45*21

After all, we are just laminated apes
looking for some grass
We smoke the time away
and listen to records
who gives a shiny shite
When the autumn moon appears
the web is dead
leaves fall or are thrown from branch
apple ripens
mind recedes
winter approaches
the isles of hair
and the depth of mind shampoo
You know nothing
and say "sop mutt"
Now we know some limitations
big bicycles wheels
in museum windows
but the museum is fabricated reality
invented a venue
like a food court that never ends in showing us