H. O. W. by Fall
I can treat you to visit to coastal pillboxesI like to
delve in destruction, lust and debauchesAnd I am the one
who stamps on all agesFrom 16 to 40, over and underI�m
monolithic, and the black ice on the
cornerHiss...hiss...hissAs all is as one, as all damp on
all stoneI hold all time and can induce at onceJet
trains, lead paint, stamps on border formsMisread easter
island, put butter on plague styleSpin complete
revolutions and not bat an eyelidAnd alter tree-rings so
that what you are afterYou will not ever find with a
surfeit of lumberAnd make you imagine from hungerBread
trees spinning, dripping with butterJust 6 inches higher
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