cleaning up so well (jones_casey) wrote,
cleaning up so well
jones_casey

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i was going to say i saw a ducky and a horsie, but i changed my mind

sunday.

it's ALWAYS the same damn thing
i don't know much of anything
but i do know this
i'm filled with words
but i don't know how to communicate
i get a lot of input
but i can't compute it
i think i know almost precisely, nearly very closely, extremely approximately how you feel
i have absolutely no idea how you feel


know i've already walked this line
i can tell by the signs
but when you're touring your mind
you'll get lost every time
if i knew what i was looking to find
it would already be mine
.
they all sing me sad songs
to keep me awake
cos i've been up all night
up all night
and i can't talk to you
the way i've wanted to
i've been telling lies
but i'll tell you the truth
cos darlin i'm tired
i should be sleepin, sleepin
you know i'm tired
i should be sleepin, sleepin


after much fumbling he said:
"i'm afraid i can't let you out, and there is no one near to help me."
this was at first discouraging, but after a little thought cap'n bill said:
"if you don't mind, trot, i can cut a slit in your sunbonnet with my knife."
"do," she replied. "the slit won't matter, 'cause i can sew it up again afterward, when i am big."

i said, as meekly as i could, that i didn't expect it, but it was the only way of going to a dinner-party that i really enjoyed. and bruno tossed his head, and said, in a rather offended tone that i might do as i pleased--there were many he knew that would give their ears to go.

after this the regular succession of dates was broken, and there followed a few scraps of verse, irregular and unfinished, bound together by the thread of a name--"claire among her roses," "a ride through the pines with claire," "an old song of claire's" "the blue flower in claire's eyes." it was not poetry, but such an unconscious tribute to the power and beauty of poetry as unfolds itself almost inevitably from youthful love, as naturally as the blossoms unfold from the apple trees in may. if you pick them they are worthless. they charm only in their own time and place.

we can't pay like money debts, by paying extra for the years that have slipped by. while i've been putting off and putting off, the trees have been growing--it's too late now.

o life of this our spring! why fades the lotus of the water?
why fade these children of the spring? born but to smile & fall.
ah! thel is like a watry bow, and like a parting cloud,
like a reflection in a glass: like shadows in the water
like dreams of infants, like a smile upon an infants face.
like the doves voice, like transient day, like music in the air:
ah! gentle may i lay me down and gentle rest my head.
and gentle sleep the sleep of death, and gently hear the voice
of him that walketh in the garden in the evening time.

"you can't build a reputation on what you're going to do"


so long ago i don't remember when
that's when they say i lost my only friend
well they said she died easy
of a broken-heart diseasey
as i listen through the cemetery treesy

hey
come on try a little
nothin is forever
there's got to be somethin better than
in the middle
me and cinderella
we put it all together
we can drive it home
with one headlight
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