has spoken, One small token, Of a future fill’d with crooked faces to the core. The moment’s now to know, The summer’s bizarre snow, For it will always be, Like it never was ever not. There is no way to feel sorry, Fate’s folding hands has always caught, The visions men find in their nets, And women standing by who stare. On what have they possibly staked their bets? Now to be for sure the dream continued, To arouse small town vows, And erase semantic hows, By tracing the origins of all that is rude To the holy water of saints And those who believe in chromosome paints. The light was parted to let in the crude, Let this truth be shown, And forever known, There can be nothing wrong when the rude, Sing their song Throng,throng Wave their arms with strange attitude Spill their milk, Sit on tables, Dine in stables, They belong with their ilk Don’t touch these families with your wooden mood! The dream abated, Grammar’s laws took to drum again The awful games you hated Once more began to make their stain. Whosoever chooses to inhale Not the air but the clouds Must always run from mobs and crowds. And make their own fairy tale. One can not cook warmth from passover wood, Nor, should you ever forget, Make love by doing what you should.