45*21

freedom is breakfast with coffee
the gypsy lady and her daughters
you expecting some tears, well go down waters way
the water must encourage flame
flame of love flame of disgust
somebody's livin in this one hoe town
a single fork in the cobbler
better give the belt to the child so he can grow
to be a renter, illusory of a begotten trade
you are the cookie and that is your cutter
love is a wound with pretty toys
I leaned crouched behind the hounds
low and smiling my forked tongue served as twine
to deliver some of the finest fruit cake
all the gold valley with the tall stags
the hearse is drawn by wheezing figs
grab my loins as to tell you what for
yet I know not knowing is not
you pudding for which I can not insert the thought
we are the daughters of the sun
"softer be they than slippered sleep"