Or nothing is really north, but you’re so civic and indivisible.
 
 
The Folk Revival has no middle, no anachronism, just no more caption or advent, but you’re not them dilettantes.          As relentless as listening to the shore backwards, your words about how it happens, wanderlust and continental, badge verse the nourish of no mercy  crash short, burst slack,   repeat  as you were  reallysomething.
 
 
You know the house is empty, exempt, yours for the mentioning of will to power appears an officer on a horse with more posture than you’re used to, undoing your robe for it’s satin loose before a sash and give him the magician, night minion, answer over the flashlight    nothing
 
 
Authority I admire is kept during itself, kinetic, black market uncorrectable and in between admiring and participating, you wear the tight number which hugs risen the been-there under your eyes vindicates evasion head on    I don’t even imagine what real violation sounds    I stay at the Social Club while you go sell my high back to Cuba China   as a kind of sound of king of sound    He’ll ask me to speak up, come closer, note the kind of trouble I’m in here is absurd and prolific  the kind you catch for witnessing an author rewrite the book   skip the vista, the word vista,  the good word  and look as it’s splitting